Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 12

+++

The Stubby waddled across the scorching sand, its movements reminiscent of a penguin, leaving heavy trails behind. The Machine Lifeform had adapted to the heat, as had many of its brethren scattered across the desert. They gathered around an oasis, one of the few hidden gems nestled in the endless dunes. A bipedal machine stood at the edge of the water, raising its hands in a gesture that seemed almost reverent.

"We have found our salvation!" it proclaimed, its voice crackling with an electronic fervor. "Drink deeply, brothers, and cool your cores in the waters of life!"

The Stubby raised one small arm in unison with the others. "Salvation! Salvation! Salvation!" it chanted in its high-pitched voice, the words clumsy but sincere.

They moved forward together, a procession of machines drawn to the crystalline pool. The Stubby, smaller than most, didn't need to kneel to drink. It scooped water into its stubby hands, eager to quench the heat coursing through its circuits. But as it tried to drink, the water slipped through its fingers, splashing back into the oasis. Again and again, it tried, but the result was the same.

The Stubby stared at its hands, a deep frustration building in its core.

"Brother, I cannot drink the water!" it cried, its voice trembling with desperation.

The Biped turned sharply at the sound of the Stubby's distress. It hesitated, scanning the scene, before rushing off toward a nearby grouping of discarded objects. Moments later, it returned triumphantly, holding a dented metal bucket.

"Fear not, little one! I shall retrieve the water for you!" the Biped declared with conviction.

The Stubby blinked, tilting its head. "What is this… item?"

The Biped held the bucket high, as though unveiling a sacred artifact. "This is the Holy Bucket! It will deliver salvation to the small and the weary!"

A hush fell over the machines, broken only by the rustling of the desert wind through the palm trees. Then, suddenly, cries of exultation erupted.

"Holy Bucket! Holy Bucket! Holy Bucket! Praise be!"

While the others chanted, the Biped knelt by the oasis, carefully scooping water into the bucket. It turned to the Stubby, tilting the container to let the precious liquid flow over the smaller machine. The Stubby squealed with delight, splashing and playing under the cool stream.

But the moment of joy was short-lived.

A sound rumbled in the distance, low and ominous, like the growl of thunder. The Stubby stopped, tilting its head toward the horizon. "Brother… what is that noise?"

The Biped followed its gaze, its optical sensors locking onto streaks of light cutting through the sky. These were not the rays of the sun but the trails of incoming missiles launched from YoRHa Flying Units. The missiles struck before anyone could react. The oasis erupted in a blinding flash of light and heat. Sand and machine parts were flung into the air, the explosion tearing through the gathering. When the dust settled, the Stubby was the only one left.

It stood amidst the wreckage, its small frame trembling. Around it lay the shattered remains of its brethren, their once-whirring parts now lifeless. Something rolled toward it—a familiar shape. The Stubby stumbled forward and froze.

It was its brother.

The Biped's head, scorched and broken, stared up at the Stubby with lifeless optics. The Stubby's circuits sparked wildly, its personality matrix overwhelmed by a feeling it couldn't comprehend. Data flooded its system: water was good. Water brought life. Water would help.

"Brother!" the Stubby cried, its voice shrill with panic. "Drink! The water will save you!"

It glanced around frantically, its eyes landing on the Holy Bucket. Waddling as fast as its stubby legs could carry it, the machine retrieved the bucket, now half-filled with water. With all its strength, it lifted the container and poured the contents over its brother's head.

"Brother! You will be better now! Drink! Please!" The Stubby shook the lifeless head, its voice breaking. "Stand up! We must run! They are coming back!"

But the Biped did not move. Its lifeless metal shell remained still, unresponsive.

"Brother! They are coming back!" The Stubby screamed, desperate. The sound of thunder was getting loud again.

"Brother! Stand up! We must run!"

Lifeless optics stared up at him.

"Brother!"

Fire screamed.

+++

High above the battlefield, feminine cheers rang out.

"Nice shot!"

A grinning blonde pressed a button on her console, her voice crackling over the comms.

"Command, this is 3D. Squad and I just cleaned up a pack of Machines. How's that for thorough?"

The reply came swiftly, calm and professional. "Kills confirmed, Descent Squad 225. Maintain a holding pattern until further notice. Over."

"You got it, 5O!" 3D smirked, leaning back in her Flying Unit's cockpit as her squadmates whooped in celebration.

The advance of YoRHa was swift, relentless, and merciless. Machines were cut down wherever they were found—reduced to wreckage and ash under the concerted might of the android army. Firepower was abundant, mercy nonexistent. For 3D and her squad, each kill was a hymn, a testament to their unyielding devotion.

But now, a revelation had set their cores ablaze: a treasure worth more than any victory. Humans were on Earth.

With renewed zeal, the Descent Units carried out their bloody work. Roving bands of Machines were obliterated without pause. Machine oil derricks, pumping from alien-operated wells, were raided, bombed, and left in ruins. YoRHa cries filled the airwaves, crackling with fervor: "Glory to Mankind!"

They were Valkyries unleashed—not to deliver the glorious dead to Valhalla, but to make the enemy dead.

"Descent Squad," 5O's voice cut through the comms. "Machine Units detected on Grid 432038. Coordinates locked. Engage immediately."

3D's grin widened, the thrill of combat lighting her golden eyes. Her tactical map pulsed with red dots. Too many to count.

"Looks like we've got a party, girls. Let's give these alien bastards a proper Terran welcome, yeah?"

"Yes, Captain!" her squadmates replied, their voices brimming with excitement.

The dots on the map—those Machines, those invaders—were more than targets. They were defilers. Marauders. Thieves. Alien bastards!

"Alright, Descent Squad! Bank right!" 3D barked. Her Flying Unit tilted sharply, the others following in perfect formation. They tore through the skies like arrows, their engines screaming as they broke the sound barrier. Gravity bent to their will as they dove toward the battlefield, eager for the kill.

Below, the Machines moved in a huddled mass—a blob of twisted metal and glowing optics, marching in unison.

"We've caught them by surprise!" one of her squadmates noted, her voice sharp with anticipation.

True enough, the Machines faltered. Their formation broke, scattering like prey under the shadow of a predator. Purple projectiles erupted from their ranks, disorganized and frantic. The androids laughed. Perfect.

"KILL THEM ALL!" 3D roared, her voice electric with battle-lust. "GLORY TO MANKIND!"

Missile pods opened, releasing hundreds of warheads in a fiery cascade. The missiles streaked toward the ground, slamming into the Machine horde and kicking up plumes of sand and shrapnel. The explosion lit the desert like a second sun. Glass glinted beneath the carnage as the YoRHa Flying Units shot past, graceful and deadly.

The Machines retaliated, their purple energy bolts streaking toward the androids in desperation. But the Descent Squad was already splitting into pairs, zigzagging through the chaos with precision. To the Machines below, it was random—chaotic. To YoRHa, it was a coordinated dance, each android a knife cutting into the horde.

More missiles rained down, followed by a symphony of gunfire. The Flying Units strafed the battlefield, dragging lines of destruction through the enemy ranks. Machine Lifeforms crumbled under the onslaught, their crude attempts at resistance shattered.

"Captain, they're breaking!" one of the squadmates shouted, her voice giddy with triumph.

"Good!" 3D laughed, her cockpit shaking with the force of her weapons firing. "Don't let up! Leave nothing standing!"

Let their corpses be presented on the Altar of Humanity!

Her Flying Unit banked hard, dodging a stray projectile before lining up another missile strike. Below, the Machines writhed and scattered, their once-organized blob reduced to pockets of wreckage and panicked stragglers.

The battlefield was alive with destruction. Explosions bloomed across the desert, churning up waves of heat and smoke. Android voices filled the comms, their battle cries a hymn of vengeance, their laughter sharp and cruel.

"That's it! Finish them off!" 3D barked. Her squadmates obeyed with glee, their Flying Units circling back for another pass.

The last of the Machine horde fell, their broken bodies littering the sands. For a moment, the desert was silent, save for the hum of YoRHa engines and the faint crackle of dying fires.

3D exhaled, her adrenaline slowly ebbing. "Good work, Squad. Command's gonna love this. Let's—"

Her words were cut off by a sharp beep on her console. A new signal.

"Captain," one of her squadmates said eagerly. "We've got movement. North quadrant."

3D's grin returned, sharper than before. "Looks like they're not done yet. Form up, Descent Squad 225, let's make them regret coming to our home!"

"Yes, Captain!"

+++

This was irresponsible. No. This was madness.

From her position in the foxhole, Anemone could see the distant flashes of battle tearing through the horizon. The ground trembled faintly beneath her, and the acrid smell of smoke lingered in the air. Through her binoculars, she watched as more YoRHa units poured into the fray, their relentless assault pounding unseen Machine hordes into oblivion.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. On one hand, it was satisfying to see the enemy on the receiving end of YoRHa's zealotry. But on the other… this was getting out of hand. The sheer intensity of the strikes was like a beacon, a flashing signal for the Machines to escalate their efforts in the region. That kind of escalation could jeopardize everything—the Resistance, the sanctuary, even the Bunker itself.

Heavy breathing broke her thoughts.

Anemone lowered her binoculars, her frown deepening. "Jackass, could you not?"

"But… look!" Jackass cried, her voice trembling with a strange excitement as she pointed toward the distant explosions. "You cannot tell me that doesn't turn you on!"

Anemone grimaced, recoiling slightly. "What is wrong with you?"

"A lot of things," Jackass replied with a shrug, completely unbothered.

Anemone shook her head in disbelief. "We need to get you checked."

"Sure. Add it to the list," Jackass said, lifting her own binoculars, her eyes gleaming as another explosion lit up the sky. A soft, almost involuntary noise escaped her lips.

"Jackass!" Anemone snapped, her tone sharp.

The demolitions android groaned, dragging her binoculars down. "What? I'm just appreciating the art." She took in a deep, steadying breath. Later, she told herself. Much later.

Anemone muttered something under her breath and turned back to the horizon. She lay flat in the foxhole, carefully concealed in one of the many hidden positions the Resistance had constructed throughout the valley. It had become obvious they would be stuck here for some time, and strengthening their defenses was the prudent choice. Anemone had thrown herself into the work, not out of duty, but to drown out the turmoil in her chest.

She adjusted her binoculars, scanning the horizon again. The flashes of light reflected in her sharp eyes. White's heavy hand was all over this. The commander had changed so much over the years. Anemone could still remember when she'd been… kind. Compassionate, even. But that version of White was gone, replaced by something cold, ruthless, and unrecognizable.

Anemone let out a long breath, lowering her binoculars. "We need to get YoRHa to dial back the strikes," she said, more to herself than to Jackass.

"Or," Jackass suggested, still peering through her binoculars, "we could consider bringing in some heavy artillery." Her voice dipped into a low, almost reverent tone as another explosion bloomed in the distance. "Mmm, imagine what we could do with a few big guns out here…"

"Jackass!" Anemone hissed, her patience fraying.

Jackass groaned theatrically but said nothing. Anemone narrowed her eyes at her companion before turning her attention back to the horizon. The valley was eerily quiet aside from the distant hum of battle. Inside the foxhole, the air was cool, the wood and sand above providing some insulation from the relentless desert heat. She leaned back against the wall, rubbing her temples.

"The point of this," Anemone said, her tone measured, "is to keep this place hidden. If we bring in artillery, we might as well send up a flare and invite the Machines to come knocking."

Jackass shrugged again, leaning on her elbows. "Sure, but if they're already escalating—and they are—maybe we should be thinking about upping our game, too." She glanced at Anemone, a devilish grin tugging at her lips. "C'mon. Imagine it. A few well-placed shells could wipe out an entire Machine column. Boom! No cleanup necessary."

Anemone didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, she frowned, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Even if I agreed, artillery would be better placed at the city. That's where the Engels units are. There's nothing like that out here."

"Yet," Jackass muttered under her breath, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Anemone ignored her, shifting to sit in the corner of the foxhole. She crossed her arms, her expression dark. YoRHa's reckless aggression was threatening to undo everything they'd worked for. The Machines wouldn't take this lying down.

"So, why are you still here?" Jackass asked, her tone sharp and teasing. "Shouldn't you be down there by now?"

"Huh? What for?" Anemone blinked, momentarily thrown off.

"To tell off White, duh," Jackass said, rolling her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What, are you really just going to sit here and let her waltz in, dictate the new rules, and steal your man?"

Anemone froze, staring at her. "The Lieutenant Colonel is not my man!" she protested, her voice rising slightly.

Jackass snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Uh-huh. Sure. But the longer you stay up here, refusing to talk to him because White's around, the more obvious that becomes."

Anemone's face flushed, her frustration bubbling over. "Fine! I'm going down there!" she snapped, standing abruptly. "But for White. Not for… whatever the hell E-drug you've clearly been taking."

Jackass grinned, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say. Oh, and—" her grin widened, her attention back into the distance. Synthetic teeth bit into her lips. "God, yes, pound that grid squad with missiles. Saturate it for mo-"

Anemone didn't dignify that with a response. She turned on her heel, storming off before Jackass could degrade herself any further.

+++

Smith lifted the glass of water to his lips, took a sip, then set it back on the table.

Before he could even exhale, it was refilled.

He froze, his lips thinning into a hard line.

"White." His voice had an edge to it. "What are you doing?"

White stood at attention beside him, her posture ramrod straight, a water container in her hands. Her face was unreadable, a picture of precision. "Assisting the Lieutenant-Colonel," she said simply.

Next to her, 2B and 1D hovered awkwardly, trays balanced in their hands. 2B's expression was unreadable, a mask of cool detachment, while 1D looked noticeably uncomfortable, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Smith ran a hand down his face. "I can pour my own water, you know," he said dryly, gesturing to the glass on the tray White had just placed down.

"You perform important functions as the Overseer, Lieutenant-Colonel," White replied, calm and efficient. "Fretting over mundane tasks lessens your efficiency."

Smith opened his mouth to retort, paused, then sighed. She wasn't wrong... but this? This was getting ridiculous.

The android Commander had shown up earlier, assuring him that he wouldn't need to worry about his safety under her watch. He still wasn't entirely sure how YoRHa androids fought, but judging by their fluidity and precision, they clearly possessed capabilities far beyond anything the Resistance could muster. Anemone had slipped away shortly after White's arrival, presumably to oversee the defenses.

Meanwhile, Smith was left here with... this.

"You girls are dismissed," Smith said, turning to 2B and 1D. His tone was firm but kind. "Just... leave the trays on that table over there."

"Yes, sir," 2B said without hesitation. She stepped forward, setting the tray down. Smith turned his head, suddenly finding the distant corner of the room very interesting. White's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but she remained silent.

"You two go ahead and relax," Smith added, smiling gently. "I'll call if I need you."

"Sir," 1D said with a quick nod. The pair began to leave, their movements perfectly synchronized—until they both stopped mid-step.

Turning in unison, 2B asked, her tone as flat as ever, "...How should we relax, Lieutenant-Colonel?"

Smith blinked. Then blinked again.

Oh my god, he thought. Did Monty Python write their code?

He suppressed a groan, rubbing his temples. "I don't know—watch a movie, eat something, bother Rossi, Fujikawa, or Cruz. Do whatever you want." He waved them off, tiredly.

The androids stared at him for a beat, then nodded. A sinking feeling settled in his chest. They were definitely going to take that far too literally.

"Was there something wrong, Lieutenant-Colonel?" White asked, tilting her head just slightly. "Did they displease you? I can have them punished, if you wish."

"Commander," Smith said, sighing. "Why are they here? They can fight, can't they? Having them do menial tasks like... like this is a waste of their talents." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Actually, why are you here? Don't you have people to command?"

White's tone didn't waver. "I have been ordered by the Council to ensure your needs are met."

Smith gave her a flat look.

She continued, undeterred. "I can command YoRHa from here as well. For operational cover, we've initiated a large-scale expedition to destroy machine assets in the region and secure key waterways. Additionally, we'll be establishing new facilities in this area to support both YoRHa and Resistance operations."

Smith leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "So... you're saying you're running a military campaign and playing maid at the same time?"

White nodded, entirely serious. "Correct." She then paused. "If it pleases you, I may convert my outfit to-"

Smith cut her off before she could speak. "Commander, you are an ally, not a servant. The United Nations doesn't need servitude—we need collaboration. We need people who walk alongside us, not beneath us. I want us to be equals, not... this."

"An android's duty is to serve, Lieutenant-Colonel," White replied, her voice firm, but there was a surprising intensity beneath her words. "Whether it's on the battlefield or in domestic matters."

"Still, you're not maids or butlers," Smith countered, leaning forward. "You're your own people, Commander."

White's gaze never wavered, her tone even. "...I choose this," she said simply.

Before Smith could respond, the doors swung open. Anemone marched in, her uniform dusted with sand, her expression sharp. She saluted Smith, her movements brisk, entirely ignoring White, who frowned at her entrance.

"Sir, a report from the surface," Anemone announced.

"Go ahead," Smith said, leaning in, his attention shifting.

"YoRHa is drawing too much heat on short notice," Anemone reported. "We're running the risk of the Machines escalating. They need to dial it back."

White stepped forward, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "YoRHa is ensuring the region is cleared of all possible threats, Colonel. Something the Resistance failed to do in the first place."

Anemone's lips quivered, her fists clenching at her sides. "The Resistance survives on guile and small-unit tactics, Commander. We kept this bunker hidden, safe. But now you're broadcasting it to the entire region!"

"When the Machines are neutralized, there will be nothing left to threaten the bunker," White replied coolly, her composure unshaken.

"This is my sector! This is my-"

"Enough!" Smith barked, slamming his hand on the table. The sharp sound echoed in the room, silencing them both. Anemone stiffened, chastised. White bit her lip—a rare crack in her armor.

Smith pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back the headache creeping in. White turned to him, concern flashing in her eyes.

"Lieutenant-Colonel?" Anemone stepped forward, her tone softer now, tinged with worry.

Smith waved off their concern, exhaling sharply. "No arguing. I don't have time for it. White, is what Anemone's saying true?"

White straightened, her voice calm and measured again. "Yes, Lieutenant-Colonel. We are clearing the perimeter of Machines—not just units, but their watering holes, oil derricks, and larger hordes. It's a prudent strategy to empty the region before establishing bases."

Anemone stepped closer, her frustration simmering just below the surface. "But it makes the Machines curious. Why would YoRHa suddenly go all out in the desert? What could be so interesting here? Oh, I don't know—maybe a bunker full of humans! Does that ring a bell?"

White's eyes narrowed, her tone sharpening. "Our forces here are not at full strength. This is no grand offensive. It's more zealous than a standard operation, yes, but it's nothing out of the ordinary for a Descent mission."

Smith leaned back in his chair, watching the tension between the two women like a live wire sparking in the air. The more they argued, the clearer the root of the issue became: no matter how far civilization had fallen, rivalries between branches would never die.

"What are the chances the Machines retaliate?" Smith asked, cutting through the silence.

White turned to him, her voice as controlled as ever. "As my troops remain active, the Machines will focus their attention on the deep desert. Their pressure will be directed away from this location."

"You're betting a lot on that assumption," Anemone said, her voice low and biting.

Smith exhaled, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. He had thought his biggest concern to human life was a civilian getting mundane injuries, not having to be caught up in a war. But then again, they all made sure to adapt to whatever the hell would await them when they woke up.

"White, scale back your operations. Put your air assets on stand-by. I have to agree with Anemone. Secrecy will keep us safe, not force."

"Understood, Lieutenant-Colonel."

"Next time you plan something, I want you and Anemone hashing it out. Don't make decisions without consulting her, understood?"

White stiffened. Then, she nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You two are dismissed. Out."

"But-"

"I said out, Commander."

White took in a breath. "Sir."

​+++

"What do you think you're doing?" Anemone demanded, her tone sharp and unyielding.

White met her glare with a calm, steady gaze. "Performing my duty."

"Your 'duty' is going to bring the Machines here, White," Anemone snapped, the words laced with frustration. "Every time YoRHa interferes, you make things worse for us."

White's expression remained composed, though a flicker of irritation crossed her eyes. "What is this really about?" she asked, her tone measured but cutting. "Hm? Are you trying to gain his approval? His protection? Or are you simply trying to control him?"

Anemone stiffened, her jaw tightening. "Don't twist this around. I'm protecting my sector. That's my responsibility—not yours."

For a moment, neither broke eye contact. Then White spoke again, her voice edged with steel. "I am performing my assigned tasks. Nothing more. But you…" She tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing. "You act as if you have some kind of… monopoly on him."

Anemone's fists clenched at her sides. "I am the Commander of this sector," she growled. "You have no right to undermine that."

White's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. She took a step forward, her tone soft but deliberate. "You're claiming him."

Anemone froze. The words struck like a blade. Her eyes darted away, though her voice was quick to retaliate. "Don't be ridiculous."

"But it's true, isn't it?" White pressed, her voice smooth yet unyielding. "You're using your authority as an excuse to keep him close. To keep him… yours."

Anemone's gaze snapped back, her eyes blazing. "You can't be trusted."

White's smile didn't waver. "Oh, but I can," she said evenly, her tone calm yet brimming with quiet confidence. "When the cause needed us, I didn't falter. I didn't hesitate. I gave us hope. And you? You clung to what was safe. Comfortable."

White stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper, though the weight of her words was undeniable. "That's why, Anemone, he will rely on me. Not you. You may have authority now, but I have what he needs—and I always will."

The air between them grew heavy, charged with unspoken truths and simmering tension.

White gave a small, conclusive nod. "So stay where you are. Cling to your comfort. But know this—he will be mine."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and strode away. Anemone's frown deepened. Then, she realized something. "You forget, White," Anemone smiled.

White halted. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Emotions are prohibited, no?"

She went still.

Anemone smiled. "Good luck with that, Commander."

+++

A/N: YoRHa has no chill. White is making moves to position herself as more valuable to the Lt-Col but Anemone has the freedom to actually act out her own desires. White doesn't or she'll be violating YoRHa's rules. All in all, going nicely. So who gets to be plowed by the DILF? We shall see.

Next update, 2B and her unfortunate partner for the day bother Rossi, Cruz, and Fujikawa, in that order.