Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 18

Keep it together, Fujikawa.

The thought repeated like a mantra in her head. She'd seen this a thousand times before—photos, videos, simulations. There was nothing special about it. It was just space.

But as the words circled in her mind, they felt thin, fragile, like paper shields against the rising tide of awe swelling in her chest.

The craft shuddered violently, and the engines roared to life. The sound was raw, unrelenting, a deep vibration that rattled through her bones and sang through the steel walls. Her breath hitched. For a moment, all she could hear was the sheer power beneath her feet—the sound of humanity defying gravity itself.

Then, the nose of the vessel tilted upward, and the world she had known began to fall away.

Fujikawa's fingers gripped the armrests, white-knuckled, as the climb grew steeper. The thin atmosphere began to peel away, unveiling a vast, endless black. A hiss echoed through the cabin as the outer windows slid open, bathing the space in starlight. Slowly, Fujikawa unbuckled her harness. Her movements were deliberate, cautious, as though the immensity outside might shatter under the weight of a careless step.

She turned toward the window—and froze.

The stars erupted into view. Countless, eternal, scattered like shards of diamond across an infinite void. Below her, the Earth hung suspended in the darkness—a fragile sphere of blues and greens swirled with white. Its soft glow pulsed with life, beautiful and delicate in a way no simulation could ever capture. It ached to look at.

But something was wrong.

Far off, on the edge of the planet's curvature, a shadow loomed—a vast region cloaked in perpetual darkness. Flickers of light danced within it, erratic and sharp, drawing her gaze. A whisper formed in her mind: storms. But even as the thought emerged, it faltered, hollow and uncertain.

She turned her gaze back to the Earth, and her stomach tightened.

The planet had changed.

Deserts stretched across regions where no deserts should exist. Forests flourished in places they never had before. The Earth looked alien, reshaped by forces she couldn't begin to understand.

Behind her, the sound of footsteps broke the silence as others approached the window.

"First time leaving Earth, Doctor?" Popola asked gently, her voice a soft hum in the quiet cabin.

"Yes," Fujikawa admitted, her eyes never leaving the view. Her voice came out distant, almost hollow. "It's…"

A thousand words fought for space in her mind, but none of them felt sufficient.

"Beautiful," she whispered at last.

"Re-entry tends to be unpleasant," a dry voice commented from the side.

Devola glanced at 2B with a wry smile. "I can imagine. Those flying units of yours look... fragile."

"Informative: The Ho.229's aesthetics are not a hindrance," Pod 042 interjected, its mechanical monotone cutting through the moment. "In a flying wing, the wing and body of the aircraft are merged into a single, seamless structure. Flying wings have a large wing area, which allows for efficient lift generation. The absence of a separate fuselage reduces interference drag, resulting in an improved lift-to-drag ratio. This can lead to better fuel efficiency and longer range."

"Thank you for the lecture, 042," Fujikawa muttered, her focus still on the Earth below. Her eyes drifted back to the Kingdom of Night, where the flickering lights continued—violent, vivid, and far too rhythmic to be natural. Her chest tightened. It didn't look like a storm. It looked like a battlefield.

"This unit is pleased to have served," 042 droned.

A new voice interrupted, calm and curious. "Is there a problem, Doctor?"

Fujikawa turned her head slightly, meeting Camille's gaze. Then she looked back at the distant flashes. "I wasn't aware the weather had changed this drastically," she murmured.

Camille followed her line of sight, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. "Oh, Doctor," she said with a faint laugh. "Those aren't storms."

Fujikawa frowned. "Not storms?"

"No," Camille replied, her tone calm, almost amused. "Storms don't make flashes like that. Those are battles."

Fujikawa blinked. "Battles?"

"Yes," Camille said, her voice dipping into something faintly reverent. "Those are our armies fighting the Machines. The larger flashes? Those are our dragons."

Silence fell, heavy and oppressive.

"Dragons?" Fujikawa repeated, disbelief threading her voice.

"Yes," Camille answered, her tone soft yet proud. "Ancient weapons we've unleashed against the enemy."

"I wasn't briefed on this," Fujikawa said, her voice sharpening.

"Details about our arsenal weren't requested," Camille replied with a polite shrug.

Fujikawa's eyes narrowed. "Compile a full report. I want everything."

"As you wish, Doctor," Camille said, inclining her head.

Fujikawa turned to the Twins and 2B, her expression unreadable. "Did you know about this?"

"No," Popola admitted, exchanging an uneasy glance with Devola. "We've heard… stories from the Kingdom of Night, but we didn't believe them."

"We thought they were exaggerating," Devola added quietly.

"YoRHa does not operate in the Kingdom of Night," 2B said, her voice soft and subdued.

Fujikawa turned back to the window, her gaze fixed on the distant flashes. "It looks like your types are needed there more than here," she muttered under her breath.

The silence stretched on, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Fujikawa couldn't tear her eyes away from the violent light show below. The flashes weren't just battles—they were scars, desperate and raw, etched into the Earth itself. She felt a cold dread uncoil in her chest, creeping up her spine as the horrifying scale of the war against the Machines began to take shape in her mind.

Even with dragons, even with their advanced technology, it wasn't enough.

She realized, with a chill that rooted her to the floor, that she didn't want to set foot there. The Kingdom of Night might as well be written off as lost.

As though sensing her unease, the Twins reached out, gently taking her hands. Their touch was warm, grounding. Fujikawa squeezed them in return, grateful for the silent comfort.

2B remained motionless, her expression unreadable.

Camille said nothing, her confident demeanor slipping into something more neutral.

Then, breaking the silence, the ship's automated voice announced: "We will be nearing the station shortly. Please take your seats."

Camille cleared her throat, her voice steady once more. "We'll be arriving soon, Doctor. You may want to watch when we turn."

The ship shifted, revealing a new sight emerging from the void. Fujikawa's breath caught in her throat.

The station loomed ahead. It floated silently in the black expanse, its sleek white hull gleaming under the distant starlight. Long, angular, with glowing orange lights flickering across its surface like scattered embers. At its core, a massive circular ring rotated slowly, casting a faint halo of light. Along its walls, the teardrop insignia of the Army of Humanity stood emblazoned in stark relief.

"Welcome," Camille said, her voice calm and proud. "To Space Station 13."

For a moment, the fear faded. Fujikawa stared at the station, her dread temporarily eclipsed by awe. It was a refuge, impossibly distant from the chaos below.

+++

9S exhaled, sharp and shallow. Breathing exercises were supposed to help, weren't they? Supposed to steady his systems, regulate his thoughts. Not for him. Each attempt only made his breaths stumble, his chest tighten.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his nerves wound too tight to stay still. Humans. Real humans were arriving. Not the broadcasts from the Moon, not the grainy transmissions he'd studied for years. Flesh-and-blood humans. The thought alone left him teetering on the edge of panic. How was he supposed to act? What was he supposed to say?

It felt like just yesterday he'd been waiting to be partnered with a Battle model. A predictable, routine assignment. Then everything changed. A sudden recall to the Bunker. A rushed briefing. And then the bombshell: he'd been reassigned. Not to reconnaissance, not to combat, but to serve as a personal assistant to a human. The kind of assignment androids whispered about, dreamed about. And now it was his.

"Alert: Unit 9S is exhibiting signs of extreme anxiety," Pod 153 droned in its usual monotone. "Proposal: Continue breathing exercises to lower stress."

"I'm trying!" 9S snapped, before catching himself. His voice softened. "I'm trying," he muttered, sniffing as he dragged in another breath.

"Proposal: Unit 9S should breathe better."

He groaned. "And how exactly does one breathe better?"

"Through the nose," Pod 153 replied, its tone somehow managing to sound smug.

"Unbelievable."

"Oi!" A rough voice cut through the noise of the hangar. "Get outta the way, kid!"

9S spun toward the source, nearly colliding with a hulking android in industrial fatigues. The android scowled from the driver's seat of a cargo cart, one hand gripping the wheel, the other gesturing impatiently.

"Oh, uh, sorry!" 9S stammered, stepping aside.

The worker shook his head as he rolled past. "YoRHa stiffs," he muttered under his breath.

9S bristled but bit back a response. What would be the point? The worker wasn't wrong—it wasn't like 9S blended in here. The industrial hangar was alive with motion and noise: androids in scuffed uniforms shouting orders, sparks flying from repair drones, the hum of machinery filling the air. All of it buzzed with urgency, a hive of activity preparing for the human's arrival. It was chaos, raw and unpolished, nothing like the pristine order of the Bunker. 9S felt like an outsider, an intruder in a space that wasn't his.

"Alert: Unit 9S is experiencing irritation," Pod 153 observed. "Proposal: Resume breathing exercises."

"Pod," 9S sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple. "Why do I put up with you?"

Before the Pod could answer, a low hum rippled through the hangar, silencing the noise in an instant. 9S's head snapped up. New androids were arriving, dressed in formal Council attire. His databanks flagged the uniforms instantly—Council finery. They moved with precision, taking their places by the red carpet that had been rolled out across the hangar floor. All stood at attention, perfectly still. This was the cue.

9S hurried to his assigned position at the end of the line, straightening his uniform. His palms felt clammy, and he clasped them tightly behind his back. A moment later, the craft arrived—a sleek, silver ship descending through the bay doors. Its surface gleamed under the harsh overhead lights, its engines letting out a soft hiss as it settled onto the platform with unnatural precision.

The rear hatch opened.

9S swallowed hard, his throat dry. The air in the hangar seemed heavier now, charged with anticipation. Shadows shifted within the ship, moving deliberately, until a figure stepped into view.

The human.

She descended the ramp slowly, her steps measured and deliberate. Her black suit was sharp, immaculate, each line emphasizing authority. Her shoulder-length hair framed a face of sharp angles, her expression cold and unreadable. Her eyes swept across the hangar, dissecting everything and everyone in her path. Even the gruffest worker androids seemed to shrink back under her gaze.

The androids lining the sides snapped into crisp salutes as she passed, their weapons flashing briefly. She didn't acknowledge them. She didn't need to. The weight of her presence was enough.

9S's mind raced. He knew her name—Naoka Fujikawa. He had memorized every detail in the data pack sent to him. One of the original humans. One of the architects of android-kind. A living legend. And now she stood in front of him.

His uniform suddenly felt too tight. He straightened, forcing himself to stay still, though his hands trembled at his sides. His throat worked as he struggled to find his voice.

"W-Welcome to the station, D-Doctor Fujikawa!" he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

Her eyes locked onto him, pinning him in place. For a moment, she said nothing. The silence stretched unbearably thin.

9S swallowed and straightened further, forcing himself to continue. "I—I am YoRHa No.9 Type S. I've been assigned to your detail as a personal assistant. I swear I'll do it to the best of my ability! Glory to Mankind!" He snapped into a salute, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

Fujikawa's gaze lingered on him, unreadable. Then, to his surprise, the corners of her mouth tugged upward ever so slightly. "I will rely on you, then," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

9S blinked. A human was going to rely on him. Him. His chest swelled with pride, his earlier panic momentarily forgotten.

"You won't regret it!" he declared, his voice stronger now. "Us Scouting Units don't just handle reconnaissance—we've got information on everything! Vegetable, animal, mineral—"

"And Gilbert and Sullivan?" Fujikawa interjected, one eyebrow arched.

"Yes! And Gilbert and Sullivan!" 9S flushed, his excitement betraying him. Of course she'd get the reference. She was human, after all. Oh, this assignment was going to be incredible.

From the shadows of the hangar, 2B watched. Her expression remained blank, her posture rigid. She told herself she felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Devola, standing nearby, glanced back at 2B. One corner of her mouth twitched into a faint smirk. "Interesting," she muttered under her breath, before turning back to the exchange.

"Introductions aside," Camille spoke, her voice smooth and professional. "Would the Doctor care for a tour of the facility?"

Fujikawa nodded, her gaze sweeping the hangar one last time. "Let's."

+++

A/N: We're going straight into the timeskip after this.