Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 13

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Rossi's gloved fingers grazed the seed packet gently—Arugula, the first of many. He tore it open with deliberate care, pouring the small, dark seeds into his palm. The bunker was silent, save for the faint hum of the ventilation system, tirelessly maintaining breathable air.

From the speakers in the corners of the room, Toscanini's rendition of Flight of the Valkyries surged to life. The music swelled and crashed like waves—powerful, commanding—filling the stark silence with its energy. It wasn't his usual choice for this task, but today, it felt right. The frenetic urgency of the brass section seemed to align with his steady movements, his hands planting seeds in a rhythmic pulse.

Kneeling beside the first tray, Rossi pressed each seed into the soil with practiced care. The soil was rich and dark, prepared with precision for this moment. A soft click signaled the irrigation system coming to life, and a fine mist sprayed across the trays, moistening the earth. The water hissed faintly as it met the soil, but it was the music that swept through him, driving his focus. Wagner's soaring crescendos seemed to echo the quiet defiance of this act—the planting of life in a world entrenched in survival.

The lights above flickered briefly, casting their harsh, unyielding glow over the hydroponic station. Rossi moved from one tray to the next—Lettuce. Spinach. Kale. Each packet was opened with care, each seed placed with a quiet, persistent hope. The music surged louder, its rising intensity filling every corner of the bunker, mingling with the sound of water and soil. There was something defiant about the music today—something that spoke of life's struggle, its refusal to yield.

A sudden knock at the doorway pulled him from his trance. Loud. Perceptible. Rossi blinked, frowning. Who would bother him now? With a wave of his hand, the music silenced. He stood, brushing stray soil from his gloves, and opened the door.

Two blindfolded androids stood before him, saluting in unison. Behind them floated their smaller companion, Pod 042.

Rossi stared. "What do you want?"

"Lieutenant-Colonel Smith has ordered us to relax," 2B announced, her tone clipped and dutiful. "You are the first with whom we should relax."

"What?" Rossi blinked. He shook his head, exhaling sharply. "I don't need you two to 'relax' with me. I'm in the middle of work." He gestured toward the hydroponic pods behind him.

"Then we shall work with you, sir," 1D replied, her voice equally resolute. "Lieutenant-Colonel Smith's orders."

"No," Rossi said firmly, crossing his arms. "I don't need your help either. This work is delicate." He gestured to the trays. "It's no place for android fingers."

He'd seen their strength before—precise, but overwhelming. The last thing he needed was for them to crush the fragile pods. Sure, they'd promised to secure the bunker's food supply if necessary, but Rossi didn't want to rely solely on synthetic hands. Diversification was key—a safeguard against emergencies. Besides, he thought, glancing at their blindfolds, how could they even see what they were doing?

"We can be delicate, sir," 2B asserted. "We only require instructions."

"Please," 1D added, "allow us to relax. We cannot fulfill our orders otherwise."

"This unit also possesses a repository of knowledge," Pod 042 chimed in, its monotone voice cutting through the conversation. "Namely, the human archive known as 'Wikipedia.' This unit can assist in agricultural efforts."

Rossi's brow furrowed. "You have Wikipedia?"

"Confirmation: Yes," Pod 042 replied. "Tactical Support Units are not limited to battlefield assistance."

"Really?" Rossi raised an eyebrow. "Alright, then. What are some notable Irish inventions?"

2B and 1D turned expectantly to the pod, awaiting its response. After a brief pause, Pod 042 answered, "Notable contributions include Iomániocht, a predecessor to hurling, and whiskey. Beyond that, there is a notable absence of Irish innovations during a period spanning 300 years."

"Alright, no need to mock the Irish further," Rossi muttered, lifting a hand to stop the pod. He sighed. "Fine. You three can stay—but don't touch anything."

"Understood, Quartermaster," 2B said with a nod.

"Va bene," Rossi murmured, turning back to his plants.

The two androids stepped inside, followed closely by Pod 042. They stiffened slightly as the room once again filled with the rousing strings of Wagner's Flight of the Valkyries. For a moment, they stood in silence, watching Rossi as he worked. His care was methodical, deliberate, almost reverent.

He glanced over his shoulder.

2B and 1D stood completely still, their blindfolded faces pointed directly at him. Pod 042 hovered between them, its single lens eerily fixed in his direction like an unblinking eye.

Rossi shifted on his knees, trying to brush it off. It wasn't like they could actually see him, right? The blindfolds had to mean something. Still, there was something unnerving about their presence—silent, motionless, like statues judging his every move. The hum of the ventilation system and the distant hiss of water from the irrigation trays weren't enough to drown out the weight of their attention.

He planted another seed, pressing it into the soil with a little more force than necessary. When he glanced back again, they hadn't moved.

Finally, he groaned. "What are you doing?"

"Relaxing," 2B said matter-of-factly.

"By staring at me?" Rossi snapped, his voice rising slightly. "That's not relaxing. That's… weird."

"We are observing," 1D added, her tone calm, almost innocent. "It is a form of relaxation."

"For who?" Rossi muttered under his breath, brushing his gloved hands together. He straightened up, planting his fists on his hips. "Look, if you're going to just stand there, could you at least not—" He gestured vaguely at them. "—do it so… creepily?"

"This unit is incapable of creepiness," Pod 042 chimed in. "However, if the Quartermaster finds our behavior unsettling, we shall adjust."

The androids tilted their heads slightly, as if considering his complaint. Then, together, they pivoted on their heels to face the wall.

Rossi blinked in disbelief. "What… what are you doing now?"

"Not staring," 2B replied, her voice as even as ever.

"You told us not to?" 1D added.

The pod hovered, tilting slightly as though in solidarity. Rossi ran a hand down his face, sighing. He didn't think they could actually get more awkward, but somehow, they'd managed.

"Okay, no, no, stop—this is worse," he said, throwing his hands up. "You can look at me, just—maybe don't stand there like statues while you do it?"

The androids turned back around immediately, their postures as rigid as before. Rossi groaned again, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Fine," he muttered, throwing his hands into the air. "You know what? If you really want to help, just… sit down, and I'll find something for you to do. But no sudden movements, no touching anything unless I say so, and most importantly—" He pointed a gloved finger at them. "Don't break anything."

2B and 1D perked up visibly, their postures straightening. "Acknowledged," 2B said, her tone brightening just a fraction.

"This is acceptable," 1D added, already moving to sit cross-legged on the floor beside him, her blindfolded face tilted expectantly.

Pod 042 hovered closer, emitting a soft chime of approval. "This unit is prepared to assist in all agricultural operations."

Rossi sighed again, but this time there was less exasperation in it. "Alright," he muttered, grabbing a fresh packet of seeds and holding it out to 2B. "Here. These are spinach seeds. All you need to do is—carefully—press one seed into the soil for each hole in the tray. Got it?"

2B accepted the packet with both hands, handling it as if it were a priceless artifact. "Understood, Quartermaster."

"And you," Rossi said, pointing to 1D, "you can mist the trays. Gently. Gently. The irrigation system will handle most of it, but a little extra water won't hurt."

1D nodded, her movements almost eager. "Acknowledged."

"And you," Rossi said, turning to Pod 042. "Uh… I don't know. Just… float there and keep being weird, I guess."

"This unit will ensure optimal weirdness," Pod 042 replied without hesitation.

Rossi barked a surprised laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, okay. Sure."

As the androids got to work, Rossi kept a wary eye on them, expecting some kind of disaster. But to his surprise, they were… surprisingly careful. 2B placed each seed with delicate precision, her movements deliberate and steady. 1D misted the trays with surprising finesse, holding the sprayer at just the right angle. Even Pod 042 hummed softly, offering occasional snippets of agricultural trivia ("Spinach is a flowering plant native to central and western Asia") that were oddly soothing.

For the first time, the bunker didn't feel quite so lonely. The music swelled again, filling the space with Wagner's triumphant crescendos. 

+++

"Unbelievable. Inconceivable. Stupid," Fujikawa muttered, darting around the room like a storm, grabbing supplies and tossing them into her bag with frantic energy.

Devola and Popola stood awkwardly off to the side, watching the spectacle unfold. The android twins exchanged glances, unsure whether to intervene or let the storm run its course.

"Doctor," Popola started hesitantly, "we can… we can handle the packing for you."

"No," Fujikawa shot back without breaking her stride. "I'd rather do it myself. I like it that way." She shoved a bundle of papers into her bag with more force than necessary. "And besides, you two have done enough already. Relax."

Devola stepped forward, her hands clasped together. "We appreciate your care, Doctor, but it's—"

Fujikawa's sharp glance froze her mid-sentence.

"It's what?" Fujikawa snapped, her tone cutting through the air like a knife.

Devola hesitated, but Popola stepped in, her voice calm and measured. "It's… unnatural, Doctor. We were made to serve, not to be served. Watching you do all the work while we sit back feels… wrong."

Fujikawa paused, her back still turned. Her shoulders sagged slightly as she let out a heavy sigh. "Well, in my eyes, you two have worked long enough. Humanity owes androids a debt for keeping things from falling apart."

"It was our duty," Popola said gently, standing as Devola mirrored her movements. "Our pleasure, even."

Fujikawa turned to face them, her expression softening for the first time. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that aliens are real," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "And that you've all been fighting them for so long. You weren't exactly left with a manual on how to handle intergalactic threats."

Devola chuckled lightly, crossing her arms. "We learned on the job."

"Still," Fujikawa said, shaking her head, "I can't help but feel like we should have prepared you better. We should have fought harder to stop the Hamelin Organization from gaining so much power."

"It's not your fault, Doctor," Popola said, her voice warm and reassuring.

Fujikawa let out a bitter laugh, the corners of her mouth twitching in a self-deprecating smile. "I'll carry the fault regardless," she said softly. "After all… I was part of the team that created you."

Silence descended between them, thick and heavy. The two androids exchanged wide-eyed glances, as if trying to process what they'd just heard.

"You…" Devola's voice came out in a whisper, tinged with awe. "You helped create androids?"

Fujikawa laughed, the sound softer this time, almost wistful. "I wish I could say I did it all myself." She shook her head. "No, it wasn't just me. It was a full team of researchers. Gregory was the man who started it all, the visionary behind the project. Then there was me—I provided the biological expertise. And five others. We all shared the load."

Devola tilted her head, her expression caught somewhere between reverence and disbelief. "Does that… make you our mother?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fujikawa froze for a moment, the question hanging in the air. Then she let out a surprised laugh, shaking her head as she rubbed the back of her neck. "Mother? Oh, no. No, no, no." She waved the idea away with a flick of her hand. "I wasn't some benevolent creator watching over you like a proud parent. I was just a scientist doing my job."

"But you gave us life," Popola said earnestly, stepping closer. "Without you, we wouldn't exist."

Fujikawa's laughter faded, and her smile softened into something far more genuine. "I suppose, in a way, I did help give you life," she admitted. Her eyes flicked between the two androids, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. "But if anything, I think you two have done more with that life than we ever could have dreamed."

Devola and Popola exchanged another glance, their expressions brightening. Devola gave a small, almost shy smile. "That's… kind of you to say."

"It's not kindness," Fujikawa replied, turning back to her bag. Her voice carried a quiet conviction. "It's the truth."

The androids watched her in silence for a moment, their gazes softening. Then, as Fujikawa reached for another stack of supplies, Devola stepped forward.

"Doctor," she said with a mischievous grin, "if you're going to insist on doing all the packing yourself, at least let us help by organizing it. You do have a tendency to throw things in without any rhyme or reason."

Fujikawa turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Are you calling me messy?"

Popola nodded solemnly. "We're calling you… efficiently disorganized."

Fujikawa snorted, shaking her head in defeat. "Alright, fine," she said, stepping back. "But if you two start micromanaging me, I'm kicking you out. Got it?"

"Understood," the twins said in unison, their voices bright with amusement.

As they got to work together, the tension in the room seemed to evaporate. For the first time in a long while, Fujikawa allowed herself to relax, even if just a little. Watching the androids move with such care and precision, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of pride—a feeling she wasn't quite ready to admit.

"Mother," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head with a small smile. "What a ridiculous idea."

But deep down, the word didn't feel as strange as it should have.

"So… what was Gregory like?" Popola asked, holding a small box in her hands. Her voice carried a note of curiosity, but also caution, as though she feared the question might be too personal.

"Gregory-sama? Why do you ask?" Fujikawa blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question.

The Twins exchanged a quick look, a silent conversation passing between them. A shared, unspoken suspicion bloomed in their chest, though neither of them could quite put it into words. Finally, Devola spoke up, her voice calm. "I suppose my sister is just curious about what their father was like."

An annoyed click of the tongue escaped Fujikawa's lips, sharp and sudden. For a moment, Popola thought she had upset the Doctor, but her fears quickly proved unfounded. Fujikawa exhaled, her expression softening. "Gregory… he was a visionary," she began, her tone distant, as though recalling a memory from another life. "He was the first to notice things we couldn't. How the Legion worked. How we were losing, even when we had an advantage but didn't know how to use it."

The Twins nodded, their attention locked on the Doctor. They listened in silence, their curiosity growing with every word.

"No one believed him at first. Androids? The idea was absurd. Surely, humanity wouldn't fall to White Chlorination Syndrome. We were too many, too advanced. At the apex of technology, we thought ourselves untouchable. We could fight disease, render its power moot. Or so we believed," Fujikawa said bitterly. "But we were arrogant. Hubris blinded us. Only when we began to lose—badly—did people finally take Gregory-sama seriously."

"So governments began funding him," Fujikawa continued. "Androids were the logical next step in combating the Legion. Without biological components, the Legion couldn't corrupt you. With your synthetic bodies, you could fight the hardest, meanest monsters toe-to-toe without fear of exhaustion or infection."

"You mentioned biology," Popola interjected. "What exactly was your role?"

Fujikawa smiled faintly, her gaze softening. "Gregory-sama wanted the androids to be beautiful," she said. "His backers wanted you to look like tools of war—efficient, intimidating. But Gregory believed that wasn't enough. Humanity was fighting for its survival, yes, but that didn't mean we had to sacrifice the things that made us human: our beauty, our empathy, our capacity to adapt, to love." She placed a hand over her chest, as if to emphasize the word. "That's where I came in. I provided the organic knowledge to make you as you are."

"Why red?" Devola asked suddenly, her tone curious.

"And why Devola and Popola?" Popola added eagerly.

Fujikawa tilted her head, surprised by the question. "Hm?"

Devola traced a hand through her shaggy red hair, twirling a strand between her fingers. "I've often wondered why we have red hair. We could've been blonde or brunette. Not that I'm complaining," she said quickly, "but… it seems like such a specific choice."

"And our names," Popola added. "Why Devola and Popola?"

Fujikawa chuckled softly. "Well, Gregory wanted his first creations to be the most beautiful girls in the world," she said simply. "And true enough, you two are indeed beautiful."

The Twins giggled bashfully, glancing at each other.

"As for your names," Fujikawa continued, her tone thoughtful, "they come from an old story Gregory loved. It was about two sisters, both swordsmiths. One day, a wandering bard visited their home. His voice was so beautiful, the gods themselves wept to hear him sing. Naturally, both sisters fell deeply in love with him."

The Twins leaned in, intrigued.

"Each sister decided to create the most magnificent sword imaginable, hoping to win his heart. But their bitter rivalry only led to failure. Their blades were dull and brittle, made with anger rather than care."

The Twins scoffed at the idea of two sisters competing over love. The notion seemed absurd to them.

"Seeing their discord, the bard offered to take both of them as his brides," Fujikawa continued. "With their rivalry ended, the sisters worked together to create a sword of unparalleled beauty and strength. They named it Skald's Song, in honor of the bard who inspired them."

The Twins nodded in unison, satisfied with the explanation.

"That makes sense," Devola said, smiling. "Better to share than to let discord fester."

"I'd never part with Devola over love, of all things," Popola laughed. "That'd be ridiculous."

"Have you two ever been in love?" Fujikawa asked, tilting her head curiously.

The Twins shook their heads in unison. "I doubt what we feel could ever be as real as human emotions," Devola replied, her voice tinged with skepticism.

Fujikawa frowned slightly. "You were designed to be as close to humans as possible. What you feel is real, Devola," she said firmly. "Cogito, ergo sum."

Devola and Popola blinked at the phrase.

"I think, therefore I am," Fujikawa translated. "You may not have souls in the traditional sense, but you are alive. You feel. You laugh, you cry, you love, and you live. And if anyone says otherwise, you have my permission to kick them in the balls."

Popola burst into laughter. "We'll be sure to remember that, Doctor."

Devola smiled faintly. "You still haven't told us what you thought of Gregory."

"I just did," Fujikawa said, confused.

"Yes, Gregory the inventor," Devola clarified.

"But not Gregory the man," Popola finished, her eyes narrowing.

Fujikawa paused, her expression shifting. "Ah," she murmured. "Well…"

The Twins leaned in eagerly, hanging on her every word.

"He was scatterbrained," Fujikawa said, rolling her eyes.

"Eh?" they both exclaimed in unison.

"Dumb. Perverted. He left breadcrumbs on his workstation and made the stupidest jokes," Fujikawa huffed, crossing her arms. She paused, her expression softening. "And… he was kind. Brilliant. A visionary. He was patient. Especially with me."

Her hands clenched tightly at her sides. "And… he was an idiot," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

The Twins exchanged a glance. Call it intuition. Or perhaps they simply understood from the context. "Were you…?" Popola asked softly.

Fujikawa laughed—a hollow sound. Then she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "By the time I mustered the courage, it was already too late."

She turned to face them, her voice gentle but firm. "So here's my advice, girls: don't take too long with your feelings. Tell people how you feel. You never know when the next time you see them might be the last."

The Twins nodded, her words sinking deep into their hearts.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Devola smiled faintly. "We'll take your advice to heart, Doctor."

"Good," Fujikawa said, returning to her work. But as she turned away, the faintest flicker of sorrow passed over her face.

The Twins didn't miss it. And returned to work. 

As Popola readied to pick up another box, she paused to look at the door. Her head tilted. Was someone there? 

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Hence, girls, here's my advice. Don't take too long with you feelings. Tell people how it is. You will never know when's the next time you will see them alive.

Behind the door, a figure stood, poised to knock. Her gloved hand hovered just inches from the surface, but she hesitated.

2B lowered her gaze, her expression unreadable.

Slowly, she withdrew her hand, her fingers curling into a loose fist. Without a word, she turned away, her footsteps nearly silent against the cold floor.

"Alert: Unit 2B is ordered to relax with Quartermaster Rossi, Chief Engineer Cruz, and Doctor Fujikawa," Pod 042 chimed in, breaking the silence.

2B paused mid-step, her shoulders stiffening. For a moment, she said nothing.

"...I will relax with the doctor after," she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Pod 042 hovered beside her, its lens fixed on her. "Understood," it droned, though its tone lingered as if uncertain.

2B resumed walking, her posture rigid, her thoughts a silent storm.

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A/N: Greg lore Greg lore Greg lore Greg lore.