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"Hmmm, a new development."
Sheathing her ivory blade with a sharp click, 72B crouched beside the wreckage of the machine she had just dismantled. Her gloved fingers sifted through tangled metal and frayed wiring, brows furrowing as she searched. The remains still sparked, convulsing in flickering remnants of motion. "The machines here are often reported to be hostile. Unthinking... And attack without hesitation." She paused, tilting her head slightly. "But never reported to speak. That is… new."
Rising to her feet, she cast a wary glance across the ruins. Crumbling structures loomed, rusted beams jutting like fractured bones. A wasteland, barren and cold, save for the hollow wind and scattered remnants of the machines she just destroyed. Could there be a new factory producing them? One operating under our radar?
"... The Commander’s intel was correct." 72B finally concluded. "Something bigger is happening here."
She turns to face her companion only to be met with an empty space, 44S nowhere to be seen. So I was talking to myself again, then. The Commander had assigned her a Scanner unit for this mission to investigate the area. Even though 72B functioned with peak efficiency both independently and in squad-based formations, the skillset to access a database and hack was beyond her capabilities. But a mixed-model unit? She was… less certain. Unused to it. Regardless, she thought, adjusting her stance. Orders are orders. Investigations like these required a Scanner’s precision. Even if her current one had the frustrating tendency to wander.
Before she could lose herself in her own contemplation, a sharp mechanical chime interrupted her thoughts.
"Alert: Hostile machine lifeforms detected."
72B’s muscles tensed.
"Analysis: Multiple enemy signals approaching from the northeast quadrant. Estimated engagement in 12.4 seconds. Advisory: Prepare for immediate combat. Enemy threat level—moderate."
"Hm." She grit her teeth, fingers tightening around the hilt of her claymore. He said the area was clear, yet here we are. "Pod-"
Before the command could leave her lips, a heavy impact sent a tremor through her arms. She barely managed to brace against it, blade locked against the crushing force of a machine’s rusted limb. Sparks erupted as metal ground against metal.
"Damn-!" With a sharp breath, she drove her boot into the machine’s frame, forcing it back just enough to swing a clean arc. The machine staggered, twitching in stuttering protest as its arm fell away, clattering to the ground.
"Pod, where is 44S? I need his assistance!"
A pause. A flicker of static as Pod registers her words.
"Scanning... Initiating search protocol for YoRHa unit..."
72B’s breath caught.
"No black box detected."
She hisses between her teeth, exasperated by what she's hearing.
"Expanding search radius... No YoRHa unit signal within operational range."
Her grip tightened, sighing uneasily through her nose.
"... Figures."
The machine before her twitched again. Gears whining as it moved. And in the distance, the sound of more approaching.
72B exhaled and raised her blade. Fine. She'll do this her way.
The machine lurched, the sound of grinding steel echoing in the empty space as its severed limb continued to spark wildly as it recalibrated. Its optics flickered, red light blinking and stuttering as if attempting to process the damage. Before 72B could advance, more figures emerged from the ruins—thin silhouettes moving in unnatural synchronization, their metal joints screeching with every step. Four… no, five more incoming.
She bit her lip as she adjusted her stance. The claymore felt solid in her grasp, its familiar weight an anchor against the chaos. She was used to this, built and made for this. And she would be ready to meet them. The moment stretched, silent but for the whir of her Pod hovering beside her, awaiting further input.
Then, all at once.
The first machine lunged.
72B twisted, slamming her heel against her blade for momentum, the blade carving through the air and cleaving through its frame, sparks and fluid spraying outward. She flipped backward, pivoting just in time to parry another strike - then another. Her body moved in tandem with the maddening flow of combat, deflecting blow after blow, each strike met with a calculated block or counter. In this moment, she only focused on the sound of ringing steel.
One. Two. Three.
With that, she disposed of the machines in swift succession, with two remaining on the field.
She adjusted her grip, her claymore gleaming in the cold light.
They’re aggressive. More than usual. Why-
A flicker in her peripheral vision. A machine reared back, its core glowing, ready to charge an energy blast at her direction.
Too close.
72B gritted her teeth. No time to reposition. She braced herself for impact - until the machine’s head burst apart in a spray of dark oil.
She barely had time to process the sudden destruction before the machine crumpled, a clean hole punched straight through its core. A long-range shot. Pinpoint accuracy.
72B exhaled, watching as the last enemy jerked in confusion. It twitched, its red glare darting toward the ruins, above, around it—seeking something unseen—before its chest caved inward from a final, precise round.
Silence.
A figure stepped into view, perched atop the skeletal remains of a collapsed building. Their silhouette stood against the ashen sky, rifle still aimed, the barrel trailing faint wisps of heat. 44S. 72B narrowed her eyes as the pieces clicked into place.
That was no standard Scanner rifle. And those shots—too precise, too powerful. Stealth approach. Extreme range. Single, efficient kills. She watched from afar as he lowered his weapon, his visor catching the light.
"Apologies for the delay," his voice crackled through the comms, calm. Unbothered. "I had to find a proper vantage point."
72B's grip on her claymore tightened. Stealth capabilities. Black box undetectable. A rifle designed for assassination.
"…You’re not a Scanner." It wasn’t a question.
"No," 44S admitted. "No, I’m not."
Her jaw tightened, tension threading through her frame in silent seething. She wasn’t sure what to make of this - of him. Of what had just unfolded before her. A Scanner who isn’t a Scanner. A black box that doesn’t register. A rifle built for killing, not for reconnaissance.
How was she supposed to react? In fact, she wanted answers. She needed answers or some sort of explanation from Command. But no, not now. Not here. Mission first. Everything else later.
72B watched wordlessly as 44S made his way toward her, stepping carefully over the remnants of the machines he had shot down. He moved with purpose, with calculated care - like a soldier with nothing to hide. She wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe this was just another deception, another one of the Commander's endless contingencies.
Because the alternative - the thought that she was standing beside something far beyond her clearance - was far worse.
She had heard the whispers before. Of Executors. YoRHa operatives hidden in plain sight, assigned to carry out the Commander’s more delicate orders. Suppressing information. Eliminating problems before they could spread. Silent enforcers to keep the army from turning against itself.
Was that what he was?
Was she next?
72B turned her head at the flicker of movement at the edge of her vision, watching as 44S fall into step beside her, adjusting his rifle with practiced ease. She could feel his gaze, studying her reaction, searching for something unreadable behind her visor.
"72B-"
She raised her hand. No, she was not having it. Not after this revelation. "The city is up ahead. I want you to take a more careful sweep of the area." Her tone was cold, rigid. "You failed to detect the six machines that engaged me. Make it thorough."
A pause. A brief hum of static between them.
44S nodded, uneasily, as he stowed his weapon. "Understood."
72B exhaled, turning away before she could second-guess her own restraint. Mission first. Everything else later.