Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 2

Ice.

The androids stood at the entrance of an old, weathered tunnel, their eyes drawn down a long, frost-covered driveway that disappeared into the distance. The air cut through them, a cruel, unyielding cold that turned every inhale into an effort, leaving the air to dissipate in misty clouds. The flicker of flashlights stirred the darkness, beams skimming over the frost-covered ground ahead. Beneath their feet, the earth cracked like old ice, treacherous and uneven, while snow lay thick in untouched drifts

Jackass dropped to a knee, her fingers digging into the snow. It wasn't like the snow she'd known—the crisp, sharp bite of the Alps, the cold weight of it as she'd slogged through in the European Theater. This snow, though... it clung to her skin, colder, as if it held something within it. Shards of ice caught her breath, and she frowned. This snow wasn't just frozen. It felt old, ancient, as if it whispered of things that had long been buried. Unnatural. The word slipped into her mind unbidden.

"Let's go," Anemone ordered, her voice sharp and commanding as she began walking forward, her boots crunching on the frozen ground. Each step she took seemed to crack the ice beneath her. The others followed, hesitant but resolute, while a few stayed behind to keep watch. Carolina, the heavy weapons specialist, her rifle slung across her chest, remained alert. Reaper, their best scout, stayed at the rear, his eyes constantly darting around. Pepper and Salt, rifles held tightly, looked around nervously. Devola and Popola walked silently, side by side, exchanging a quiet glance.

No one dared to speak. It was as though the weight of the frozen world around them had made even the air hold its breath. Each step felt like it might disturb something far older than themselves, something alive.

Anemone raised her flashlight, illuminating the shadowy outline of a truck ahead. "Truck ahead," she whispered, barely above a breath, her voice carrying the weight of the silence around them. Weapons were raised, and the group approached cautiously, moving like ghosts across the icy ground.

The truck was stark white, almost pristine, as though it had been frozen in time. Its metallic frame gleamed faintly in the flashlight's glow, unmarred by the decay of years, but there were strange marks on the back—scratches, as if something had scraped along it. Reaper moved to the driver's side with quiet urgency. His pulse thrummed in his ears, an instinctual tension building in his gut.

He peered inside, his hand hovering over his weapon. "Clear," he muttered, the word hanging in the cold air like a fragile breath.

"Nothing on the back either," Jackass noted, climbing atop the truck with a fluid, almost mechanical grace. She ran a hand over its frozen surface, as if searching for some hidden truth buried in the metal.

"Let's move on," Anemone said, exhaling a breath of relief she hadn't realized she was holding. They all took another step forward, but Devola stopped, her gaze locked onto something behind them.

Popola hadn't moved. Her eyes were fixed on the truck's side, where faded words were painted in stilted, hurried script.

"Popola, come on," Devola urged, her voice laced with quiet concern.

Popola blinked, her gaze unfocusing for a moment, as though she had just emerged from a fog. She nodded slowly, but her movements were distant, automatic, her mind still tangled in something she couldn't grasp. Her face was pale, drawn tight with concern.

"Sis?" Devola asked softly, her voice a hushed whisper. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure..." Popola murmured, her hand tightening around the straps of her pack. "I'm getting commands in my head, Dev." She turned her gaze to the dark horizon, her expression far away. "You feel it too, don't you?"

Devola's jaw clenched, and for a split second, the façade she wore faltered. A tangle of suppressed protocols clawed at the edges of her mind, like an itch that burrowed deeper with every passing second. The commands that echoed inside her head felt like an invasion—distant, cold, relentless. She fought to keep her face unreadable. "It's nothing," she muttered, her voice betraying her, tight and thin.

Popola didn't respond right away. She simply stared at the truck, her mind working through the conflict inside her. She could feel it too—whatever it was—just beyond the surface of her thoughts, pushing, urging.

"Reaps," Carolina called from behind, her voice thick with unease. "What do you think this place is?"

Reaper's voice was low, tinged with uncertainty. "I don't know, man. Feels like a bunker the Army of Humanity forgot."

It certainly felt that way. The air was too still. The place too... untouched. Like a forgotten chapter in history that had slipped through the cracks.

Carolina shifted uneasily, her rifle now cradled more tightly in her hands. "I don't like this place." 

"Up ahead!" Anemone's voice pierced through the silence again, sharp and clear. Immediately, weapons were raised, training on whatever lay ahead.

The group moved forward cautiously, the eerie quiet growing more pronounced as they passed the truck and ventured deeper into the abandoned space. They came upon an old motorpool. The motorpool was vast, its high ceilings barely visible in the dim light. Vehicles, once gleaming with purpose, were scattered haphazardly, now coated in thick layers of ice. Some were parked carelessly, some badly damaged, all of them forgotten in place. Their once-functional wheels were now frozen solid, their metal bodies warped by the unrelenting cold. Heavy machinery, parts, and tools lay scattered across the room, as though the place had been abandoned in the middle of some desperate operation.

A faint smell of oil and decay lingered in the air, but it was the absence of life that weighed most heavily on the space. The motorpool wasn't just abandoned—it was a mausoleum. Machines once brimming with purpose now lay dormant, entombed in layers of ice, their former vitality frozen in time. Anemone glanced around, then paused as her flashlight finally landed on something colorful. High above, a massive sky-blue banner hung, with a white globe and laurel leaves emblazoned on it. Jackass joined her, standing by her side, noting every detail for her memory storage.

Devola glanced over at Popola, who seemed lost in thought again, her brow furrowed in concentration. She, too, was hearing the same things—commands. They were both being pulled into something, but what? And why now?

"Stay alert," Anemone ordered, shaking her head. Her voice was low but firm as she moved forward, scanning the motorpool with a steady, practiced eye.

Devola scanned a vehicle—an old APC of sorts, crates thrown open, their contents spilling out. One crate caught her attention, and she moved closer. Rifles, dozens of them, stacked haphazardly. They looked like the AKs used by the resistance. She crouched and let her fingers hover over the cold metal, a chill ran through her—not from the temperature, but from a faint, unfamiliar energy that hummed beneath the surface.

Anemone's voice cut through. "We're setting up an outpost here. Devola, Popola, start clearing the area. Carolina, see if you can get the power running—" Her words fell flat, swallowed by the eerie silence around them.

Devola drowned out Anemone's words as she picked up one of the rifles.

It glowed red.

+++

Devola's fingers twitched, an involuntary shudder running through her as the rifle pulsed faintly in her grasp. She quickly set it back down, her heart pounding in her chest. The red glow flickered for a moment, then faded, but the unease lingered, heavy in the air. Her eyes darted to Anemone, who was already barking orders, her voice sharp with purpose.

Devola took in a breath, then set the rifle aside. Dropping their backpacks, they began pushing aside overturned barrels, dragging broken equipment into haphazard piles. The faint clink of metal and the scrape of crates across the concrete floor echoed through the cold space. Their movements were efficient, practiced. They cleared a small area near the back wall, where the frozen remnants of long-abandoned machinery lay like corpses of a forgotten age.

Carolina moved methodically to the central area, her rifle cradled carefully, eyes constantly sweeping the dim, frozen shadows. She knelt beside an old electrical panel, her fingers twitching as she tested switches. But, like everything else here, the power was dead. There was no spark, no hum of life. She muttered an oath under her breath, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Nothing," she said, rising to her feet, brushing snow from her coat.

Anemone gave a curt nod. "We make do," she said. "Set up lamps. Light what we can."

The others pulled small, battery-powered lamps from their packs, their beams weak and flickering in the vast, empty room. The lamps cast an eerie glow, offering little warmth against the bone-chilling cold. They set them up in a circle, their light throwing long shadows against the walls, dancing like ghosts. The flickering light only seemed to intensify the silence that surrounded them, each lamp a fragile beacon in the sea of cold darkness.

Devola's hands shook slightly as she moved broken crates aside, the red glow still burned into her mind's eye. The eerie hum that pulsed through the rifle lingered in the cold air, making each scrape of metal feel more intrusive, more unwelcome. She tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting back to that moment.

"Sis?" Popola's voice broke through. 

"The rifles," Devola muttered, turning to her sister. 

"What about them?" Popola asked. 

Devola simply stared and held out her palm. It glowed as power coursed through. Popola's eyes widened slightly. Her head snapped to the crates. 

As they worked, Jackass's eyes fell upon the crates Devola had touched. She approached, curious on the rifles inside. Jackass took the rifle in her hands, the weight familiar but unsettling. As she attached the magazine, it vibrated faintly, the hum growing stronger. She aimed at a far wall, her finger hovering over the trigger. Her breath caught, the tension between curiosity and caution thick in the air. She stopped herself before firing, her instincts screaming that this place wasn't ready for noise—not yet.

​Hesitantly, she set it aside, and made a note to try it out later. 

​Anemone watched, sitting on a crate. Protocol dictated that she alert her higher ups about this discovery. Looking back into her database, no such installations of the AoH existed. She would know. But, she hesitated. This place would be swarming with other androids, especially YoRHa, who would appropriate anything and everything inside, leaving little for them. If such was the case, she was going to get anything and everything useful inside before alerting White. 

'White,' her heart ached. The image of a smiling blonde flashed in her mind, her presence once a source of warmth. Quickly, she shoved it aside. There was no room for sentiment. Not now.

"So, we telling YoRHa about this?" Jackass's voice cut through. Anemone turned to her and shook her head. 

"And they will drain everything dry and leave scraps for us," she scoffed. 

"Ain't that the truth,'' Jackass muttered, her usual sarcasm veiled by the weight of the situation. She dropped her gear next to Anemone and leaned in slightly, her voice quieter. "So, we take what we can then tell them?" 

"Yes," Anemone nodded. "I am sure they'll be interested in this, items aside." 

This was clearly an old human facility. The ones at the moon would surely be interested in reclaiming bits and pieces of their history. The silence stretched on, thick and cold, until Jackass, sensing the weight of it all, cracked a grin. "Guess I'll have to put Archaeologist on my resume then," she said, her voice a touch lighter. Anemone didn't laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"You reckon we might get taken up top? Get to see them take these? This is a once in a lifetime find after all," Jackass said, gesturing around, her voice a touch hopeful. 

"I wouldn't count on it," Anemone said simply. Far too many times, they had done what was considered impossible and all they got for their labours were dispassionate announcements. Anemone pushed down the resentment in her stomach, letting it be replaced with shame instead. The planet was still under the sway of the machines. Who were they to get praise when the world still languished under the invader?

Her ears twitched as she heard Carolina approach, her expression a little too focused. "Anemone?" Her voice held an edge of curiosity, and Anemone looked up, already sensing something was off. "Reaper's found an elevator." 

"And? Without power, we won't be able to use that," Jackass scoffed, gesturing to the dark room.

"That's the thing," Carolina continued. "It works" 

​+++

One by one, they filed into the cramped elevator. The space shrank with each passing second, the walls closing in around them as the doors slid shut with an unsettling finality. A faint hum of machinery vibrated through the cold metal, growing louder in the tight, oppressive chamber. Then, with a jolt, the elevator lurched to life, its descent slow and smooth—too smooth, like it had been waiting for them.

The seconds stretched into what felt like hours. The air seemed to thicken, pressing in on Devola's chest, and with every floor that passed, the weight of the unknown grew heavier. Her pulse raced, a tight knot of anxiety gnawing at her gut. What was waiting below? A question she couldn't shake, but one that gnawed at her with growing certainty. Something had been waiting here a long time. For them.

The elevator shuddered to a sudden halt. A deafening metallic clank echoed through the shaft, followed by the agonizing groan of the sliding doors. They crept open with a reluctant squeal, revealing nothing but a vast, impenetrable darkness.

Boots scraped against the cold, concrete floor as they stepped into the facility—a cavernous underground labyrinth of steel and stone. The corridors stretched endlessly, their walls encrusted with a thick coat of frost, as if the place had been frozen in time. The air was heavy, stale, suffocating, with a faint smell of rust and something older—like machinery left to rot in the shadows of forgotten history.

Anemone had called them together. Volunteers had been needed. Before the words had even left her lips, Devola and Popola stepped forward without hesitation, their resolve as silent as it was unspoken. Jackass, her curiosity burning brighter than ever, didn't hesitate either. She grinned, her eyes wide with anticipation, greedily soaking in every inch of the eerie space around her.

They stood in what seemed to be an atrium—a reception area of some kind. Ahead of them, a long-forgotten desk lay buried beneath a thick blanket of snow, as if the entire building had been sleeping for centuries. The only sign of life was the flickering overhead lights, casting long, hollow shadows that danced across the room like fleeting ghosts.

Unable to keep quiet any longer, Jackass broke the silence. "What do you guys think is down here?" Her voice echoed off the walls, but it was met with nothing but the oppressive stillness of the space.

A moment passed. Then another. Jackass blinked in confusion, her gaze turning to the twins. But Devola and Popola were already walking ahead, moving with a fluidity, a confidence that unsettled her. It was as though they knew exactly where they were going. As if they'd been here before.

Jackass's eyes widened. "Oi! Where are you two going?"

The twins turned in perfect synchronization, their eyes briefly meeting Jackass's in a way that sent a chill crawling up her spine. Their expressions were unreadable, but there was something in their stillness—something deep and ancient. "Ahead," they spoke in flawless unison, as if the answer had already been written in some long-forgotten script. No hesitation, no emotion—just a certainty that made her feel, for a moment, that she was nothing more than a spectator in their quiet, unfathomable mission.

Jackass stood frozen for a beat, her heart pounding in her chest. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, she shook her head. "Don't leave me behind!" she called, catching up to them in a few quick strides. The mystery of this place was unfolding before them, and Jackass wasn't about to let the twins have all the fun.

The hallway before them stretched endlessly, the air heavy with an unsettling stillness. It was as though the walls themselves had been holding their breath for decades, waiting for something. Tables and papers were scattered haphazardly across the floor, overturned as if someone had fled in a hurry. Yet despite the wrongness of the place, the twins moved forward with unwavering determination. The winding paths, the forks in their way—nothing slowed their pace. They knew exactly where they were headed.

Normally, Jackass would never let herself be led by anyone—especially not another android. But as she followed them, something felt... right. Her core, her programming, it all aligned. It was as though this was where she was meant to be.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, each turn leading them deeper into the labyrinthine facility. The sound of their footsteps echoed unnervingly, swallowed by the oppressive silence that hung thick in the air. Jackass felt the weight of the place pressing on her chest, the darkness wrapping around her like a living thing. Every step felt heavier, as though the floor itself was reluctant to bear her weight.

They turned another corner, and there it was.

A metal door stood at the end of the hallway, cold and imposing, a heavy frozen sign above it barely visible through the thick ice. Cryo Unit 1. 

Cryo Unit 1.

Jackass's programming latched onto the word Cryo. Freezing. But what could this facility be freezing, and why? The question echoed in her mind, growing heavier with each passing second.

She stole a glance at the twins, but their expressions remained unreadable, their calm demeanor in sharp contrast to the nervous excitement crawling up her spine. The twins separated, moving toward a pair of panels set into the wall. In unison, they placed their palms against the cold metal surface, their movements fluid, practiced.

Jackass's breath caught in her throat as a mechanical voice droned to life, hollow and detached. "Welcome, Administrators."

The sound of metal groaning reverberated through the room, sending a shiver down her spine. Ice rattled, as if the very walls were coming alive. With a sharp hiss, a door slid open, revealing a chamber that was even colder than the last. They stepped through the door, entering a vast chamber that stretched out before them, bathed in a cold, unnatural red glow. Their steps went upon a catwalk that seemed to strain at their weight. A dull light hung and Jackass beheld to rows upon rows of boxy machines, each one a towering monolith of gleaming steel and frost. The machines hummed with a low, constant pulse, the faint vibration radiating through the catwalk, making the air feel alive with some ancient, unseen force.

Inside each machine were shapes—distinct, yet still shrouded in a layer of ice. At first, it was difficult to make them out clearly. But as Jackass's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see the outlines more clearly. 

Her core nearly collapsed upon itself. Moving faster, she leapt down the catwalk, landing and cracking the ice underneath. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and approached. 

Jackass, like all androids, revered humanity. It was ingrained in their very core—the belief that mankind, the creators, were the pinnacle of existence. They were built to serve, to follow, to elevate humanity's legacy. There was no higher calling, no nobler pursuit than to ensure the survival and prosperity of those who had given them purpose. Their entire being was defined by this devotion, this single-minded devotion to a species that had shaped their every function.

But it was a cruel irony. After all their tireless years of service, after all the sacrifices, the endless tasks and missions, they had never once met a human face-to-face. Not a single one. Oh, they had heard the broadcasts, the messages, the faint echoes of a world long since fragmented. But those felt distant, almost hollow, like the faint sound of a bell ringing in the farthest reaches of a forgotten cavern. A reminder, yes, but never a presence.

Surely, after everything they had done, after enduring the endless cycles of war and conflict, they deserved more than mere acknowledgment. They deserved something tangible. Something real. The thought lingered in Jackass's mind, sharp and uncomfortable, like an itch she couldn't scratch.

​Her eyes fell on the first box and emotions threatened to break her. 

Silently, the Twins joined her, taking the steps down instead of hopping. Devola walked up, a single palm placed against cool glass. 

Inside was a shape, a man. He was naked and a breathing apparatus around his mouth. His skin was white, smooth, and muscled. He seemed to look a little bit older but still quite young. But to the androids, there was only one important thing that stood out to them. 

"Vitals, Green," Devola read, looking into a control panel. "Status..." 

​Jackass sucked in a breath. 

"...Alive." 

+++

A/N: More to come.