Chapter 4: To Be
The transport pod had been a silent, vibrating shell. E-15 spent the short journey running combat simulations, her optics flickering with data streams of enemy movement patterns and optimal firing solutions. The glitch in the Activation Room was archived, labeled as a transient initialization error. It meant nothing.
The doors hissed open, and sound struck her like a physical wave.
The main hangar of the Orbital Bunker was a cavern of orchestrated chaos. The sterile gleam was the same, but it was now a canvas for frenetic purpose. The hum was deeper here, a bass note felt in the teeth—the heartbeat of massive engines and idling flight units. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of androids stood in perfect, silent rows on the vast deck, their forms a sea of black and white under the harsh luminescence. Battle models, tall, heavy swords or spears mag-locked to their backs. Scanner models, slighter, their head perpetually scanning the air as if reading invisible text. The air carried the sharp scent of coolant, ozone, and something else—a faint, acrid tang of propellant.
At the far end, elevated on a sleek platform, Commander White stood silhouetted against a colossal observation window. Behind her, the infinite black of space and the bruised, beautiful curve of the dead Earth dominated everything. Two Operator androids flanked her, their faces serene masks behind glowing headpieces.
E-15 moved to join the nearest formation, her boots clicking a steady rhythm against the deck. She found her place, standing at rigid attention. The android beside her, a B-type with a severe silver bob, didn’t glance over.
A hush fell, sudden and absolute. The only sound was the distant, mournful whine of a maintenance drone.
Commander White’s voice, amplified and cool, filled the expanse. “YoRHa. You are the blade forged to reclaim our birthright. The machines that defile the planet below are a corruption. A disease. They have no purpose, no glory. You… you have the purpose granted by the gods of mankind.”
She paused, her pale eyes moving across the assembled forces. “Your existence is combat. Your function is extermination. You will descend. You will cleanse. You will report victory.Do not fail. Do not question. Your will is the will of humanity. Your victory, their glory.”
The words were familiar, a standard pre-deployment address. They stirred nothing in E-15. They were simple facts. She watched as the Commander gave a slight, sharp nod.
The rigid lines dissolved into fluid motion. It was a practiced dance. B-types turned, seeking out specific S-types. A scanner model would catch the eye of a battle model, a nod was exchanged, and they moved toward designated flight units together.Pairs. Always in pairs. Combat and support. Fist and eye.
E-15 waited. She ran her internal clock. Five seconds.Ten.
No one approached her.
She observed the patterns, calculating. The partnerships were pre-established, likely based on complementary performance data from previous sorties. She was a new unit.Fresh from activation. She should have been assigned a partner.
A B-model brushed past her, joining a slender S-type who was cleaning her sword. “Keep your sector clear today,” the B-model said, her voice a low rasp. “Last time, your clutter almost took my leg off.”
“Your leg movements are inefficient,” the scanner retorted, not looking up from her weapon.
The exchange was casual, functional. It spoke of a history.
E-15 remained. A statue of black and feathered sleeves amidst the flow. The hangar began to empty, the deep thrum of engines powering up vibrating through the deck plates. One by one, the paired units shot down the launch tubes, streaks of light disappearing toward the ruined planet below.
Soon, it was only her, the distant operators on the platform, and the silent, staring Earth.
Confusion was an inefficiency. She flagged it for analysis. The result was immediate: No partner assignment found in active rosters. Querying.
Before she could initiate a direct uplink query, one of the Operator androids descended from the platform. She glided across the deck, her white dress flowing, her expression one of detached serenity. She stopped before E-15.
“Unit E-15.Your deployment is singular. Follow me.”
E-15 obeyed, falling into step behind the Operator. They moved away from the main launch bays, through a secondary archway into a quieter, narrower corridor lined with faintly pulsing data conduits. The silence here was different, insulated.
The Operator spoke without turning. “Your initial combat evaluation is exceptional. Your tactical substrate shows… unique proficiencies. As such, you are being tasked with a priority eradication mission.”
They entered a small, circular briefing room. A holographic planet rotated slowly in the center, scarred with red conflict zones.
“Two units have severed their umbilical links. They have gone rogue. Their last known coordinates are in the abandoned urban sector designated ‘The Rust Belt’.” The Operator gestured, and the holograph zoomed in on a sprawl of crumbling towers and shattered highways. “Their designations are B-Type, Unit 31, and S-Type, Unit 8. They have refused recall commands and engaged in unauthorized data purges. They are to be terminated. You will descend alone, track them, and eliminate them. You will not communicate with them. You will not attempt retrieval. Is this understood?”
Terminate rogue units. The directive was clear. Yet, a question formed, unbidden. “What was the cause of their malfunction?”
The Operator’s serene face didn’t change. “Irrelevant. Your only function is to purge them.” She transmitted a data packet. A tactical map flooded E-15’s vision, along with two dossiers: a B-model with a neutral expression, and an S-model with a faint, blurry smile. “Their tactical patterns are on file. They are dangerous. They have already destroyed three pursuit units.”
The Operator finally looked directly at E-15. The pale light of the holograph glinted in her eyes. “This mission is classified. You will not discuss it with other units. Report only to me, Operator 21O, upon completion. Your flight unit is prepped in Bay Sigma-7. Launch is in four minutes.”
She turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. “Efficiency is required. But… caution is advised. These rogues are not behaving like standard corruptions. They are… deliberate.”
Then she was gone.
E-15 stood alone in the briefing room, the slowly rotating hologram of the dead city casting blue shadows across her face.A solo mission. A hunt. It was a logical use of her capabilities.
As she turned to leave for the launch bay, a sudden, intrusive signal disrupted her audio receptors. It wasn't voice. It was memory. A raw, unformatted burst.
The smell of rain on hot pavement. The weight of a dog-tag against a sweating chest. A voice, laughing, saying, “You never do things the easy way, do you, Kane?”
It was gone in a nanosecond, leaving only the sterile silence of the room. She touched the side of her head, a meaningless gesture. Another glitch. Corrupted data from the archived tactical source.It was interfering.
She marched toward Bay Sigma-7, her heels striking the floor with definitive, sharp reports. The rogue androids were a flaw in the system. A threat to the structure of YoRHa.She would find them. She would erase them.
And perhaps, in the violence of that erasure, the ghost in her machine would finally be silenced.