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She carries out the order with brutal efficiency, the first time. It’s her duty, and duty had quickly become her first love; a sense of purpose, no matter how morbid, was the one thing the world had allowed her, and she would cling to it until the machinery within her ribcage returned to the earth.
“I’m here to provide support”, 9S had said, blissful in his ignorance that his partner would be the one to cut his curiosity short, to stop him from learning things that mustn’t be known, knowledge that mustn’t be spoken. “My name’s 2B,” she’d replied, the lie easy on the tongue. She didn’t think Command would request action very often or very soon, but 2B had underestimated just how curious scanner models could truly be.
She carries out the order with brutal efficiency, the first time. It’s her duty, and without her to fulfill it, chaos would emerge from within the very fabric of YoRHa; that was something an android of her caliber could not allow.
“2B, look!” 9S calls out from his perch by the stream, Pod 153’s metallic body glistening with droplets of water. It’s been two months since she was assigned to him, and after completing a particularly problematic mission for the benefit of the Resistance Camp, she had duly agreed to take a break, as her partner had insisted on for days.
“Third one in a row! Don’t you wanna give it a try?” He beckons, glancing at where she stiffly sits under a plump tree’s shade.
“There’s no need for either of us to capture fish, much less for both of us to dedicate time to it.”
“Well, no-- but it’s not about it being necessary. It’s just fun! You should try relaxing, too. Come and sit with me?”
“I’m good.”
He pouts and busies himself with a fourth catch, the expectations he conjured when first assigned a partner obviously shattered by her cold demeanor. It’s tempting to give in to his antics sometimes, but she knows better than to compromise her mission. 9S is unnecessarily emotional, and the way he complains about work like that’s not the reason for their very existence can be exhilarating at times, but not as fascinating as it is to see him ramble and gush about the old world and all that once inhabited it, sharing his findings with her like they’re gifts. 9S values that knowledge, and offers it to her wrapped in excitement and tied with a giddy little bow, something precious he can’t help but share. Sometimes 2B wants nothing more than to accept it all, to soak it up like a sponge and join him in his small joys, content to know his eyes shimmer under his visor when he looks her way.
But she knows better.
She carries out the order with brutal efficiency, the first time. It’s her duty, and if someone said she stammered a little when the Commander told her it was time, they were most certainly lying.
“Man, I can’t wait to get back to the camp. I know you probably don’t want to-- but if you feel like reading the books I found earlier, when we get there, that’d be fine, you know,” 9S calls out, walking ahead of her, arms stretching over his head. “I’d like that, I think,” he adds, sheepish.
“I know,” 2B replies, and after a moment, “I would like that, too.”
9S looks back at her, and beams.
They were traversing a desolate, sandy area when she got the call, the sun beating down on them relentlessly.
The Commander’s pale face never lost its stoic expression, a polished mask of queenly dispassion through the entire conversation. Not like it lasted for long; a few blunt words and a curt nod was all she gave, and that was all 2B needed. Or so she thought the first time she was introduced to 9S, when he was a fellow soldier, a fellow android, but not-- nothing more than that. A comrade, at most.
But 2B knows this is her duty, and to fail at this would be to fail the Commander, and YoRHa itself-- in a way, if she failed to do this, it would be like failing 9S himself. Doesn’t he care for mankind as much as she does, and wishes for the machines’ downfall as much as she does? Doesn’t he believe in the Commander and the humans, ever patient on the moon, as much as she does? Wouldn’t he want this? Wouldn’t he? Since when did it matter, 2B thinks bitterly, hands balled into fists and eyes fixed on her partner a couple meters ahead. What does it matter, what we want or not? They all wanted to bring glory to mankind most of all. “Orders are orders,” 2B chides herself, unsheathing her blade and hastily catching up with 9S, and though the thought isn’t enough to soothe her, it’s all she has.
9S turns at the sound of her voice, words too faint to make out, and whatever it is that he asks is blown away by the longing wind. Virtuous Treaty’s blade pierces through skin, through machinery and wiring and maybe through his very soul too- 2B only knows that when it emerges behind his back it does so bathed in oil, dripping crimson.
He lets out a sound that’s not quite a gasp and not quite a sob; it is a quiet, mournful thing, and despite both their visors getting in the way, 2B knows his eyes are looking for hers. She meets them unyielding, the perfect image of discipline and obedience. She didn’t hesitate, pushing the sword in deeper. It’ll get easier, 2B thinks desperately, grasping at truths that can never be as her hand pulls the sword back. She didn’t even flinch. Fuck.
9S falls, like Icarus, like Lucifer, he falls, and 2B is there to catch him, body warm in her arms. Oil pours from the wound and soaks into his clothes, staining 2B’s chest with its dreadful hues. Virtuous Treaty clanks unceremoniously as it falls to the sunbaked stone beneath their feet, 2B’s hands clumsily looking for something to grasp, for something to hold, for something to do. Her hands were built to make use of weaponry, and her programming tells her to pay no mind to her wants, but 9S is messily dying in her arms and she wants nothing more than to--
What it is that she wants? She wants to comfort him, but what good would it do, even if she were any good at it? There’s no use in trying to repair him when the goal is for him to die, but 2B still finds herself hopelessly holding him close, cradling his head and struggling to hear the gentle humming of his body under her heavy breaths, the hardware struggling to keep itself alive. She didn’t even flinch. Is this--what she is? Who she is?
“It’ll get easier,” she whispers, first to herself and then to the body in her arms, but it never really does. And still 9S reaches up with the last of his strength and wipes the first tear off her cheek, eyelids heavy. 2B holds him tightly to her, the first time of many, and weeps.