Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 25

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Smith's war machine strode forward, each step crunching over the wreckage of a battlefield that had become a scrapyard of destruction. Debris and twisted metal were scattered like confetti, the remains of machine parts and fallen androids littering the scorched earth. Smoke hung in the air, thick and acrid, blurring the horizon into an indistinct smear of desolation.

But it was over.

The Machines were destroyed to the last. For now, at least. The battlefield was silent save for the occasional hiss of sparking wires and the groan of collapsing wreckage. They had won—but it hardly felt like a victory.

Smith's cockpit rattled slightly as his machine shifted its weight. He felt the weight of something else—a presence—near him.

"Sir," a voice crackled through the comms. 

Smith turned his HUD toward the younger officer's war machine, its frame battered but still functional, standing amidst the carnage.

"Kieran's dead," Damian said, his voice carrying a tone of restrained grief.

Kieran Monroe. Lieutenant. Irish Air Corps. A good soldier. A better man.

Smith nodded slowly, his face unreadable behind his helmet. "Recover his Gotterdämmerung and the body," he said simply. His voice was firm, almost detached. There was no room for mourning now—not yet. There was too much to do. The cleanup had to be finished, and then they would leave this godforsaken planet. Mourning would come later.

"Understood, sir," Damian replied, saluting with his mech. He turned and lumbered away, his war machine's servos whining faintly as it trudged back toward the wreckage.

Smith remained motionless, his sensors scanning the horizon as he let the silence settle over him. His thoughts were anything but.

If this had been a battle against the Legion, the losses would have been far worse—even with the advanced technology humanity now wielded. The Legion was a nightmare, furious and overwhelming, a relentless force that had stripped Earth of its innocence long ago. But this wasn't the Legion. This was something else.

The Machines. Their alien masters.

He was quite sure that diplomacy should be attempted with the Machines and their Alien masters. But considering that they had fought for thousands of years now, that was likely moot. The Machines had made their intentions clear. A part of him despaired having to fight a war. But there was no choice left. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp ping of an incoming comm. His HUD lit up with the source.

Smith took a deep breath before accepting the call. "Overlord speaking," he said evenly.

"Overlord, is it?" The voice on the other end was calm but carried a weight of authority—and an edge.

Smith recognized the tone immediately. White. Lovers, partners, and a marriage broken up by the Legion had given him experience. He knew when a woman was angry, even when she hid it well.

"In the battlefield, that is my designation as commander," Smith replied. His tone was professional, but there was a hint of weariness in it. "Being in the field isn't so far-fetched considering my position, Commander."

He was certain White disapproved of him being in the field at all. A commander of his rank wasn't supposed to risk himself. Not like this.

"I am sure you have your reasons," White said, her calm voice not betraying any emotion. "But I would like to know why."

Smith raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Yes," White continued. "Why go forward? Why risk your life and the lives of your men?"

Kieran's face flashed in Smith's mind.

He turned his HUD back toward the battlefield, watching as android units moved through the wreckage, gathering the broken remains of their comrades. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by the hum of servos and the distant crackle of flames. The androids worked with quiet efficiency, but Smith could see it—the way their movements slowed as they passed by the towering war machines of humanity.

They couldn't help but stare. Awe. Perhaps even reverence.

Damian's war machine strode past them, its imposing frame a stark contrast to the slender, almost delicate forms of the androids. They tried to look away, but their gazes always drifted back.

Smith's voice was steady as he answered. "Your FOB needed reinforcements. I have a battalion under my command. We were in a position to help."

"I see," White replied, though her tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced.

Smith turned his gaze to the desert beyond the battlefield, the horizon shimmering in the heat. "Consider it shame too, I suppose," he added after a moment.

"Shame?" White's voice carried a note of confusion now.

"Correct," Smith said, his tone firm. "Androids have been bleeding and dying in the ditches for years, all fighting for humanity. And now we're finally here, standing beside you." He paused, his voice hardening. "We watched you fight for us. Die for us. Humanity owes your people a debt. A debt that will take generations to repay a thousand times over."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Finally, White spoke, her voice quieter now. "The losses incurred today would have been replaced, sir. You... you didn't have to. Androids can be replaced easily. Humans cannot. We are expendable. You are not."

Smith's jaw tightened. He glanced back at the androids, their black-clad forms moving through the wreckage, their faces blank but their movements revealing more than they likely intended.

"Expendable?" he repeated. "To another people, another race maybe. But to humanity?"

He shook his head slowly, his war machine's massive frame turning back toward the horizon.

"Not to us," he said simply.

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"Expendable?" Smith repeated, his voice steady, each word deliberate. "To another people, another race, maybe. But to humanity?"

The silence in the Bunker was absolute. Every Operator, every android, every ground commander tuned in leaned closer, their attention captured by the weight of his words.

"Not to us," he said.

The declaration reverberated through the room, lingering in the air like the chime of a bell in a vast, empty cathedral. 

For the androids, designed to fight, die, and repeat without question or reward, these words were more than acknowledgment. They were validation. The sacrifices they had made, the endless cycles of destruction and rebirth, suddenly felt like they mattered. It wasn't just duty anymore. It was meaning.

The silence in the Bunker stretched, heavy and palpable, until it was broken by a sound—soft, trembling.

Sniffling.

All eyes turned toward the source.

6O stood frozen at her station, her hands trembling as she stared at the screen. Her wide blue eyes shimmered with tears, and her lips quivered as she fought to hold back the flood of emotions. She failed. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she didn't bother to wipe it away.

Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Not to us...?"

White stood silently at her post, her gaze fixed on the screen as well. She didn't say anything—she didn't need to. She felt it. The raw emotion that filled the room, washing over them like a tide. She couldn't blame 6O for breaking. 

For so long, the androids had fought and died in silence. They had given everything, over and over again, for humanity, for a cause they had never even seen with their own eyes. And now, in just a few words, Smith had redefined their relationship. 

White closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the weight of it settle over her. Then she opened them again, her voice calm but edged with something faintly human.

"...Thank you, sir," she said, her words carrying the collective gratitude of every android in the room.

"Don't thank me yet," Smith replied, a small, weary smile tugging at his lips. "We still have a fight to win."

White nodded, grounding herself. There was still so much to do—people to evacuate, Machines to destroy. But at least, for now, Smith's men had done enough.

"We can take over from here, sir," White said, her tone firm. "The desert is secure. Pull back your units. Anemone and I can handle the rest."

Smith paused, but his voice carried a note of reluctance. "Is there any sector that needs immediate reinforcements? Anemone?"

White hesitated for a moment, her mind already calculating. "The Ruined City," she admitted. "But it's a long distance ahead, and I strongly advise you to pull your men back. The farther they stray from the Bunker, the harder it becomes to guarantee the secrecy of humanity's existence."

Smith chuckled, a low, dry sound that carried through the comms. "Commander, I'm fairly certain that after this battle, secrecy is already a lost cause. My war machines aren't exactly built for subtlety. And now that my men are in the fight, they're not going to want to stand down without seeing it through. Call it post-cryo jitters."

White sighed softly, the memory of the Lieutenant-Colonel taking short naps during briefings flashing in her mind. She tried again, her tone more insistent. "I appreciate the gesture, sir, but I strongly advise against it. You've already lost a man—Kieran, wasn't it? When the adrenaline wears off, his death will weigh heavily on all of us."

Smith's reply was measured, calm. "I understand your concern, Commander. But let me be clear—my men and I aren't strangers to danger. The Legion was far worse than this." His voice hardened slightly. "We're not slouches. Believe me."

White wanted to scoff, to dismiss his words outright. The Legion couldn't compare to the Machines. Smith had only seen a fraction of what they were capable of. But then, her eyes flicked to the war machines his forces had deployed—railguns, plasma cannons, and weaponry designed for absolute annihilation. And they went nearly extinct. No one built machines like that for easy enemies.

She sighed, carefully measuring her response. "I'll make a compromise, then. Send volunteers only. And exclude yourself. You can't afford to risk your life on the battlefield."

Her voice was steady, professional. Smith's position made him too valuable to lose. 

Smith's voice rumbled through the comms, firm and uncompromising. "I'll send volunteers, Commander. And we'll maintain a holding pattern until the transports arrive."

White exhaled slowly, relief washing over her. "Thank you, sir."

With that, the connection cut. White turned sharply toward her Operators, her tone snapping back to its authoritative edge as she began issuing orders. But even as she worked, one singular thought lingered in the back of her mind.

The next time she saw Smith, she was going to drag him to the nearest room and ride him within an inch of his life. 

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A/N: Something short but this wraps up the desert thing at most. Next up, White rides Smith within an inch of his life.

​I will be putting up a list that shows the organization of the bunker to better illustrate the hierarchy.