AN: This is one of those fanfics that sprouted out of a 'what if' thought, in this case 'what if Data ended up in the world of Nier Automata'.

In terms of timelines, it is set a few years after the events of Nier Automata. It could really fit anywhere in the TNG timeline given the season is greater than 1.

001 Desert Region and Resistance Camp

11947 07 11 10:33:30 Satellite bases 10 and 11 detect an unidentified electromagnetic phenomena.

11947 07 11 10:34:15 Ground observation stations 145A, 145B, 149E, 149F and 151F observe a Flight Unit of unknown type entering the atmosphere and descending towards the surface.

11947 07 11 10:46:05 Counterattack by machine lifeforms begin. Flight Unit appears to have already sustained heavy damage upon re-entry. Critical damage due to machine lifeform attack calculated as highly likely.

11947 07 11 10:48:14 Resistance forces on the ground judge the Unidentified Flight Unit to be friendly and coordinate emergency operation in order to deactivate air defences from the ground.

11947 07 11 10:57:41 Ex-YoRHa units Nines and 2B successfully deactivate air defences.

11947 07 11 10:59:09 Unidentified Flight Unit lands in desert area.

Report: Active power source detected at predicted position of landing.

Recommendation: Find Unidentified Flight Unit and gather information.

As the initial report had suggested, the Flight Unit is of a type they have never seen before: 4.4 m wide, 2.7 m high, box-like with its smooth lines, metal hull, white paint littered with burn marks, a neat row of letters just visible on the side. Shuttlepod 07. U.S.S. Enterprise. A project or undertaking, especially a bold or complex one. The writing sits above a long, torn section of the hull, still crackling with white light and burnt black – likely a component has been knocked off. The energy source displayed by the visor as a glowing white sphere at the base of the Flight Unit is neither Android or Machine.

"Have you seen anything like this before?" Nines asks. They stand on the top of a sand dune 20 or so metres away, directly above where the Flight Unit has buried its head into the sand.

"No," 2B responds.

There is a stream of data signals emanating from the ship – the indication of an active communications system – and Nines leans a little of his consciousness towards decoding it. It is not difficult; a looped distress signal on various channels, mixed in with waves recognisable as short range scanners. The signal is strong enough to hack from this distance but Nines resists the temptation; he doesn't know what sort of defences or viruses he could run into in an unknown system. They cannot risk contamination.

Besides, there are more pressing issues.

Five machine lifeforms – small bipeds, armed with thick blades – surround the Flight Unit. Not the more intelligent type; they do not appear to be aware of anything other than their immediate surroundings and their attacks are haphazard as much as they are vigorous, pounding against the flight unit's egg shaped shield with no discernible plan. The shield is not faring well against the assault. Even in the few seconds that they stand watching, the shimmering white wall pushing back the machines noticeably decreases in strength.

Another, much fainter power source can be detected near the front of the Flight Unit, probably belonging to the owner of the transportation unit. It appears to have no wireless communication abilities, or it is not functioning, as Nines cannot detect an obvious route in.

"An android?" this time 2B asks. Or rather, she seeks confirmation of the information her inbuilt sensors and visor provides her.

"I dunno…" Nines says. Pod 153, apparently regarding this response as insufficient, chips in.

"Analysis: power source is the same type as androids but of an unknown variation. Recommendation: destroy machine lifeforms and make contact with pilot."

2B steps forwards and slides down the dune with a cloud of sand trailing behind her. Five machine lifeforms, especially here in the Desert Area don't require much thought to deal with but still, 2B's impulsiveness gets a smile and a you're not much for plans from Nines.

Within five metres of the nearest machine, they finally turn. 2B is ruthless in her first strike, using the momentum of her decent to smash Virtuous Treaty into the midsection of the machine lifeform closest to her. It buries itself deep within the metal plating with a clang and the machine staggers backwards, sparks flying out of its exposed circuitry. 2B follows by pulling her sword around and up, then straight down into the machine's head. It carves inwards and it takes another step backwards before exploding. Meanwhile, the pods have used their combined fire power to take down a second machine.

Nines is besides her after a few seconds delay. As 2B swings her sword towards the next target, he uses the enemies distraction to do a quick hack; he finds the defence system with practiced ease and shuts it down forcefully. This time 2B's sword slice straight through the machine, catching the arm of the fourth in the swing. 2B finishes it off with another strike from Virtuous Treaty.

The fifth and last machine lifeform runs. A babble of metallic words emanate from it. "Run." "Danger." "Hide."

Once, the two would have chased it down, but they attempt no such thing now.

"Can you shut down the shield?"

Nines takes a moment to assess the risk. The shield is probably a secondary system, not too deep that he would be at risk.

"I'll try," he says.

He pushes his consciousness into the Flight Units systems and finds himself in a neatly organised area – sub-systems carefully categorised and labelled, with a sort of pristineness which feels almost alien. Finding the defence systems is easy. There is a security wall, as expected, but it doesn't take long to break through. The shield is controlled by a fascinatingly complex system which seems to be made for fine tuning the frequency of the shield itself but Nines doesn't dwell long; he switches the shield off then makes his way out, unlocking the door while he is at it.

The door opens with a soft whoosh. 2B walks up to the entrance, her sword lowered but still in her hand.

The front part of the vessel is a small space, just big enough for two seats in front of a control panel, with ordered rows of coloured buttons flickering on and off erratically. Engine stats. Orange warning signs. Short range scanners. The panel on the near side it damaged, with a burnt hole in the middle where faint wisps of smoke are still rising. Wires stick out like the wispy tips of grass leaves, sending off white sparks every few seconds. In the chair directly in front of this, where a humanoid shape is slumped.

Short black hair, slicked backwards. White skin. Male, by Old World standards. Black and yellow outfit of a thin material made of some sort of bio-composite, battered and stained a murky brown. He is damaged; his right arm is missing, metal pipes and wires completely exposed, the side of his face is burnt, with artificial skin blacked to the point the plating underneath is showing and his torso is littered with more patches of burnt skin. It is not the physical damage that is worrying but his unnatural stillness as he sits, statue-like, in the chair with his head bent downwards. There is a high probability that his internal systems are compromised.

"Well… what should we do?" Nines says.

"We shouldn't stay here long," 2B says. "There'll be more machine lifeforms around."

"Recommendation: take pilot to Resistance Camp for repairs," pod 153 says.

2B stows her sword behind her back and reaches in to the Flight Unit. She tucks her arms underneath the android's body and picks him up, bridle style.

Nines is looking at the fallen machine lifeforms. Like the old clan that had been annihilated two years ago, they wear painted face masks and sand coloured cloaks.

"We should…"

"We'll come back to them… if their friends don't find them first," 2B says. For now, they have an android to save and for all their new-found ideology, their own kind always takes priority.

"Let's go."

-(o)_(o)-/

When they arrive at the Resistance Camp, they are greeted by a familiar black haired android, dressed in dark green and dusty brown, a long cloak hanging off her shoulders. Anemone looks at the two of them and the android in 2B's arms, then gives them a wry smile.

"I see you've brought a guest."

"His communication system is down. He needs repairs," Nines explains.

Anemone gestures behind her, towards the infirmary at the back of the camp.

"Take him in. I'll send someone round. Did you get the flight unit?"

"No, we'll go back for it once we've dropped him off."

The camp is two years old now and its chaotic set up has slowly been overwritten by a more coherent structure. Originally set up in one of the less damaged buildings of the City Ruins, close to the forest, it is arranged in a rough circle around the rectangular tower of concrete. It's expansion up to the walls of the neighbouring buildings (and into them for some parts) was a necessity but not without risk; the watch posts at the windows and roofs of the outside ring of buildings are scarcely populated. So the more vital parts of the Camp – infirmary, storeroom, communications room – are kept within the central tower, which can be barricaded as a second line of defence if necessary. The open area between the two walls, popularly known as the Marketplace, is littered with traders and craftsmen. A few give Nines and 2B a friendly gesture as they pass.

With the sun blocked by the thick concrete, the inside of the infirmary is both cool and significantly darker than outside. There are two rows of beds in an area sectioned off by white curtains. In the far end, an android is having their arm repaired by another resistance member.

2B sets the android in her arms down on the nearest bed. The yellow section of his clothes across the torso blends in with the mattress underneath him.

"What 'ave we here?"

The android who approaches them from behind is a tall, male with brown skin, bald, a black beard like a half-moon on the bottom of his face. His attire is casual – a loose yellow shirt across his wide shoulders and brown trousers, standard resistance issue – and there is a cheerful shine to his dark brown eyes. The two knew him as the Weapons Dealer before, though with the heavy casualties at the fall of the previous camp, he took to fixing bodies as well as blades.

"An electric burn on the left face. There might be damaged circuitry underneath. His wireless communications system is completely down," Nines explains.

Nines moves aside as the Weapons Dealer takes a step towards the unconscious android and leans forward, peering at the damage with a sharp gaze.

"Hmm… I'll have to open him up to see the full damage. He'll need a new eye," the Weapons Dealer says. Unlike the standard visual sensors, android eyes are notoriously difficult to manufacture, with fine movement required for each part and a thin film of liquid over the top requiring constant maintenance.

"Can you acquire one?" 2B asks.

"Sure," the Weapons Dealer says. "I have a few favours to collect. Give me a few hours and he'll be as good as new."

"Thank you," Nines says.

The Weapons Dealer waves it off with one hand and a twitch of his lips upwards to form a lopsided smile.

"No problem."

"Anything we can do to help?"

"Not really… although if you could collect some copper ore, that would be a real help. I'm running low."

Nines and 2B nod in affirmation. They leave the Weapons Dealer as he clicks open a panel on the side of the androids face, revealing a slightly charred row of components against some more alloy plating. Outside the sun beats down from a spotless blue sky, utterly calm in contrast to fiery chaos that had occurred as an unidentified flying object came crashing to the ground.

(# ^ . - #)

They move through the abandoned apartment blocks quickly, sensors on alert for any sign of machine lifeforms. Here, the machine lifeforms are less powerful but imaginative – hiding between the rocks, burrowing under the ground, always catching them by surprise. It doesn't help that the rusted metal of their outer casing blends in perfectly with the monotonous brown landscape. On the plus side, the machine lifeforms here are not as violent as the ones in the Forest region; as long as they avoid combat, it should remain quiet.

"Where do you think he's from?"

Nine's voice cuts through the soft whistle of the wind. 2B stumbles on some particularly slippery sand.

"I don't know."

A few machines have gathered around one of the blocks up ahead. 2B turns sharply right, heading for another path around the sunken buildings which avoids the group. Nines follows.

"I would say he's from an old mission but he came from the sky. It seems strange, doesn't it?"

"There's no point making deductions when we don't have enough information to make judgements."

They pass through a narrow gap between two windowless walls, before arriving at the open space which is the desert area. The brown landscape stretches out before them; rolling dunes of dust, topped by the tendrils of smoky clouds of sand whipped up by the wins. The air flickers and wavers in the harsh sunlight, causing the mountain landscape in the distance to shimmer.

"Over there," Nines.

A bright flash indicates a reflective surface a few hundred metres ahead of them. The ship appears to be untouched.

They slide down the first dune. Running up the second one is a little more effort but they manage it quickly. Another dune later, they are back to the ship half buried in the sand.

Although the damaged sections are no longer crackling with electricity, the extent of the damage is still clear, with the scorched holes in the outer casing gaping ominously as the wind pushes in the surrounding sand. The machine lifeforms they had destroyed have disappeared; probably taken in by their companions.

"Let's hurry," Nines says warily, as he scans the area for any unexpected visitors. A few dull areas of red are showing on his sensors, indicating machine lifeform presence. Not close enough to be an immediate concern but worrying nonetheless.

"Pod," 2B says.

Without further command, Pod 042 swivels around to face the ship. Nines quickly order Pod 153 to do the same. The area around the ship glows a deep yellow before the glowing rune circles burst into life – a ring of light in the place perpendicular to the axis of the space ship. 2B and Nines step back as the Pods inch backwards and the ship follows, pulled along by the magnetic field. Sand rushes down the slope to fill the newly made space, puffing into a clouds that catch their ankles as they walk carefully backwards.

The nose of the ship makes it out last, showing the black panes of glass at the front where the hull of the ship angles down to make a sharp point. Fully visible, the craftmanship on the vessel can be seen: 6 metres long, sleek and compact, fit for purpose with no extra parts.

"Let's go," 2B says.

The dull glow of machine lifeform presence pulses on their sensors. Nines' is conscious of his hands twitching towards the short range combat equipment on his back and the energy that buzzes through his body. Part of him still wants to let that red area catch up with them… It would be easy to dispatch of a few small bipeds… Smash through metal like butter. It a constant reminder of the programming that curls at his core, driving his instincts towards battle. Nines gives a light shake in the head as he focuses on angling the ship towards the City Ruins.

It's slow progress with the ship behind them, as they take care not to rush into narrow gaps where it could get stuck. By the time they return to the City ruins, the sun is high in the sky, beating down on the roughened terrain with relentless strength; the grass crackles and the hardened mud gives way much less than usual under their footfalls. Usually there would be a few moose grazing on the grass in the open areas between the buildings but in the heat of midday they have moved away to find shade. The temperature is hardly a problem for the two androids, especially as they are not engaged in heavy combat, but this does not stop Nines from dropping the odd complaint.

"It's just so stuffy," Nines grumbles as they take a shortcut across the roof of a partly sunken building.

"Temperature and humidity levels are well within normal parameters," 2B responds carelessly as they jump down from the roof and down to the clearing just outside the Resistance Camp. The Pods follow a little more slowly, levelling the ship carefully down as to not damage the already fragile hull. At the entrance, she pauses.

"We can collect resources from the Flooded City this afternoon." The Flooded City is cooler with the winds blowing in from the sea and Nines knows that she suggested it for his sake. There is a smile on his lips as he follows her in.

Anemone indicates one of the empty rooms in the outer part of the camp for the ship to be placed. The ship is a little bigger than the equipment they usually deal with and there is a tense moment as they try to fit it through the gap in the wall which acts as a door. However it goes in with a several millimetres to spare. Once inside the Pods set it down on the cracked concrete floor and then take their usual position at Nines and 2B's shoulders.

They return to the infirmary where the Weapons Dealer is bent over one of the computers besides the bed where the android lays. True to his word, the android has been fully repaired as far as the eye could see; artificial skin covering the previously burnt area seamlessly, damaged hair carefully cut away and extended, eye replaced. A single cable runs from the android's head circuitry to the computer, which displays a rapidly scrawling block of code.

Hearing them enter, the Weapons Dealer looks up.

"How's it going?" Nines asks. Through his visor, his gaze is fixed on the computer screen. It's a recognisable stream of information – communication protocols, transmission requests – but it's rare to see it in text like this.

"Well, I've fixed everything I can see and I don't think there's anything wrong with his hardware. He's just not waking up. I thought it might be a software problem so I tried to look inside, but this fella here doesn't have wireless communication capabilities. I've hooked him up to one of the computers and looking through the software now."

Nines lips part in a movement of surprise.

"I didn't know any androids types lacked wireless connection capabilities."

"Not in any of the current manufacturing lines. It used to be a feature in much older models – the best defence against long range virus attacks, you see, before they started sending viruses directly through weapon attacks," the Weapons Dealer explains.

The back of Nines' neck feels cold at the mention of the Logic Virus.

Nines eyes the computer, then the android. It would be much faster to hack into his system directly and fix it from the inside. Pod 153, observant as ever to Nines' intentions, speaks up.

"Warning: attempting hacking on unknown android type comes with risk of damage to consciousness data."

"What's life without a little risk?" Nines says.

He turns to the computer, raises his hands, palms out. Among the noise of communications crisscrossing the camp, he finds the closest route to the computer and lets his consciousness slip in. It's another step to the android's systems – deeper in than Nines is usually accustomed too – but the thin stream of sensory data from his physical body and Pod's presence, ghost-like by his shoulder, is a comforting life-line out.

It's quiet inside the android. A few antivirus programs pop into action as Nines presence is discovered and he temporarily freezes each one. It's a little more effort than simply destroying them but he doesn't want to cause permanent damage. If the defence system has anything else to throw at him, it doesn't do so immediately.

Taking no chances, Nines slips around with care, making sure he doesn't disturb anything. With a little more exploring, he finds monotone expanse of space which indicates a memory region. Here he finds the problem; chunks of missing data, presumably where a strong EM blast has wiped his storage cells clean. Thankfully the memory files appear salvageable and Nines copies in his own memory salvaging software; it gets to work immediately, patching up the damaged files.

A memory file blinks into life directly in front of Nines. Without thought, Nines's consciousness moves towards it.

A sudden tingle of nervousness runs through Nines and he pauses. Accessing an androids memories without their permission crosses an unspoken red line but the curiosity that burns within him is creature of its own, demanding attention after so many new mysteries have unfolded before them. He steadies himself before opening the file.

The shuttlepod lurches forward as another rally of attacks hits the shields from behind. Another explosion, starboard. He turns to the side for visual confirmation and sees a nacelle falling away, leaving behind a trail of grey smoke. Now he's lost thrusters on the right side and the shuttlepod is losing altitude far too quickly.

"Warning: collision with planet surface imminent."

"Computer, all auxiliary power to remaining thruster."

They are landing in a desert. An expansion of yellow fills the screen, pushing the blue of the sky and sea away. He wrestles a little more with the controls, pulling the shuttlecraft up and towards the sloped edge of a sand dune where a landing attempt would have greatest chance of success. But as his fingers fly across the console in front of him, it explodes. His reaction time would be fast enough to avoid the brunt of the blast if he had not been confined to a the small cockpit and there is a long drawn moment where he anticipates the damage but finds no way to avoid it.

He is accessing a memory file, a little unsure of the reasoning behind his own actions. Riker's quarters, a round table with playing cards and chips arranged around it, a group of smiling faces. Crusher, Worf, Riker, Troy, Geordi…

Geordi looks up. A smile, a slight raise of his eyebrows above his visor. There is another memory. Geordi on the bridge, spinning on his chair and making eye contact from across the room. Geordi in engineering. Geordi chasing Spot underneath the bed. Geordi frowning. Geordi smiling. Again and again he returns to these memories, still oblivious to the reason why.

Nines pulls out sharply. Around him there is a definitive shift in the atmosphere, a growl of movement that emanates from everywhere at once, and the gaps in the memory data have mostly closed up, except for a few greyish areas which the memory salvage system is slowly filling in. Nines glances over the vicinity one more time to check everything is in order. Satisfied, he navigates out.

2B is turned his way as Nines lowers his arms. The slight tenseness in her throat and the downward twist of her lips are the only indications of her worry. Nines gives her a small smile of reassurance in response.

On the infirmary bed, the android's eyes open, showing his light yellow irises. He sits up, straight-backed, with a peculiar sort of stiffness to his movements. He blinks. His eyes scan the scene, pausing briefly at the three figures gathered around him.

"You okay?" the Weapons Dealer asks.

The androids eyes flick left and right quickly as he runs a self-diagnostic program.

"All systems are functioning within normal parameters." He looks down and raises his recently replaced right arm simultaneously.

"Yeah, its new," the Weapons Dealer says. "I'm going to disconnect you from the computer now."

Data turns to the screen and cuts the connection. Confirming this, the Weapons Dealer pulls the cable out of his head section, before shutting the panel. The Weapons Dealer then turns to 2B and Nines.

"I'm needed elsewhere now, so I'll see you around," he says. Then he gives the android a bright smile. "If there are any problems, come to me. I'll fix them for you."

"Acknowledged," the android says.

During this short exchange, both 2B and Nines are silent. Nines observes the android shrewdly for any hints of his identity; his manner of speech and movement indicate a much older model of android, old to the point of rarity, yet he arrived on a vessel clearly far more advanced than typical Resistance equipment. Perhaps he is a member of a Resistance squadron cut off from communications for so long that records have failed to keep up. The theory is not unreasonable; Anemone's team had been left on Earth for hundreds of years before A2's team had met up with them on the Pearl Harbour decent.

"So erm… what's your name?" Nines asks.

The android turns to him and Nines sees thoughtfulness in those uncovered eyes.

"My name is Data."

"I'm Nines, this is 2B," Nines responds cheerfully. Data's gaze moves between the two androids, then to the pods which float behind him. Nines notices and acknowledges them with a nod.

"Pod 153 and Pod 042."

"I am curious. Are you a fully artificial lifeform?"

Nines is so taken aback by the question that he glances to 2B for support. He finds the same confusion mirrored in the slight parting of her lips, the angle of her chin.

"Was that an inappropriate question?" Data's head is tilted in innocent curiosity.

"Erm… no… It's just…" Artificial. It sounded strange; as if they had been built like a weapon or a flight vessel. It brought the same tightness in Nine's chest as the questions that plagued him during the quieter hours of maintenance. "Well, if you mean androids then yeah, we're all androids."

Data spins his legs around so that he sits on the side of the infirmary bed, facing the two of them.

"How many androids are there?"

Nines shrugs.

"Dunno. It's not like anyone keeps track of abandoned descent missions and not all the survivors join the Resistance."

"The Resistance?"

"We're the biggest resistance group in the area. Most of us are survivors from abandoned missions, doing what we can," Nines explains. "It's not like we can just give up."

"What was your mission?"

So he has been out long enough to not know YoRHa, Nines thinks. It is not surprising, since their first descent was only eight years ago.

"It'd be easier if you take a look at the records rather than sit here listening to me ramble," Nines say. He turns to the computer and hacks into it. He feels Pod 153 give an exasperated sort of signal. Nines can almost hear the Pod's voice in his head. Recommendation: do not hack into everything like a lazy brat. He pulls out the relevant historical files and confirms their retrieval visually as they pop up one by one on the screen. But this is soo much easier, he thinks.

Data stands. He is taller than 2B, with broad shoulders and sturdy stance. He goes up to the computer for a better view, his eyes flickering left and right across the screen as the files flash through one by one.

Data remains quiet for a while after he finishes looking through the files. When he turns around, his expression is neutral.

"I have processed all the information given. However, I noticed that there are significant gaps."

Nines shrugs.

"Yeah. Not much to do about that," he says. "If you need to know anything, just ask."

Data looks around the room, eyes finding the exit.

"Where are you going?" 2B asks as Data makes a move towards it. He stops, takes two steps to turn around so he is facing them again.

"I need to return to my ship," Data says. Ship. A vessel larger than a boat for transporting people or goods by sea. Clearly, he is referring to the flight unit. A ship that sails the skies.

"We picked it up," Nines says. "It's in one of the unused rooms at the edge of the camp. We can go to it now."

"Thank you," Data says.

2B leads the way out into the bright sunshine that floods the open areas of the camp. Data follows with a purposeful stride and Nines lingers just a little behind, observing him carefully.

There is something about this android that tugs at Nine's curiosity. It is not like they haven't picked up a confused and disorientated android with gaps in their knowledge before – he's heard rumours that they'd dug one out that had been buried for over a century – but there is something strange about Data. An oddness in his questions that hints at a hidden truth.

A smile twitches on Nine's lips.

He always did love a good mystery.

/( U_U )

11946 01 15 07:00:09

He is looking at the sky.

Completely still, he sits on the edge of the roof of the concrete building the remaining members of the Resistance Camp have set up as refugee, black boots dangling off the side, leaning backwards on his arms so that he has full view of the world above him. It's a dusty sort of pale blue, smeared white near the horizon, streaks of more white racing across the hemisphere where a flight capable object has clearly past.

She moves wordlessly towards him. Her footsteps resound in the silence; clank, clank against the concrete below her. She stops just at his shoulder.

"It's gone." There is a tremor to his quiet voice.

She follows his gaze to that spot in the sky, where once they would have seen a glimmer in the sky as the Bunker reflected the solar rays.

Slowly, she takes a seat on the ledge beside him, both feet still on the roof top and her upper body twisted around so that she can see the sky with him. The ground is far enough for the few grazing moose to be the size of a coin – not far enough for a fall to mean instant death but certainly enough for significant damage depending on how they landed.

He gives out a choked sound which might have been half a laugh.

"It's funny – I didn't think I would miss it."

They didn't think it would ever cease to exist. Love it or hate it, it had been a guiding presence in their life; a constant in an ever-changing world. Cut off from the stream of orders, obligatory communications and broadcasts, the world seems oddly empty.

He pulls his legs in and hugs them close to his body. His shoulders give a shiver.

Seconds pass. Twelve seconds, three hundred and thirty two milliseconds.

"Anemone …" His voice has suddenly lost its hesitant pace but now it sounds far too light. "… was saying that she she'd apply to some higher ups in the Army of Humanity to integrate any remaining YoRHa units into the Resistance."

"A logical course of action."

There were two of them. What else would they do? Form a two person squadron? Run away?

"She said we can have names."

Silence.

Names? The words appear lighter than a breeze from her lips. YoRHa units have never had names, only a number for identification and a type. More efficient, they were told. In reality it was because their developers had decreed that they were less than android and ultimately disposable, hence that it was immoral to use names as humanity had once done.

"I don't know what to apply as." He lets go of one leg and twists around slightly so that he can look at her face. There is a small tilt in his head, questioning. "What do you think?"

"De… decide for yourself," she says, averting her gaze away, towards the sky on the other side of the roof.

"But I've heard that names aren't something you choose yourself," he replies.

She doesn't reply.

"I want you to decide."

When she turns back to him, her lips are parted slightly in surprise, in hesitation.

They stare at each other. Two black silhouettes, framed by a glorious sun. To the left, he sits with a forearm resting on his bent leg, the other leg over the edge of the roof and his hand on the concrete by his side. To the right, she sits with her long legs slanted right, both hands on her laps and her shoulders twisted slightly towards the left. Their white hair catches the light as it dances in a breeze. They are close enough the sensors in their skin to catch the heat given off by their bodies.

She looks away first.

"You don't have to decide now!" he says, raising his hands in a flustered motion. "Um… it was just…"

"Nines."

"…eh?"

She doesn't turn back, still fixated on the sky in front of her.

"Is Nines sufficient?" Her tone is softer than usual.

It's not conventional: not a flower name like so many Androids these days, or a bird, or a mammal, or a place. Yet he smiles as if he has been given a blessing. Nines, he whispers, apparently to himself.

He looks down, a little lost in thought.

"What about you? What sort of name would you like?"

I don't know, is her reply.

In the distance, a flock of white birds take flight. He traces their origin to one of the trees in the forest, whose green foliage blends seamlessly with those around it. There are sixteen of them. At first they burst out chaotically but within moments they have formed a rough cloud shape which twists, turns and dances in the air like a single living being.

"What about… 2B?"

He shrugs apologetically. It's not terribly exciting, he murmurs, perhaps you'd be better off talking to Anemone, but…

"You've always been 2B to me."

YoRHa unit Number 2, Type E thinks the world must be terribly messed up, for one so deeply drenched in the blood of her comrades to be offered redemption.

A messed up, beautiful world.

AN: Thank you for reading! Any feedback is appreciated.