Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 15

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The craft sliced through the air like a blade, its sleek surface catching the sunlight and scattering it in sharp, brilliant flashes. Fujikawa's breath hitched as it drew closer, its design unlike anything she'd ever encountered—not human, not by a long shot. It was too perfect, too seamless, its curves flowing like liquid metal. As it hovered and descended into the valley clearing, its quiet grace felt almost unnatural, as if gravity itself bent to its will.

Beside her, the Twins tensed, their eyes locked on the descending craft. 2B stood a little closer to her.

The Council of Humanity.

Fujikawa clenched her jaw at the thought of them. The shadowy architects of the android war effort. There was a part of her that begrudgingly admired their resolve—their refusal to surrender, no matter the cost. But the cost… it was beyond measure. Countless androids obliterated. Lies stacked on lies. An empire of deception teetering on a fragile house of cards. And then there were the Twins—her figurative children, the scapegoats for failures not their own.

"You don't see that every day," a voice broke through her thoughts.

Jackass. Fujikawa remembered. 

"And why is that?" she asked, her voice steady, her eyes fixed on the craft.

"Because," Jackass replied as the ship's rear hatch began to lower, shadows spilling out like specters, "those ships only show up for two reasons: either to bring a VIP to shake things up… or to send someone to clean up a goddamn disaster."

Boots struck the steel ramp in synchronized rhythm as the shadows took shape. Jackass folded his arms, his tone darkening. "Good thing they're here for you. Otherwise? I'd be scared shitless."

Fujikawa's eyes widened as she took in the sight before her.

Androids surged forward in perfect unison, their movements precise, mechanical, and eerily fluid, as though choreographed by an unseen hand. Each was clad in uniforms inspired by the Prussian military of the Franco-Prussian War—dark coats gleaming faintly under the sunlight, polished pickelhaubes atop their heads. The Army of Humanity insignia adorned their helmets, a chilling blend of tradition and cold, calculated progress.

They marched into formation at the base of the ramp, a wall of unyielding discipline. Their boots struck the ground in a synchronized cadence that echoed through the valley.

At their head, a tall officer stepped forward. The android's features were sharp, angular, and commanding. Raising a ceremonial sabre, the officer brought the blade to their nose, then swept it to the side in one fluid motion. Their voice rang out, crisp and commanding:

"Present, arms!"

In perfect harmony, the androids snapped their rifles into position. The clack of steel against synthetic shoulders was sharp, unnervingly clean, and precise. More than a sound, it was a statement: precision, power, and obedience forged into an unstoppable force.

Fujikawa's mouth fell open. Quite the welcome, she thought.

Her amusement, however, was cut short.

The androids began to sing.

​Utter mortification bubbled. 

"Arise! Ye who refuse to be bond slaves!

With our very flesh and blood,

Let us build our new Great Wall…"

The Chinese National Anthem filled the air, sung in accented yet passionate English. Fujikawa stood stiff, her back straight, fighting the frown threatening to creep onto her face. Her professionalism held firm, but her thoughts betrayed her: Oh my god.

When the song ended, she allowed herself a small exhale, relieved.

Then, silence fell.

A new figure emerged from the craft.

She was tall, her frame draped in the sharp lines of a Hussar's uniform, its intricate braiding catching the light. Her blonde hair was tucked beneath a polished shako crowned with a chilling emblem: a human skull and crossbones. Every step she took was deliberate, exuding power and purpose. Her serene, almost kindly face contrasted sharply with the authority she carried—an authority that demanded obedience without question. Her boots crunched against the sand as she approached, the sound unnervingly steady.

She stopped before Fujikawa, her piercing gaze locking with hers.

"Doctor Fujikawa," the android greeted, her voice smooth and tinged with an elegant accent that was almost disarming. "I am Camille, administrator for the Central European warzone and councillor of the Army of Humanity."

She smiled, a gesture as polished as her uniform. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"So it is," Fujikawa replied slowly, suppressing the mirth bubbling inside her.

"I hope you enjoyed the song." Camille's tone brightened slightly. "We prepared it just for you. You are Asian, no?"

"Yes," Fujikawa lied, biting back the urge to comment on the staggering faux pas. There was no time to dwell on it. "I look forward to settling this quickly. Humanity is at a crossroads, and decisions must be made."

"So it shall," Camille nodded. "Before our shuttle departs, the Council has authorized me to discuss future events with you." She paused, glancing past Fujikawa. "Might I speak wit—"

The groaning of bunker doors interrupted her.

Fujikawa turned. The Lieutenant-Colonel marched out, flanked by Anemone and Commander White. As the trio approached, Camille raised her arm in greeting.

"Mexicanos, al grito de guerra

El acero aprestad y el bridón…"

The Mexican National Anthem boomed from the androids, their voices ringing across the clearing.

To his credit, the Lieutenant-Colonel halted at attention, bowing his head in respect until the anthem concluded. When the final note faded, he managed a strained smile.

"That was…" He hesitated, searching for the right word. "Wonderful."

Camille beamed. "The Council thought to honor your nations. They will be pleased."

Smith glanced at Fujikawa, who gave a subtle shake of her head. Wrong anthem. Still, there was no time to dwell on it.

"I was here to give the Doctor a send-off," Smith said, his tone brisk. "Commander White wasn't lying when she said you'd be quick."

"It is our pleasure to serve humanity," Camille replied smoothly, sharing a brief look with White. She turned back to Fujikawa. "As I mentioned earlier, I am also here on behalf of the Council. There are matters they wish to discuss at once."

If Smith was surprised, he didn't show it. "Of course. Lead the way."

Camille nodded and turned, ascending the ramp with the precision of a programmed metronome.

+++

As Fujikawa stepped into the craft, the sleek, silver precision of its exterior gave way to a world of opulence she hadn't anticipated.

The floor was a polished expanse of black marble, veined with streaks of gold that caught the soft, ambient lighting woven seamlessly into the walls. Each step echoed faintly, the sound swallowed by the thick, rich carpeting that began further in, its crimson pattern reminiscent of ancient imperial tapestries. The air was cool and subtly perfumed—something faint, floral, and impossibly expensive. The walls were paneled with what appeared to be dark wood, though Fujikawa suspected it wasn't wood at all but some synthetic material engineered to perfection. Embedded within the panels were gilded accents, their designs intricate and elegant. 

Soft, leather armchairs with high backs and brass detailing were arranged in conversational clusters, their upholstery a deep navy blue that complemented the golden fixtures. Each seat had its own small, polished table made of the same black-and-gold marble as the floor, complete with built-in holographic displays that flickered to life as she passed. Above, a vaulted ceiling arched gracefully, its surface adorned with a mosaic of shifting lights that mimicked a starry night sky. The constellations moved imperceptibly, as though the galaxy itself was alive and in orbit within the craft. Chandeliers, seemingly suspended in defiance of gravity, hung delicately, their crystalline tendrils refracting the light into a thousand tiny rainbows.

"We thought to make your travel pleasant," Camille said with a polite smile. "Please, sit wherever you'd like."

Smith tried to recall the last time he had seen such luxury. Nothing came to mind. Not even the finest hotels he had visited could rival the sheer opulence of this ship's interior. Fujikawa, however, remembered once being invited to the Imperial Palace for a conversation with the Emperor. At the time, she'd thought it was the most extravagant place she'd ever stepped foot in. But now, sitting here, she realized the Imperial Palace might as well have been a pauper's home in comparison.

They found their seats—absurdly comfortable chairs that seemed to drain the weariness from their bodies the moment they sat down. Not that there was much exhaustion to begin with, given their adrenaline-fueled day. Behind Fujikawa, the Twins and 2B stood at attention, ever-watchful. Commander White and Anemone took their places beside Smith, their expressions unreadable as ever.

Camille settled across from them, serene as a statue, her medals clinking softly as she adjusted herself in her seat.

"Are the chairs to your liking?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her tone light and conversational.

"They are," Smith replied, nodding curtly. Fujikawa, on the other hand, couldn't stop herself from exhaling audibly, the comfort pulling a rare moment of vulnerability from her.

"The artisans will be pleased," Camille said with a faint smile, her voice carrying a hint of pride. "Now, would you like refreshments? Drinks?"

Fujikawa straightened in her seat, a quiet reminder to herself not to get distracted. "I'd prefer we get straight to business," she said, clearing her throat as she glanced at Smith for support.

"I concur," Smith replied quickly. He had to admit, these androids and their extravagant surroundings could easily disarm even the most disciplined minds. "Miss...?"

"Camille," the blonde android interjected smoothly, her smile unwavering. "And as you wish, we shall get to the heart of the matter."

She leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed but composed. "Where would you like to begin?"

Smith leaned forward, choosing his words carefully. "There are over a thousand civilians in the bunker, Camille. Will your station be able to accommodate them?"

Camille nodded without hesitation. "Space Station 13 is one of our larger facilities. It primarily serves as a manufacturing hub for androids, but it can be converted into a residential station, provided we receive the necessary guidance. We have records of human needs, but they are incomplete." She paused, her expression softening slightly. "The real challenge, sir, is transportation. We currently lack shuttles designed for large-scale human transport. The Council will first need to design one."

Smith raised an eyebrow. "How do you transport troops from orbit to the surface, then?"

"We do have heavy-duty shuttles," Camille admitted, her voice wavering slightly. "But..."

"They were designed for androids, sir," Anemone interjected, her voice calm but firm. "Even for us, the journey can be unpleasant. I can only imagine how disorienting it would be for humans."

"YoRHa units typically insert into the atmosphere using Flying Units," White added matter-of-factly. "Alternatively, we transfer consciousness into new bodies. Neither method is practical—or cost-effective—for humans."

Smith sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, they'll have to remain here for the foreseeable future."

"A month, at least!" Camille said quickly, sensing the rising frustration in the room. "If the Council is given a month, we could have a shuttle ready in no time."

"A rush job is far from ideal," Fujikawa said firmly, her voice cutting through the conversation like a blade. "That's just asking for disaster."

"I agree," Smith nodded. He couldn't help but think of the rushed Soviet-era airplanes—designed in haste and riddled with fatal flaws. The last thing they needed was a futuristic death trap masquerading as a shuttle.

"I assure you," Camille said, her tone turning earnest, "safety will be our top priority. We've had designs for human-compatible shuttles, but they were never built. There was no demand—until now. With human input, we could accelerate the process significantly."

Smith turned to Fujikawa. "Doctor?"

Fujikawa shook her head. "I'm a biologist, not an aviation engineer." She paused, an idea forming in her mind. "But we do have Cruz's team, don't we?"

Smith's eyes lit up with recognition. "Then it's about time they were woken up. Not just Cruz's team—yours as well."

The androids leaned in slightly, their interest unmistakable.

"Work will progress much faster," Camille said, her voice tinged with excitement.

"And the civilians will be moved to safety sooner," Smith finished. "The sooner we can alleviate the pressure of keeping them here, the better."

Camille's expression flickered for the briefest moment. Smith caught it and leaned forward, his tone sharpening. "We've been briefed, Councillor. We know."

The Twins exhaled. Anemone's fists tightened. White refused to look at anywhere but the floor. 2B...she said nothing.

Camille straightened, her spine rigid with resolve. "It was necessary," she said firmly. "Without it, there would have been chaos. Hopelessness. We would have been pushed to the brink. We needed something—anything—to hold onto." She exhaled softly, though her tone remained steady.

"The last of the Gestalts died, sir. Our purpose was gone. We failed in our mission. We thought the only way to repay that failure was to create something of our own."

Her words hung heavy in the air, the weight of her confession pressing down on everyone in the room. "We in the Council are not happy about it. We carry regret for what we had to do. But...it was that or seeing this whole planet fall. In your name, in humanity's memory...we simply could not allow that to happen." 

As much as it stung, Smith had to admit that he understood. The Legion's advance had demanded sacrifices, too. He exhaled slowly, choosing his words with care.

"It would be in our best interest to deliberate on current policies moving forward," Smith said, his tone measured. "In the meantime, humanity has returned—though not in a way many androids will have expected."

Camille's expression transformed, her face shining with an almost reverent awe, like a pilgrim touched by divine grace.

"Lead us, sir. Command us," she said, her voice trembling with fervor. "Whatever you will, the Council shall see it done. Our enemies shall melt away, like dew under the blazing sun!"

Smith raised a hand, cutting her off sharply. "We're not going on a crusade. Calm down."

He glanced at Fujikawa, who met his gaze with a subtle shrug of resignation.

"The most important thing for us right now," Smith continued, "is to stabilize and increase our population. And, if possible, rescue the other bunkers that still exist on the planet."

Camille bolted upright, her eyes wide with excitement. "There are others!?" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with urgency.

Smith nodded. "Yes. Two in the Americas, one in Europe, one in Africa, and three in Asia. More were planned, but we ran out of time before they could be built."

The androids exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and determination.

"Sir," Commander White began, her voice tinged with exasperation, "if you had revealed this information earlier, I could have deployed YoRHa units to secure those sites."

"Two issues with that plan," Fujikawa interjected smoothly. Her tone was calm, but her words carried weight. "First, these bunkers can only be accessed through the touch of an Administrator—a line of androids who, as I understand, have been discontinued and shunned. Second, we don't even know if those bunkers are still intact."

Her sharp gaze flicked to Camille, her voice steady yet cutting.

"And I know," Fujikawa said, her words deliberate, "what the Council of Humanity has done to the Twins, Councillor. I know. Why did the Council see fit to collectively punish them? Why erase their data? Why make them suffer?"

Though her tone remained calm, her intensity was palpable. She might as well have been screaming.

To her credit, Camille didn't flinch. She held Fujikawa's gaze, though her expression faltered with the weight of the question.

"They were failures," Camille admitted, her voice tight. "When the Gestalt project collapsed, we were angry. Blinded by rage. We saw no other alternative but to punish them—to erase them—to make them suffer for what we perceived as their failure."

Fujikawa listened, her posture rigid, her face unreadable.

Then, she stood. The room tensed as Camille's eyes followed her every movement.

The silence was shattered by the sharp crack of Fujikawa's palm striking synthetic skin. Camille stumbled backward, crashing to the floor. Her shako toppled off, rolling away as she raised a gloved hand to her stinging cheek.

The room erupted.

"Fujikawa!" Smith shouted, rising to his feet, his voice booming with authority.

But Camille's voice cut through the commotion.

"It's alright!" she cried out, her tone urgent. Then, softer: "It's alright."

She sat up on the floor, her expression one of quiet acceptance.

"I deserved it," Camille said softly, her voice trembling but resolute.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, heavy with the weight of what had just occurred.

"Perhaps," Smith said finally, his voice tight, "a recess is in order."

Fujikawa didn't respond immediately. She straightened her coat, her face calm despite the storm of emotions clearly brewing beneath the surface.

"I will be in my room," she said simply, her voice cool and composed.

"We do not have cabins, sadly. But there is an adjacent room with refreshments," Camille nodded from where she sat on the floor. "An android will assist you," she said softly.

Fujikawa gave a slight nod in return and exited the room without another word, leaving behind an air of tension that lingered like a storm cloud.

The androids exchanged uneasy glances as Smith sat back down, rubbing his temples. Camille remained on the floor, silent, her cheek still glowing faintly from the force of the strike. 

The Twins followed after her immediately, their movements silent but urgent.

2B took a step forward, hesitating briefly. She turned to White, who gave her a subtle nod of approval.

Without another thought, 2B ran after them.

She found Fujikawa in the adjacent room, her back turned, standing before a large screen. The display showed the Earth below—a stark divide between darkness and light. The room itself was as ornate as the one they had just left, decorated with lavish furnishings and a table overflowing with delicacies the androids had prepared. But Fujikawa paid them no mind.

Her focus was elsewhere.

"Why did you do that?" Popola asked softly. Her voice trembled with concern as she stood beside her sister. Devola clutched Popola's arm tightly, her worry evident in the way her fingers curled against her sibling's sleeve.

Fujikawa turned to face them. Her expression was calm, composed even, but her eyes betrayed her. They were red and glistening, the weight of her emotions barely held in check.

"My girls," she whispered, her voice cracking.

The Twins froze, their breath catching in their throats.

Slowly, cautiously, they stepped toward her.

When they reached her, Fujikawa opened her arms, and an embrace awaited them.

Without hesitation, the Twins fell into her arms, clutching her tightly as though afraid she might disappear.

For a moment, the world outside ceased to matter.

+++

"I am sorry," Smith said, his voice low but weighted with regret. He glanced at each of them, hesitating before continuing. "Fujikawa was one of the original team that created you all. The Twins… they were the first."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"It doesn't matter," Camille finally said, her tone sharp as a blade. She pushed herself upright from the floor with a deliberate, almost mechanical precision. Her shadow stretched long in the dim light, her voice cold and biting. "They failed. Rage was all that consumed us. That was all we had left."

Smith hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Did you know about the protocols inside the Twins? Did the Council know?"

Camille's head turned sharply, her eyes narrowing into slits. "We didn't," she said bitterly. "When we examined their code, the only thing left was Project Gestalt."

Smith's breath caught. His eyes widened as the full weight of her words sank in.

"...Fuck," he muttered, the word slipping out before he could stop it. It wasn't just a curse—it was an explosion of disbelief, frustration, and dread. The sound echoed faintly in the stillness of the room.

He fell silent, the gears in his mind spinning wildly. A dozen theories raced through his head, each more unsettling than the last. Who would erase something so critical? Who could even dare?

A cold pit began to form in his stomach, twisting and churning.

Two possibilities emerged, each more horrifying than the other. The first: the Hamelin Organization had gotten their hands on the Devola and Popola models and deliberately erased the backup data. The second: an Independist movement had done it beforehand, intent on ensuring humanity's extinction.

The Independist theory had a clear and brutal motive—the complete eradication of the human race, even if unknowingly. But the Hamelin Organization? That was different. If they'd done it, their motive would be far more insidious. Was it revenge? The desire to prove that Project Gestalt was humanity's only salvation? After all, the United Nations had opposed the project at every turn.

If that were true, then humanity might have been wiped out simply because the Hamelin Organization wanted to be petty.

The thought was nauseating.

Smith's face turned pale, his gut twisting further as the realization settled in.

"Sir?" White's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. Her tone was steady, but there was an edge of concern beneath it.

Smith exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus. His voice was measured, but there was an undeniable tremor in it. "If what she says is true… and if the Council didn't know about the missing data..." He paused, his throat tightening. "Then I might have a theory. One that explains why no one knew."

Camille's gaze softened, but only slightly. The earlier slap still lingered between them, a phantom sting on her cheek. Her voice, however, remained strong. "Angry as we were—angry as I was—we would have rather died than risk humanity's survival. Humanity was our reason for existence."

Smith opened his mouth to respond, but another voice cut through the air like thunder.

"Who?"

Anemone's voice was sharp, trembling with rage. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her eyes burning with fury. "Who would fucking dare?"

A chill settled over the room.

"Tell us," White growled, taking a step forward. Her lips curled back, revealing teeth bared in raw anger. Her calm, composed exterior was gone, replaced by something feral. "If they're alive, we'll make sure they suffer."

Smith straightened, his expression hardening as he said the name that had been clawing at his thoughts. "The Hamelin Organization."

The room seemed to freeze. No one moved, no one breathed.

"Many groups didn't agree with Project Gestalt," he continued, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "If they managed to get their hands on the Twins, they might have deliberately erased the data. And with androids unable to refuse a human's orders..."

The implications hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and suffocating.

Anemone's eyes widened in shock, her rage momentarily overtaken by disbelief. White's face went pale, her hands trembling slightly before she clenched them into fists again. Camille's mouth hung open, the weight of the revelation leaving her speechless.

"Why would they do that?" Camille finally whispered, her voice breathy, as though the question itself had drained her.

Smith sighed, his shoulders sagging under the enormity of it all. "Spite," he said simply, his tone bitter. "You'd be surprised how many wars, how much destruction, starts because of something as small and petty as spite."

Anemone's fists shook violently as she stepped forward, her rage boiling over. "Spite?!" she hissed, her voice rising with every word. "They doomed humanity out of spite?"

"Yes," Smith said, his voice low but firm.

​"Graaah!" Anemone screamed, frustration bubbling in her core. She wanted nothing more but to tear out her own skin in utter frustration. White thought of a hundred and one ways to make someone suffer. Error messages flashed inside her. The Hamelin Organization were run by humans. But they had threatened humanity. Her very being was rebelling against herself, programmed to love mankind. 

​"What now?" Camille asked softly. 

"We do not know for sure. This is only a theory," Smith reminded them. "The only thing we can do now is make sure humanity gets repopulation efforts back up, and quickly. So for now, we do what we can and hold back time." 

The androids paused, turning to Smith. 

"So let's get to it," Smith said softly.

"To what?" Anemone asked. 

"Restoring Mankind." 

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A/N: Fuck the Hamelin Organization. Fuck the Hamelin Organization. Fuck the Hamelin Organization.