Memory of Judgment

 is an event in SINoALICE.Parrah:

Hello, hello!

Back for more, eh?

Noya:

Another fun nightmare extermination trip!

Parrah:

The island you'll be visiting this time...

Noya:

...is making its nightmares smarter.

Parrah:

They even have an economy now!

Noya:

What great lives they must lead.

Parrah:

Oh, speaking of...

Noya:

The story this time is a little long...

Parrah:

So turn auto-skip on if you're farming!

Noya:

Alright, then...

Have a nice trip!

Verse 1
Director's Log

I was raised in a

nation of privilege.

But is there such a disparity of wealth in

a country?

I once had my doubts,

but I can say that there is.

Yes, now I can say so with certainty.

I first came to this island

ten years ago.

It was relatively peaceful

back then, but everything

changed when the new

government came to power.

The indigenous people

clashed with government forces,

and soon the struggle

escalated to all-out war.

More than 50,000 perished

in the ensuing conflict.

The land is rich and fertile,

and overflowing with resources.

So why then would war

break our in a place like this?

Why would people of privilege

force others off their land

and into a life

of poverty?

That was a mystery I was

never able to unravel.

Full bellies, warm shelter, and

still they craved more. Why?

I came to this island in order

to better understand.

But no logic could explain

the scene I saw upon my arrival.

I stood, enthralled by the horrific reality.

Children turned into refugees

by the cruelty of war, their

eyes devoid of emotion...

An outstretched hand only

sent them recoiling in fear.

That was the response from

the bravest, most whole of them.

One traumatized child failed

to even register my gesture.

Their eyes staring blankly

into the emptiness.

Cake Spider:

The teacher was scary...

We have to escape!

Verse 3
All notion of why I had come

here in the first place

was utterly lost to me.

That's how complete the evil's

hold over this island truly was.

What could I do to help them?

It was all I could think about.

So, with the support of the locals,

I quickly set about creating

an orphanage for those in need.

At first I struggled to earn

their trust, and was even a

burden to them for many months,

but finally they began to respect me.

I did my best to provide help

to the ever-growing number

of young refugees across

the accursed island.

They began to open up to us,

treating us as if we were family.

I knew my work would never

—could never—truly end.

I knew that unless the conflict

of beliefs was addressed,

nothing would ever change.

But even the first step down that

road was far too much for me.

It didn't take long until my

project began to run into

severe financial difficulties.

I began searching for people,

or organizations, that would help

fund my efforts to help these

starving, orphaned children.

But my feverish attempts to secure

funding amounted to little more

than useless grasping at straws.

Yes, there were people who

seemed willing to help, but

when it came time to collect

signatures, all the ink had dried up.

Always the same heartless line–

"We are still considering it."

The discussions themselves varied,

but the result was always the same.

I slowly realized that if left alone,

this pattern would never change.

Of course it wouldn't.

This happens daily all over the world,

and the best efforts of countless

people and organizations aren't

able to help, let alone stop it.

What could I possibly do?

So time passed, until one day an

unmarked letter arrived at my door.

Upon the shoddy paper was written

a single sentence in the local tongue...

"I'm watching you."

That sentence alone was more

than enough warning for me.

I quickly counted the number of

children still in the orphanage.

Ten.

Ten children in danger because

of my foolish, thoughtless actions.

They were far from being saved.

Because of me they would soon

be met with the cruelest fate.

One day, while confessing my

many failings to my wife, we

decided I had to stop begging.

Young Spider:

Teacher.

Don't hide tears.

Don't wipe them away.

Otherwise people won't worry.

It's just me.

He's crying.

I can tell.

Verse 5
My wife, she didn't condemn me.

Although we had almost nothing to our

name, we desperately struggled

to keep the orphanage open anyhow.

On far too many days,

the staff went hungry.

Ever day, I tried to think of

some cheap source of food.

That's when I had an idea.

It may have been immoral,

perhaps even reprehensible,

but it was the only way.

The only way to help the children.

It was the beginning of a new battle,

one waged against my own guilt.

That night, my wife crept out of the

house,

searching for me in those eerie, early

hours.

...But not out of any concern for me.

She must have sensed the truth.

The truth behind the food.

The provenance of what we used

to fill the poor children's aching bellies.

I turned at the sound of her footsteps,

excuses and prayers caught in my throat.

She looked like a

child caught in some mischief,

their hand in the cookie jar.

She crouched beside me, wordless,

and began to help dig up the graves.

After a prayer of gratitude to the

deceased,

she leaned over and whispered into my ear.

"We're in this together."

I can't tell you how much of a relief those words were to me.

Young Spider:

I are a lot again today. It made me happy.

I love food.

I like our teacher, too.

Verse 7
Out of respect for the dead,

we made sure to turn their flesh

into the most beautiful little pastries.

The truth safely hidden beneath

a facade of sugar and frosting,

the children blissfully devoured them.

And even as our own bellies went empty,

it warmed our hearts to see them smile.

If only the meals they needed to survive

didn't have to consist of their very own

family.

I watch over the delighted

children at every mealtime.

When it comes time to eat, though,

I can't bring myself to do so,

not knowing what's in there.

Once the children finally fall asleep,

I quietly shed a tear or two and

return to my nightly grave-digging.

I've lost all passion for my project,

but I've gone too far. I can't stop now.

This may sound like a poor excuse,

but it is the pathetic truth of my life.

I just couldn't—I wouldn't—

abandon my responsibilities and

let these poor children starve.

And because of this sense of

responsibility,

these poor, innocent children...

I feel like such a hypocrite,

smiling at these innocent youths

after everything I've done.

Damn this wretched orphanage.

I truly wish I'd never built the place.

In the end, everything I did

was born of selfishness

meant only to satisfy myself.

After all, I forced those innocent

boys and girls to bear the burden

of living the rest of their lives

as cannibals.

Cake Spider:

Wait! I'm not dead yet!

Please don't eat me!

Everyone is scary.

Verse 9
How much longer can they go on?

How long can they live like this?

No... No.

This cannot continue.

Whenever I hear a child's laughter,

I am seized by a chill across my body—

it makes me want to puke.

I can feel myself going mad

just imagining having to dismember

those children after they die.

Surely, surely, at this point...

I must be insane.

All I want is to stop.

Stop hearing the sound of

their arms snapping off...!

Stop hearing the soft slosh

of entrails flopping out...!

It's like some kind of terrible song

that my brain won't stop singing!

Young Spider:

Our teacher taught us many ways to play.

Playing is fun.

The adults shouldn't fight.

They should just play instead.

Verse 10
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

I'm sorry, so please...children...

From then on, I decided I would

instead take the lives of others.

That's how I can finally find freedom.

Thank you for reading this pathetic

record of a failed, worthless adult.

My apologies for not thinking it through.

Once I'm dead and gone,

those kids will be left

to an even worse fate.

But that no longer bothers me.

Karma can't be escaped

just by sitting around

and worrying about it—

it can't be escaped at all.

"Farewell, cursed world."

Young Spiders:

"Wow!"

"You made a gigantic cake today!"

"I want to share a slice with Papa!"

"Huh?"

"Why are you cryin', Mama?"

"He's gonna come back, right, Mama?"

Greater Spider:

The condemned have come.

Do not hesitate to kill them.

My judgment is reason enough.

You. I'm heading there now.

Epilogue
Parrah:

Great job!

Noya:

Talk about a sad ending!

Parrah:

Aren't children so wise?

Noya:

They knew they'd never get to see their teacher again.

Parrah:

They'd seen 'em so many times before...

Noya:

The face of an adult hiding death.

Parrah:

What happened next?

Use your imagination.

Noya:

But the thought must've crossed your mind.

Player choice:

A: All they needed was a little extra cash...

B: Why couldn't they get any?

Choice A:

Noya:

The situations that some in this world endure are just awful.

Parrah:

If you think you're doing alright...

Noya:

...go ahead and donate a little to help the less fortunate.

Parrah:

The feeling of wanting to save someone...

What an impressive desire!

Noya:

......

Parrah:

An impressive desire, indeed.

Noya:

Pressure from groups opposed by faith.

Parrah:

Yet they all wish to save everyone...

Noya:

How wretched!

Parrah:

Everyone's different. Everyone's good.

Wouldn't it be nice if that's how it was?

Noya:

Really? You're not just saying that, are ya?

Parrah:

Hmm... I wonder...

Noya:

We'll save that for later!

Choice B:

Noya:

Pressure from groups opposed by faith.

Parrah:

Yet they all wish to save everyone...

Noya:

How wretched!

Parrah:

Everyone's different.

Everyone's good.

Wouldn't it be nice if that's how it was?

Noya:

Really? You're not just saying that, are ya?

Parrah:

Hmmm... I wonder...

Noya:

We'll save that for later!