I imagine this takes place a while before the happenings of Dirge of Cerberus. Here, Nero is more heartless, confused, and angsty. Basically, I imagine that after a while, Weiss kind of broke Nero and he came to like his job and whatnot, so this takes place before that. Why? Because I wanted to write Nero like this.
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Every second of every day, I feel the same. Trapped, unwanted, and alone. These bonds and chains that confine me are my whole world, and nothing lies beyond them. I wear a mask strong as iron to hold me back from vocalizing my individual thoughts, my arms are constrained in order to hold back my full potential and what I could do with it. I am what I am, and I am a tool. How I came to be in this pitiful situation, I cannot say. I hold more power than most people around here, hence the bonds, and yet I am a follower. Although I suppose it's not as terrible as I make it sound. I am not, after all, obligated.
If I wanted to leave, I could. It would be difficult, for obvious reasons, but also for a personal factor. Before, I said that I felt unwanted. Honestly, that is not completely true. Weiss is the only person keeping me here, dangling me over the edge of a precarious cliff with his promises that he either does or does not intend to keep. I can never be sure but since he is my brother, I decided to stay here and wait for him to make up his mind. He will either pull me back into his arms and liberate myself and my will, or he will tighten the noose on my neck before letting go. Either is certain, and I will await his decision for however long it takes. Hail Weiss.
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I am sleeping, the dark overcoming me once again like a warm invite from Death. No, I want to say to it, I cannot leave yet. I am waiting. But Death will not listen and it continues to pester me with its cold scythe. I ignore it as always, and I drift off once it decides to leave me alone for now.
Very quickly, it seems, I am rudely awoken by a loud tapping on the glass in front of me. I reluctantly open my eyes and stare down at the girl who had woken me up. Shelke Rui is looking up at me through the thick glass of my cylinder container as if I were some ordinary specimen residing in a test tube. Put simply, at the moment, that is what I am. I wish to tell her to leave me in peace, but the pale liquid that surrounds me reassures that I don't say a word. Instead, I look down at her questioningly.
"Weiss wants to see you," she says simply. Her voice is muffled from where I stand but I understand her for the most part. I watch as she moves to the right and hits a switch that drains the liquid from my container. After a few moments, the glass rises and disappears into the ceiling where it will stay until I return.
"Will you be taking me to him?" I ask her, my throat dry from keeping silent for so long.
She looks at me with that same bored gaze as she says: "Weiss said that you could make it on your own." I nod and she leaves me, her small feet carrying her away with even steps.
My own steps, however, are not as graceful. It has been some time since I last used these legs and I am much more accustomed to teleporting in any case, but this room, the one I spend what free time I have in, is designed to stop me from teleporting anywhere. A cage, one could call it. A cage without a lock.
I step out of the room and, with a flex of my back, unfold my large, iron wings. It feels less cramped to have them open like this, but movement is near impossible due to their size. I sigh, not a hint of emotion detectable, and turn to look at myself in the metallic wall beside me.
Looking closer, what am I, really? I cannot speak my opinions with my mouth, cannot fight or touch with my hands, cannot fly with these useless, deadweight wings. Is there even a point in my existence? I suppose it would be possible for me to remember the things to come with my eyes, the ones that see everything, since I will never die, but what sort of existence is that? Perhaps that is all I am to Weiss; a way to keep track of everything he's done, everything he shall do. A record of his immaculate rule. I do not like the sound of it, but if it is what Weiss desires, it is what I shall do.
I tuck my wings back in and prepare myself for teleportation. In moments, the darkness stretches its long fingers around me, tightening around my limbs and my waist until I feel I cannot breath. But in mere seconds, it is over and I am facing Weiss himself, my savior, my brother.
"Thank you for coming, Nero," he says to me, his voice deep yet smooth like a river.
"It is my pleasure," I say. He turns to me, his gaze gentle yet serious.
"Your readings have been showing signs of doubt," he says, referring to the data my room is able to pick up from brain waves, temperatures, and the like. Like the emotionless tool I am, I don't break eye contact with him.
"I am sorry if I have disappointed you." My tone is firm and straight, almost robotic, but still, Weiss is able to detect the dishonesty.
"Now, Nero," he says, taking several steps closer. "There's no need to lie. You can tell me what you've been thinking," I, of course, have no knowledge as to whether that would be a wise decision or not, though my ever-present common sense is leaning towards the latter.
As if sensing my hesitation, Weiss lays a hand on my shoulder as if to be comforting. Instead, my thoughts are scrambled in a flurry of confusion. I do not know how to respond to this. "You can tell me." He says again, this time with a small smile.
I am not accustomed to acting in what humans call "kind, happy" situations. I have experienced very few. I do not smile back for two reasons: One, I had experimented smiling before, and the sensation felt uncomfortable and awkward on my face, and two, he would not have been able to see it anyway. Instead, I gaze at him with my naturally threatening and glaring eyes. "I have not been experiencing doubt," I lie. I realize only a second later that lying to Weiss the Immaculate is a very idiotic idea. His kind expression instantly vanishes into one of stern qualities. I don't react.
"Nero," he murmurs, his grip tightening on my shoulder. I don't feel pain, just pressure. "Don't be difficult with me. We're brothers, aren't we?" I know Weiss well enough to recognize this excuse: when he doesn't get what he wants with me, he reminds me that we are, in fact, related by blood. He knows that it is a fact I cannot ignore.
"We are." I say in reply. I look down at his hand when he doesn't release my shoulder.
He smiles again, though his grip does not loosen. Most people would find the pressure irritating at this point, but I only have room in my heart for disappointment in myself. "Then don't you think you should tell me what's on your mind?" he asks.
I pause to consider it. Perhaps it would rid me of the guilt [of/from] lying, but it might just earn me more trouble. But I want to risk it. "Once you win the war, you will have no further need for me, correct?" I say, voicing the basis of my concern. As a fraction of my guilt is lifted, so is the weight from my shoulder. Weiss withdraws his hand with a sort of satisfied look that I find foreboding.
"Nero," he says softly, his tone low. "How could I abandon my own brother?" He was using our brotherhood as a clever way to assure me, which hinted that my suspicions were not without merit.
"You couldn't," I say in partial defeat. Disagreeing with Weiss once had been a terrible mistake and I was not about to let it happen again. It wasn't worth the punishment. I play along with his excuse.
"That's right," he murmurs almost consolingly. "I'd never get rid of you." I must admit, he is a very good actor.