Cold, Dizzy

Routes A/B

Chapter I: Prologue 1

9S

I'm hanging out.

Humans did this to pass time when they had nothing else to do. The concept of boredom is one I experience now and then, but not often. It's a rarity . . . considering how much crap the commander has for me to do. She's a total slave driver.

Still. If, on a rare occasion, I do have time to myself: I tend to do work-related stuff anyway.

I don't know how much time I've spent sneaking up on machine life forms. I can hack my way inside of them, but controlling them isn't easy, especially since they're all so varied and the techniques to understand their algorithms tend to change, not just model to model, but with time, almost as if they adapt in order to—

Right.

It's about time for the mission to start.

I'm hanging out but the enemy is near. In particular, a standard small stubby in front of me is attempting to revive another machine. The unresponsive machine is a medium biped model the former machine calls its "brother". It's cute, in a sad sort of way.

It struggles its way around the lower platform. If machine lifeforms were smarter, they'd recognise their ability to blend in with the environment. This world is full of scraps, and in particular, this factory is covered in machine lifeforms that are no longer operational.

I'm a YoHRa unit and I'm supposed to kill this machine. It's just waddling around in plain daylight, not bothering to utilize the fact that it's a similar colour to its surroundings. Its rusted. So are its surroundings. There are also machine bodies littered all around it.

The opportunity is right there. It couldn't possibly be in a more convenient setting.

It's frustrating to watch. And, yeah. A little sad.

But it doesn't notice me, so I don't attack. It's busy pretending it has a brother. Where did it even hear about a concept like that?

Machines are peculiar, but most of all they are repetitive. And this one's fixating on something it must've heard once, years ago—perhaps thousands of years ago—and now it babbles nonsense.

It can't possibly think it has a brother.

Familial concepts are beyond its motor processing.

Still, all the same, this machine's pretty much harmless. Picking it off from above like a crow isn't really my thing. Though maybe I could hack into it and see what's what?

It's functioning in an odd way, after all. It has found itself some oil and has gotten a bucket to carry it.

Pretty unusual. Unnecessary behaviour for a machine that is made only to kill androids.

I lean my head on Pod 153, my tactical support unit, since it has been bobbing around my ear for some time.

How do small stubbies stand getting around? They are so slow.

And it's going even slower, trying not to spill. So it has the logical capabilities to know how to control its own speed in order to prevent liquid from spilling. Likely, this knowledge—if I can even call it that—was developed for combat. Sneaking up on the enemy and all that.

Machines are fascinating.

"Proposal: Unit 9S should destroy the machine life form below." My pod startles me out of my thoughts. Its voice—feminine and pleasant—vibrates in my skull since it's pressed against me.

I move my head off it. "You think so? It's kinda just toddling around."

"Machines are the enemy."

I guess I shouldn't find the enemy amusing. But in order to better kill machine life forms, I have to know how they work. Exactly how they work. Gathering intel is the primary job of an S model, after all, and in that class, I'm one of the best—if not the best.

"Pod. I'm going to analyse it." If it's going to die, I should at least get information from it.

"Affirmative."

Pod 153 projects a screen for me to gather the enemy's information. I hover the screen in front of me, aimed at the small machine, which is now pouring the oil over the larger machine.

It really is trying to revive the other machine with that?

"Doesn't matter how much oil you give him, little guy. You can't make a machine your brother." If it wasn't the enemy, and it wouldn't start flailing those stupid arms at me as soon as I came close, I'd consider asking it how it proposes to make another machine familial to it—and why.

But I know it's just spouting random crap.

A sound, distant and familiar, makes me pause my analysis.

In the sky, past the greying clouds. From over my shoulder, the vapour trails in the air are like silver linings.

Arial units. The YoHRa squadron is here.

"Well, looks like it's time." I close the scanner and get to my feet.

Pod 153 hovers near me. The signal of an incoming transmission sounds as I stretch into the air.

"Operator 21O to 9S. Come in, 9S." My operator's voice is clear. Transmission seems smooth and in order, so that's good. Sometimes the enemy tries to block our signals but there doesn't seem to be any machine life forms in the area like that.

I tug my gloves on tighter. "9S here. Go ahead."

"The YoHRa troops have commenced their descent." Her voice is collected as usual. "Disable the enemy base's defense systems immediately."

"Roger that!" I kick the ladder at my feet and it dislodges. My flight unit Ho229 is waiting for me at the base of the ladder.

"Query: Does 9S understand the details of the mission?" Pod 153 asks.

"I sure do."

"Unit 9S possesses unwavering nonchalance even when alone in the enemy's base."

I descend the ladder. "Not unwavering courage or unwavering gallantry, but unwavering nonchalance? Pod, really?"

"It is unusual. All YoHRa models are equipped to feel fear for their own safety."

"Yeah? Being in the middle of enemy territory is my job, remember?" I check the settings on my flight unit to make sure I have full range of motion and weaponry. My pod is right to be a little concerned. I've found a safe pocket to wait out at, but once I'm in the air I'm gonna get swarmed by pesky small flyer machines. They are such a pain. "The 'S' refers to scanner, sure, but it could also be for scout or even espionage, which is really what I do anyway." I keep my voice lighthearted, out of habit. "Besides, haven't you noticed, Pod? I'm nimble as hell."

"Unit 9S is also modest."

"Since when did you become capable of sarcasm? Successful sarcasm, at that?" Everything seems green for my flight unit.

"Since the beginning of our partnership, 9S. It would seem the personality storage area of a pod is malleable, and it turns out you have an influential personality."

"Don't report that to the commander. She may do a full data overhaul on you—and then who would I joke with? Certainly not Operator 21O. Nope. I'll never laugh again."

"Unit 9S is quite melodramatic within enemy lines."

Well, joking with my pod is still a bit hit or miss. Oh, well.

I step inside my flight unit and take a breath.

"Pod, the YoHRa units I'll be supporting—have I worked with any of them before?"

"Unit 9S has had previous operations with units 2B and 4B of this YoHRa squadron."

"Oh, yeah. I worked with 4B during the last mission. Can't recall 2B, though."

Pod 153 begins double checking the flight unit's settings without being prompted. I should've offered the prompt. I guess having a support unit for a support unit isn't all that bad.

"It was perhaps a long time ago," Pod 153 says.

"Ah, makes sense."

My pod finishes the check. "Caution: Unit 9S's pulse is increasing."

"Yeah. It always does that before a mission."

"Affirmative."

2B

Prior to the mission, 11B told me if I was to return to headquarters alive, to tell 16D she was sorry.

It was like 11B already knew what would happen.

There were six units assigned to this mission. The YoHRa squadron led by Unit 1D has been obliterated—aside from me.

I survived. I've become excellent at surviving.

The enemy knew we were coming. Their anti-air defenses were nothing much, likely due to the work of an S model, but there was something else. Something merciless. Our flight units were taken down one by one, picked off like a game.

It wasn't like anything I'd seen before.

Our target—my target—is a goliath class machine life form. Is it possible the target was solely responsible for the decimation of the squad? How can one machine aim through the fog like that? It clearly was not relying on visuals.

I've assumed captain's duties because there's no one else left.

There's no one to command. I suppose this makes things . . . easier.

For now.

Operator 6O did give me orders to rendevous with unit 9S.

It's an order I know I have to follow. It's an order I want to follow, despite everything.

So he was to be apart of this mission, too.

I sigh.

Around me, the bodies of the machine life forms I've encountered upon landing are scattered about. There are more bodies here than the ones I've killed, but I've added to the count.

It's like a junkyard. That's all that lies around me. Junk that was once animated, and junk that needs to die.

I flex my hands and let my weapons float behind me for now. Something tells me I'll be doing a lot more killing than this, but I've at least cleared this section. I'm in the centre of enemy lines, and I'm alone.

This is how I'm used to it for the most part. At least, lately.

My pod, Pod 042, seems to have calmed down after the commotion. "Query: Why did unit 2B break through a wall in order to get to the enemy?"

"It was the only way."

"This pod has suspicions about that."

I hesitate. "It was the quickest way."

"Serious damage could have resulted. This pod cautions unit 2B to proceed with more care from now on."

"I'll consider it."

The factory is dark.

Operator 6O instructed me, in her usual chipper manner, to find 9S and gather information on the terrain of this factory.

It's a bleak, rusty place. It smells of oil and metal. It stirs something innate in me. Likely, the urge to kill the ones responsible for the odour.

I run my way through corridor after corridor, through a facility that is only kept running by those damned machine life forms, on autopilot rather than will.

Mindless and relentless, machines are the worst kind of enemy. They can't be reasoned with and they can't be stopped.

Pod 042 zips along behind me, keeping up. It provides me backup firepower, but as I am equipped as a battle class unit, it's not usually necessary. Still, any support is appreciated, especially when things get hectic.

My sensors go haywire for a moment, and instinct has me dodge.

The wall to my left shatters open with a force I can't fathom.

I roll out of the way and get to my feet in the next instant.

"Is that our target?"

It's like an arm. A giant machine arm with a buzz saw. Machines come in all shapes and forms—after all, their builds are limitless—but this is just irritating.

It jabs at me again, the buzzing maddening.

"Negative," Pod 042 informs me. "This enemy is unrelated. Proposal: Dispatch it as swiftly as possible."

"You don't say."

This isn't the machine that took out the squadron. It doesn't have any form of long range lasers attached. Being large and sharp are its only weapons—and that really isn't concerning to me.

My small sword materializes in my hands and I attack. Pod 042 provides firing support, darting around here and there to avoid getting clobbered by the wild movements of the machine. It spins, a vortex of blades and chaos, and whenever it pauses, I find the opening.

My arms shake and my hands go numb. It's all apart of battle. It's all apart of YoHRa's cause. What we fight for, and what we die for.

How many battles has it been for something like this to become only a nuisance?

I fight, mostly on instinct, because battles like this have become so ingrained in me. Without fighting, I'd be lost. I'd be itching, writhing, wanting.

It's a certain high. The way my hands move on their own. The way my boots touch the ground when I leap back and forth. The way my head rattles with the sound of that saw and the firing of my pod, and—

For a moment, I'm lost.

The machine reels back, ready to slam down on me. I'm ready for it—I always am—but a new light erupts.

Explosions, white and red and angry, but somehow incandescent as hope.

A series of them obliterate the machine arm. I get out of the way as the dislodged saw rolls past me, and the unit responsible for the assist clears the fog they created from their attack.

Unit 9S is in a flight unit. So he found me.

The tendrils of fog dissipate around us as he descends, still latched into the flight unit, but getting close enough for us to speak without shouting.

"Better make sure he's actually dead next time," 9S says. "That was dangerous, ma'am."

I'm not sure if I was about to die. That's how battles go in most cases. You just die. You don't see it coming, and you're gone.

As far as I knew, I'd had it all under control.

It doesn't matter now.

9S has found me. We've rendezvoused. Part one of my mission is complete, and in some ways, this is the hardest part.

He hovers in front of me, locked in the flight unit, arms hidden. He looks almost sacrificial, and seeing an android inside the flight unit is an oddly defenseless sight.

"You're 2B, right?"

Or maybe it's just 9S that's defenseless.

"My name's 9S." His voice is young and calm. "I'm here to provide support." There has always been something lulling about it.

"Copy that."

He gives a little smile. "So, was that big ol' buzz saw the goliath you came here to take out?"

"No. Just another defensive system."

His smile flickers. "Oh. Well, uh, I guess we have to find the target then, huh?" He rolls his head from side to side. "I've got a flight unit, so I'll take a look around the perimeter."

"All right." I turn away. "I'll work my way inside from the ground."

I hear him leave as I step my way through the rubble created from the battle. He vanishes as quick as he came. If not for the flight unit, he would be following behind me, watching my back, on my heels.

Unit 042 follows me close. "Unit 9S."

"What about him?"

"Unit 2B has not been partnered with this unit in quite some time."

"Yes, it has been a while."

To see him now, he is the same, and yet he is entirely different.

And as I scour through the factory, 9S transmits to me intermittently—common for support units such as him, who give updates as needed—and yet 9S does it in a different way than other S models.

"2B? Uh, ma'am?" He proceeds like an uncertain child.

"What is it?"

"I was going to send you the map data I collected earlier."

"Do it."

Timid and oddly shy—often, he acts in a way which YoHRa units have no benefit from.

But he is always helpful.

I carry on through the factory. Machines lay in wait, in the darker corners of the interior and on the walkways outside. They are everywhere, crowded and unified in groups. They drop from seemingly nowhere. Do they think they are the ones on the hunt?

I cut through them, entering the familiar frenzy. Hacking away, slashing and winding my way through. I create a carnage, a mess of machine body parts, slamming one machine into another, until they all stop moving.

When I am unoccupied, 9S speaks again. As if watching me, knowing when I have a free moment.

"You know, ma'am, I'm glad you're here."

"Why?"

"Scanners like me mostly work alone. Scouting out enemy lines and all that?" His voice has risen—he is clearly content to be able to speak to someone. "I don't usually get a partner. It's kinda fun!"

"Emotions are prohibited."

He gives a sharp inhale. "Sorry, ma'am!"

"And another thing. Stop calling me 'ma'am'."

"Huh?"

"It's unnecessary."

The jocosity is back in his voice. "All right, then. 2B it is!"

I cut the channel and proceed.

Neither of us have addressed the fallen squadron I was apart of. It must be on his mind, but he knows now is not the time to bring it up.

It won't provide any new information anyway. His operator would've already told him the details. And besides, we both know the thing responsible for taking out the squadron is the goliath class we are searching for.

Pod 042 speaks, but only so I can hear—in case 9S is still tapped in despite me ending the transmission. "Observing unit 2B's interactions with unit 9S, it appears unit 2B would rather face a colossal machine than rendezvous with this particular unit."

"Pod, is this relevant to our mission?" Do I have to berate everything around me, all the time?

"It affects your emotional regulation capabilities."

"It will be fine."

Standard small flyers have gathered. I move out of the way of their projectiles, bee-lining until I can pierce my sword through them. As another wave of enemies come, I switch to my heavy sword and time my attacks to get most of them at once. It's heavy, harder to use, but the satisfaction of slicing through a horde of machines is well worth it.

The machines stumble into one another in a confused frenzy. I don't stop attacking. Machines aren't the only things that can be relentless.

I don't stop until there is only a pile of dead machines. I take in a deep breath and then continue.

The air in the factory is becoming more hot. After running through a place like this, I'm going to need a maintenance check.

As a support unit, 9S specialises in maintenance. Will 9S be assigned to me? Will he be the one doing checks on me again?

Pod 042 lingers around my right shoulder. "Unit 2B's heart rate has accelerated beyond normal battle conditions."

"I'm in the middle of a furnace."

"Noted."

I carry on.

In the distance, the glowing red eyes of more machines hover.

There's never any end to them.

I adjust my visor. "This place sure is big."

9S homes in. "I guess humans used to use it as a weapons factory, but now it's just crawling with machines."

Crawling with machines is exactly right. This place is filthy.

"The enemy seems to have re-purposed the facility to increase their overall machine production." He sounds fascinated, but also wry—it's so familiar it makes me want to shut the channel again.

Instead, I say, "So if we don't destroy it, they'll just keep coming."

"Exactly. Though that's how machines work in general. Their strength is in their numbers, especially for the small stubbies and bipedal units. My operator, wise and beautiful is she, put it well: machines aren't unlike insects. They—"

"9S?"

"Ah, yeah?"

"Trying to focus, here."

"Right. Sorry!"

I engage with the machines, spinning my way through them. My shoulders and back ache, but it's a pain I'm used to and it's a pain I can tolerate. It's how I'm made. To keep going, no matter what. I'm designed to die as efficiently as I'm designed to kill.

I make my way through this wave and once I'm finished, I run down a set of stairs. I come to a room filled with walkways and lava. It's hot and dense and I grimace as I dart my way down the paths.

A recording blasts from speakers somewhere. It's so unexpected I come to a stop.

My voice leaves me, wistful: "What?"

9S is quick to speak. "It's just accessing random, nonsensical data from the old world. There's no actual meaning behind anything machines do."

The voice carries on through the speakers, until it finally ends with the message: "Thank-you for another day of hard work."

Ignore it, 9S said. Nonsense.

Why are machines this way? So inherently frustrating?

An impossible enemy.

But I drown myself in them, day after day.

9S crackles back on. "So, there's even lava in this facility, huh?" He can't seem to hold back.

"What about it?"

"Humans used to produce bricks and other materials from lava-powered factories. Not to mention, they extracted minerals for more uses. It could also generate electricity for them. You know, if humans return—"

"9S."

"Oh, yeah. I'm done."

I leap down to a lower floor and then pass through to another room. The air here is different. Lighter and cooler. I must be near the exit.

More machines, these ones with armour covering their compartmentalized frames. My pod advises me of them, and that it is unable to damage the enemies unless I shatter their shields. I do. I've met machines like this before—the ones who think—is think the correct word?—to arm themselves with a shield.

When it comes to battle tactics, machines are eerily adaptable. Everything else, however, suffers. They are just programmed the way they are programmed, to ensure all androids are wiped off the face of the earth, and that is all.

I slice through them, my breathing hitching.

Another wave down.

I step over their bodies with an aggravated sigh.

Pod 042 hovers in front of me, but does not speak.

I step through the next door, and finally—finally, I am rewarded with the outside air.

But if I'm outside and I've explored every possible corner I had access to in the factory, then where—?

I walk a little ways, around a red catwalk, and connect to 9S. "I've surveyed the entire factory but couldn't find anything resembling our target."

He sounds apprehensive. "Maybe they, I don't know, moved it somewhere?"

That's unlikely, and we both know it.

Especially since something took down the squadron I'd been apart of. Whatever that thing is, it didn't flee. With that much attack power, it would have no reason to.

I run along the catwalk until I reach the other side of this structure. Before I descend, a flurry of movement startles me. Wing beats pulse through the air, and birds—white like pearls, dreamlike against such a harsh reality—are taking flight.

"Is that—?"

"You mean the birds?" 9S says. "Yeah, there's more plants and animals here than there used to be. Probably because the environment's changed."

Ahead, the sea spreads out. It's white fog, endless, stitching the ocean and sky together. It's a cloudy day, but the factory behind me is spouting smoke and smog high into the air. The birds disappear behind the blend.

It's dreary.

It's quiet.

I stand, feeling suspended somehow, like whatever I stand on beneath my boots is an illusion.

Should I ask 9S about any signs of machines?

Of course not. If he could sense them, he would've already notified me.

I run along the provided path. It stretches out into the mist.

9S comes in. "There should be another facility across that bridge. It's a bit of a hike, but should we check it out?" He pauses. "It's not like command to get a location wrong. I guess even they get bad intel from time to time, huh?"

I walk for a while longer, and then falter.

Something isn't right.

Usually, machines attack nonstop. They've been pestering me during this whole mission.

Why are they scarce now?

My target has to be here. The YoHRa squadron was not wiped out by something small and scared.

"Hmm," I say. "I wouldn't bet on that."

Movement—gears grinding and the screeching of metal—assembles around me.

On either side, two long machine arms with buzz saws attached have begun to move. More colossal weapons. The fog is so thick, they'd been difficult to detect—not to mention, they'd been still as if they were dead.

Machine life forms, playing dead?

I've already fought one of these. I can handle two.

Pod 042 readies for attack. "Alert: High-powered jamming detected. No response from long-range communications."

I've lost communication with 9S.

I'm on my own, again.

And that's just fine.

A/N: Hurray! I've finally let my love for this game consume me entirely.

BTW: Why doesn't Nier: Automata have its own section on FF? It's a totally different game than the original!

Anyway, this is going to be a retelling of Automata, all routes, with perspectives from all three main characters—and maybe others as little bonuses. While it's going to be faithful to the original, there will be LOTS added, especially once things get rolling and our characters are on earth and I don't have to stick to each scene in consecutive order (like the prologue is kinda hard to stray off or add anything here).

And since Automata is a pretty depressing experience overall, I've tried to make the characters a bit wry-humour-funnier (namely 2B because 9S is already pretty comical, at least, uh, at first) for some relief. I'l also be adding more A2 because her in-game screen time is scarce D: (and she's awesome.)

Let me know how you liked the first half of the prologue :)