Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 29

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Roy Fernandez never thought he'd leave the Philippines.

Sure, he once dreamed of migrating to the United States—chasing the American Dream like so many of his high school friends. But life had other plans. The paperwork never went through. The money was never enough. In time, he resigned himself to his fate: to grow old within sight of his homeland's horizon—through the narrow alleys of Tondo, the crumbling apartment blocks of Quezon Avenue, and finally the evacuation fields of Tagaytay, when everything began to fall apart.

And yet, by luck… or by the grace of God…

Here they were.

In space.

Orbiting far above the only home they'd ever known.

Roy now sat in a chair softer than any he'd ever owned. Beside him, Estrelita reclined on a med-bed that doubled as a massage couch, eyes closed, a slight smile on her face.

Across the room, Pepito sat wide-eyed on a stool that automatically adjusted to his height, watching some old piece of recovered Earth media projected holographically into the air.

The sound of swelling music filled the room.

"LOOK AT THAT! THIS IS THE BEST PART!" Pepito yelled, nearly toppling from his seat.

Onscreen, a glowing warrior shouted:

"EVERYONE, PLEASE! RAISE YOUR HANDS! GIVE ME YOUR ENERGY NOW!"

"Hu-wha—?" said his companion in surprise. 64B—slim, sharp, silver-haired—looked absolutely baffled.

Pepito jumped to his feet, arm raised high. "RAISE YOUR HANDS UP FOR GOKU!"

"Okay! Okay!" 64B echoed, lifting both hands in perfect form. "I am assisting! Energy transfer engaged!"

Roy stifled a laugh.

She looked like she was preparing to fire a cannon, not support a cartoon energy bomb. She stood there, straight-backed and solemn, her palms pointed skyward like a communications array catching divine signal.

The first few days aboard the station had felt surreal—like checking into a hotel run by benevolent aliens pretending to be human. The lights auto-adjusted for "optimal rest cycles." The showers smelled faintly of eucalyptus. The food was always exactly the right temperature. No stray dogs. No laundry flapping on rebar. No cigarette smoke from the corner sari-sari. Hell, the shower played synth-y new age music unless he yelled at it to stop. There were no roosters in the morning. No neighbor arguing through the wall. Not even the rumble of jeepneys outside.

Estrelita missed the noise of the palengke—the music of life, messy and real. She cried quietly one morning when someone offered her a banana: perfectly yellow, uniform, flawless.

"It doesn't smell like anything," she whispered, holding it like a delicate prop.

But Pepito was safe.

And that was enough.

"TAKE OUR ENERGY, GOKU! TAKE IT ALL!" Pepito howled with joy.

"WAAAAAGGGGHHH!!" came the answering roar from the screen.

Roy smiled.

His grandson was far too young when the Legion came—when the skies cracked and the streets turned to fire.

He remembered the taste of ash.

The weight of dust.

The silence of a city no longer alive.

No.

He shook the thoughts off like old soot. Not now.

Not anymore.

He and Estrelita had to keep going—had to live just a little longer.

Because for Pepito… there was no one else left in the world.

But here, now, there was joy.

And laughter.

And, strangely, a battle cry in a foreign cartoon language echoing down the sterile halls of a space station.

It wasn't Earth.

But it was something.

And for now, that was more than enough.

Eventually, things had to come to an end.

"Okay, okay, that is enough," Estrelita said, standing up, to Pepito's disappointment. 

"But I want to see the next episode!" the child cried. Estrelita put on her best disapproving face.

"Hoy, just because we live in luxury now doesn't mean you should neglect your studies!" she scolded him. "And Miss 64B is going to go back on her shift soon! Do you want her to lose her job?" 

"...No," Pepito frowned. 

​Estrelita nodded. "Good. Now tell Ate 64B thank you and get ready to go to school!" 

Pepito stood up from the floor, turning towards the YoRHa android. He hesitated for just a moment, unsure of the formality required. The android was taller than most adults he knew, skin like porcelain, her uniform pristine and severe. But her eyes—those bright synthetic blues—softened as she regarded him. She might as well be a doll. An actual barbie doll. but that was fine, thought Pepito.

Why?

Because she looked pretty damn cool, that was why.

"Thank you po, Ate 64B," he said shyly, bowing slightly, hands at his sides.

"It was my honor," she replied. "Your energy contribution was… substantial." Her mouth curled upward just a fraction, an imitation of a smile, and she raised her hands once more, mimicking the scene. "For Goku."

Pepito giggled. "You're so cool."

Estrelita clucked her tongue. "Okay na, playtime over! Move, move, move! I don't want a letter from the teachers saying my apo is late again!"

Pepito let out a dramatic sigh and turned for his room to get his school bag. 64B lingered a moment, watching the boy until he disappeared around the corner. When she turned back, Estrelita was shaking her head, turning for the counter for some tea. Roy laughed, turning to 64B. 

"Thank you so much, for spending time with him. He sees you as a big sister, you know?" Roy said. 

Big Sister. Family. 

64B's heart swelled with pride. 

"I am honored," she admitted. "I...I never thought I would have a family." 

When she went back to the Fernandez's again, she just wanted to go check on their well-being. Simple battle model as she was, even she knew that suddenly transporting a Terran, as in someone who had spent time on the planet, and suddenly taking them to space was a whole new experience. 

Pepito essentially forced her to watch the series known as Dragon Ball. 

"Now you have," Estrelita clicked her tongue. "Don't ever tell Pepito that we told you though. He will get shy." 

64B nodded. "My silence is ensured."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "You swear?"

She raised one arm solemnly. "On Goku's honor."

They all laughed.

Pepito came skidding back around the corner, his tiny legs already moving faster than his balance could manage. His satchel—bright blue, frayed along the seams, still patched with an old Pokémon keychain—bounced against his hip.

"Ready!" he declared, striking a pose halfway between salute and super saiyan. "Let's go, Ate 64B!"

64B turned toward him at once, snapping into motion with practiced grace. Her capelet shifted behind her like a second shadow, boots clicking gently on the clean floors. Her visor flickered once, scanning his vitals out of habit—pulse normal, hydration acceptable, excitement slightly elevated.

She allowed it.

"You are punctual," she said. "A promising start to the academic cycle."

Pepito grinned like she'd handed him a trophy. "My teacher says being early is like being a superhero."

"Affirmative," 64B replied, falling into step beside him as the door slid open with a soft pneumatic shhhp.

Estrelita looked up from her tea, raising her chin in farewell. "Don't forget your lunch, ha!" she called. "And don't make that face if they serve something weird—eat it!"

Pepito groaned theatrically. "Even if it's green?"

"Especially if it's green!"

Roy chuckled as the two disappeared into the corridor, the gentle hum of the station sealing behind them. Then came the silence. Not the heavy, suffocating silence of old disaster zones—but a lighter one. Ambient. Almost cozy.

He turned to look at Estrelita.

She was sipping her tea slowly, both hands wrapped around the warm cup. The steam framed her face like incense smoke in an old chapel.

"I like this blend," she said softly. "It's not Lipton, but…"

"It's warm," Roy agreed, settling onto the soft lounge chair across from her. "And quiet. I keep waiting for someone to yell outside, or start karaoke at 2AM."

Estrelita snorted. "You miss that?"

"Maybe just a little."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The light overhead mimicked a Manila morning—soft gold through imaginary curtains.

"You know," Roy murmured, voice low, "this doesn't feel like home."

Estrelita looked at him, eyes kind. "Not yet."

"No," he echoed, "not yet."

Her fingers reached across the table, brushing against his. Callused tips, worn from years of lifting grandchildren, hauling firewood, washing clothes by hand. He turned his hand upward and took hers fully, gently, the way he always had in church when the priest said Peace be with you.

The station vibrated faintly underfoot—some machine doing its job somewhere in the belly of the artificial world. Roy closed his eyes for a moment and let the sound wrap around him.

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[SPOILER="Peaceful Sleep"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:Af6ipkLaLK8"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af6ipkLaLK8[/URL][/SPOILER]

Outside, the corridor shimmered under soft white light. The space station's habitat ring curved in gentle, deliberate arcs, designed as much for calm as for function—a sterile serenity that sometimes felt too quiet, too clean. But Pepito didn't seem to mind. He bounced along beside 64B, shoes slapping rhythmically against the polished floor.

"Do you think we'll do lab experiments today?" he asked, glancing up at her with bright, hopeful eyes. "Last week we made fake volcanoes. Mine exploded twice. I got vinegar in Marco's eye. But it was an accident, I swear."

"I believe you," 64B replied.

"Do you think he does?"

"Unlikely."

Pepito giggled, his laugh echoing off the corridor walls.

"Ate 64B," he said suddenly, tilting his head back, "you know what? You make me feel warm."

64B blinked, looking down at him. "Warm?"

"Yeah!" Pepito beamed. "Like… when I think about someone I miss. But not in a sad way. Like a happy memory. A face that makes you feel better, just by remembering."

64B parsed his words with mechanical precision, yet could not reconcile them. "I do not emit external heat. My temperature regulation is internal only."

Pepito let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. "Not like that! Not heater-warm. Heart-warm. Like your eyes!"

"My… eyes?" she repeated.

He stopped walking and spun to face her directly. "You have gentle eyes, Ate. Just like someone I used to know."

Her processors flagged the phrase gentle eyes as ambiguous. Her ocular systems were calibrated to standard YoRHa efficiency. Nothing about them was designed for gentleness.

"I see," she said after a pause, though she didn't understand. "Thank you, Pepito."

"You're welcome!" he chirped, then spun back around and resumed skipping.

64B followed in silence, her thoughts looping back to that phrase. Gentle eyes. What did that mean?

When they reached the school dome, the entrance slid open with a soft hiss. Inside, the place buzzed with energy—children laughing, teachers setting up, the familiar morning chaos of learning. Only a few select androids were allowed in, many having been banned from their protective systems going haywire that a YoRHa android had once cracked a pot because that shadow it gave was 'threatening'

Pepito turned before entering. "Bye, Ate 64B! Thanks for walking me!"

"You are welcome," she said, bowing slightly. "Have a productive day."

He grinned, waved, and darted into the classroom, his satchel bouncing behind him. She watched him go, standing still as the doors closed.

Something about the moment lingered.

Later, 64B clicked on a terminal, Pepito's words still echoing in her mind. Gentle eyes. A phrase she couldn't dismiss.

She opened a search. At first, basic definitions—"gentle," "eyes," "facial warmth as interpreted by humans." But the answers were vague, subjective. So she went deeper, accessing personnel records from the colony's civilian database. United Nations archives, merged with what remained of the old Earth government data.

She found them quickly.

Roy Fernandez. Estrelita Fernandez. Pepito Fernandez. Grandparents. Grandchild.

And then—

Maria Fernandez.

64B's fingers froze above the interface. She opened the attached file.

The photograph was grainy. It had been taken long before the invasion, maybe on a sunny day in a coastal barangay. A young woman stood smiling at the camera, dark wavy hair pulled back, her eyes bright and expressive—framed by long lashes, wide and soft.

64B stared at the image.

Her synthetic heart stumbled.

The resemblance wasn't perfect. Maria's skin was darker. Her features more organic, more alive. But the similarities were enough to trip a recognition subroutine. The angle of the jaw. The curve of the lips. The eyes.

Those eyes.

That's what Pepito had seen.

Gentle eyes.

She wasn't Maria. She had no memories of her life. No connection to her history. But Pepito—he had seen something.

Tears spilled from 64B's eyes.

She lifted a hand, touching the wetness on her cheek. Her system allowed for crying—simulated weeping as an emotional vent—but this felt different. Not programmed. Not calibrated.

It hurt.

Why did it hurt?

Why did it feel… real?

She closed the file and stood motionless for some time, staring at nothing.

Later, she returned to the Fernandez quarters. Roy and Estrelita were still sitting together, quietly sharing a pot of tea. And they did not expect her back. 

"Ah, 64B," Roy said, glancing up. "Pepito's still in school."

"I know," she replied. Her voice was soft. "I came to check on you."

Estrelita smiled. "You're always so thoughtful, anak. Come, sit."

Anak. Child.

64B hesitated, then sat. Her movements were careful, folded neatly into the domestic stillness.

Roy studied her face. "You alright? You seem… quiet."

She looked at him, eyes clear and uncertain.

"I was… reflecting," she said.

"Reflecting on what, mija?" Estrelita asked.

64B hesitated. Then:

"Who is Maria Fernandez?"

The name fell into the air like a stone into still water.

Estrelita's eyes clouded. Her voice, when it came, was fragile. "Maria was… Pepito's mother. Our daughter-in-law."

64B remained silent. She listened.

"When the Legion came," Roy said, voice heavy, "our country was already on the edge. The economy was already bad before the world ended, and now many more were living in shanty towns. When the government called for evacuation, I went straight to my son's house. He was military—his unit had gone dark weeks before. But Maria, she lived close."

He looked down at his hands. They trembled.

He turned to 64B. "I went into their house and..."He faltered, his breath getting heavy, tears dripping down his aged eyes. "I found her body shielding him, one of those monsters had a knife to its chest. I found her phone nearby, with a message. 'Pepito, I love you',"

Estrelita reached over and took Roy's hand, squeezing it tightly, her other hand dabbing at the corner of her eye with a napkin. Her voice was soft, the words weaving into the quiet like a lullaby whispered through cracked memories.

"She was a gentle soul," she said. "Always smiling. Always singing. Even when the power was out, even when there was no rice left and the rain leaked through the roof… she'd still sing to Pepito. We used to joke she could charm cockroaches with her voice." She let out a dry, trembling laugh. "And she loved that boy. Loved him like the world would end. And then… it did."

64B sat motionless, her hands still folded, posture perfect—but inside, something shifted. The ache from earlier—the one she couldn't quite quantify—curled tighter around her, like a wire drawn taut through her frame. The image of Maria hovered behind her eyes, refusing to fade. Not just the similarity in features, but the essence that Pepito had seen—gentle eyes.

"Do you think," she asked slowly, voice barely above a whisper, "that he sees her in me?"

Roy wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I think he sees someone who makes him feel safe. Someone who listens. Someone who doesn't leave." He gave her a crooked, grateful smile. "Whatever the reason, you've become part of our family."

64B stared down at her lap. A synthetic soldier, designed for conflict, constructed for obedience. Yet somehow, impossibly, she was sitting in a quiet room, in orbit over a dead planet, being told she was loved.

Estrelita leaned forward, placing a hand over 64B's. "You don't need to be Maria," she said gently. "You just need to be you. That's more than enough."

64B's hand twitched beneath hers. Her vision blurred—not from damage, not from calibration error, but from fresh tears rising to the surface again. She let them fall, silently.

"We're lucky to have you," Estrelita said.

"We are," Roy agreed. "And I think… she'd be proud. Wherever she is."

64B opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

"Thank you," she managed.

They sat together like that for a long time, the tea growing cold, the station humming softly around them. Far away, 64B swore she heard children's voices could be heard echoing faintly from the school dome—laughing, shouting, singing some incomprehensible song.

Deep inside her mind, in her core, she created a new objective for herself. 

PROTECT PEPITO. PROTECT ROY. PROTECT ESTRELITA.

NO MATTER THE COST. 

Eventually, Estrelita stood up with a groan. "We should start dinner soon. I have no idea where the government gets all the meat, but I miss adobo."

Roy chuckled. "The mystery meat will taste even better because you cooked them." 

64B stood as well. Her voice, when it came, was clear and warm. YoRHa No. 64 Type B, built for combat, now impromptu mother.

"Allow me to assist," she offered. 

They moved toward the tiny galley kitchen. The space station, for all its technology, still didn't know how to properly stock Filipino ingredients. The vinegar was too sweet. The rice too fluffy. The fish too sterile. But the three of them, in that moment, weren't trying to replicate Earth. They were building something new. Familiar, but not identical.

Like memories, stitched together from old joys and new hopes.

A family that once was, and a family that still is.

And as the scent of improvised stew began to fill the air—something tangy, something rich, something close—64B felt the ache inside her ease, just a little.

Not home.

Not yet.

But every step, every word, every heartbeat in that little room was building it.

Then, when Pepito came back from school, he found a home, filled with laughter, and love. The kind eyes of his grandma, the stern but approving gaze of his grandfather...

And the gentle eyes of 64B.

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A/N: A little something, to show the direction of Glory to Mankind. Do say if its a bit much