DISCLAIMER:
Welcome, reader, to my first ever work.
It is going to be a wild ride, that I can tell you. First and foremost, I must warn you, the storyline of Nier is going to undergo slight (big) changes because of one deciding factor, the factor you are going to recognise immediately from the first lines of text. Secondly, even I do not know where the story will go. It is in my habit to write character interactions and see myself where this would take them. There is a high risk of death, even to the protagonist of the story, simply because I cannot stand plot armor. Therefore, if the characters screw up- they screw up and perish. Thirdly- since humanity is alive in this universe of mine, this work is also a speculation on how humans would adapt to the war with the virtually unending foe. Expect a lot of different elements of human-related culture and inventions to pop up. And, a reminder again, this is my first ever work of fiction, the first one I enjoy writing, that is. Good reading to you!
With a few more tentative steps, the dull grey of the walls finally meets the pastel brown of the underground soil, roots poking through the cracks in old concrete. For me, the thought of going outside right after the awakening is gut-wrenching, yet I persist.
"It can no longer be postponed."
My mind continues to hint at me as I push the release button on the entrance gate. The screech is audible and ear-grating, so much in fact I have to close my eyes and grit my teeth. It takes a few moments to recover, and soon I murmur in discomfort as I squeeze past the tight entrance, the massive metal door only slightly ajar.
"The release clamps must have been constructed poorly."
I think to myself, seconds before I have to close my eyes again as the light from the outside blasts my retinas in full force. With a little difficulty, arm outstretched to cover my eyes as if moving through intense blizzard, I take a step outside for the first time in what feels like forever. After a rather troubled awakening from the cryostasis chamber the head still feels fuzzy, therefore putting on gear, which consisted of a pair of sturdy boots, camouflaged pants, assorted belts, formal shirt and a heavy coat with coattails that went to my knees had taken quite some time. An open-face helmet with an emblem I did not recognize completed the stock of non-offensive gear.
As I turn around and move to close the inoffensive-looking door to the storage bunker I had the misfortune to be stored at, something irks at the back of my head, yet, for now, the thought is dismissed. I grasp the valve with both hands, then heave as the screeching contraption does not even budge. Taking a closer glance, I grunt quietly in disbelief. If eyes are not deceiving me, this valve looks and handles like it has been submerged on the bottom of the sea, on a derelict, sunk ship no less, for time immemorial.
-What is this? I didn't know the Syndrome affected metal…
I mutter in disbelief, tracing the gloved index finger alongside the valve's surface. A tidal wave of paranoia washes over me the very moment and I quickly withdraw my hand, taking a closer look at it.
It takes a few seconds, but, upon a closer examination and a few cautionary sweeps with a detector I completely forgot about and pulled off my utility belt by sheer drilled-in reflex, relief courses through me with equal intensity.
"No particles detected".
I continue trying, this time applying both of my arms and hopping up and down like an aggressive toddler as I push down on the valve. Undignified, I know, but they did tell me the muscles have got some time to recover after a prolonged cryostasis sleep. Some rust flakes off…then more of it and more, until the entire thing starts falling to the ground in rust-colored sandy particles, as if had grasped a particularly crumbly cookie. Taking a few steps back I examine the entire construction. Yes, it definitely has been some time. By the time I am done trying the opening mechanism looks like a half-chewed pretzel. I find the analogy quite funny. My stomach does not share the sentiment and rumbles quietly.
-I've got to stop with the food-related analogies.
I think out loud, clutching my belly. The first thing I checked having reemerged was the food supply, that and the bathroom. Both remained stocked well, with the depressurized storage revealing rows upon rows of canned goodness. Barely had the will to eat only half the poultry with gravy-flavored one, to not upset the stomach.
I am rambling again, mind wandering around in circles and other shapes I cannot pull from memory. A minute or ten later (it was indeed hard to tell, let alone measure adequately), my eyes finally stop stinging like someone injected half a sauce bottle directly into my eyeballs, and only irritate me to the point of comprehensible irritation. Screw you too, eyeballs, now give me a clear darn picture. Swaying my head around gave me a neat little view of the inside of a concrete sandcastle.
Seriously, have you not imitated an attack at a castle you have built with a water gun? Looks around the same. Still don't get the picture? Well, take your normal storage unit then pour some acid onto it, then bash it liberally with a sledgehammer and you will not mistake the result from the intended image. Whatever techogenic nightmare my fellow humans unleashed while I was taking a quiet nap had aged this structure astonishingly fast… and so it had all the other buildings surrounding me.
Holy shit, I feel like I am in a nightmare. Carcasses of buildings as far as the eye can see, stretching until they pierce the irritating yellow ball in the sky. I stare and stare at the phantasmagoric landscape, watching an odd brick or pile of debris fall to the ground from time to time, completely transfixed. Before the horrifying implications of what I am seeing catch up to me, I quickly pull out an emergency candy bar I nicked from the storage and stuff it in my mouth, where it sits, barely chewed, slowly melting in my saliva. Its sweet, sweet taste is comforting, yet only mildly.
"I have to keep going".
I take a step, then another. The boot-clad legs move slowly, as if cramping in all places simultaneously as I drag my gaze, and with it my head and my body, back to the heavy metal slab that is the heavy armored door to the Preservation facility 8. Just remembered the damn name, and with it, its purpose – to preserve a limited number of crucial people from the deadly disease ravaging our globe. I must come back, assess the situation and make sure the rest of the personnel is in sound condition now that the bunker's system detected decompression and had promptly woken me up.
A short survey of a surrounding area reveals true, almost ultimate devastation of everything mankind represents. Ruined buildings overtaken by greenery, empty car hulls. We have certainly not been in this area for a long time. Scavenging for supplies is forfeit, then. No preserved food would ever survive this amount of time, not in the open and probably not inside unless it was vacuum-preserved as in our little home. Still, I glance around in unabashed curiosity.
Making sure I point an odd bit of rubble into the bunker's direction to not lose my way in the skeletal maze of ruined buildings, I make a short walk towards what was pointed out to me as a strip, with possible scavenge locations of multiple shops marked on the map I withdraw from one of my belt pouches. I carefully unfold it, take a cursory glance at it, then at the stack of ruined lego bricks that is the intended target. Then at the map, then at the intended target again.
-Agriculture it is. Hell…
It never ceases to amaze me, the sheer decay and destruction. I glance from one building to the next, nearly face planting a couple of time because I couldn't keep my head down, and this is exactly the reason why I almost jump when I round the corner. An unforgettable scene unveiled in front of me: what appears to be three barrel-sized metal creatures lingered on the sidewalk opposite of me. Their bodies resembled that of an oversized toddler, disproportionate head and all.
Round metal heads on short cylindrical torsos, pole-like legs, little grabby arms. Curiosity gets the better of me- as I spectate them I move a little bit closer. They appear to be idling, mostly moving around in short and chaotic patterns. As one of them stumbles into a half-ruined pavement I cannot suppress a giggle as I see the whole thing overturn and slam face-first into ruined concrete. Its reaction was immediate as the machine, still on the ground, raised its arm and struck the offending patch of concrete with the force of a sledgehammer.
Bits went flying everywhere, already formed cracks deepening, snaking further around the pavement. I involuntarily imagined the same hit connecting with my humble person and decided to take a step back, reassessing what I was about to do. Before I could think of an approach, I felt a trail of thoughts emerge from nowhere, dashing whatever plan I had:
"There are four of them, if I take out one of these oversized garbage bins with the initial volley, I could definitely win the skirmish, simply kiting the metal creatures back as they stumble towards me."
A good plan. My arm snakes to my hip. There, in the holster I just remembered there was, my pistol remains, untouched and loaded. It's narrow rectangle form is a reminder I am not defenseless.
Essentially a half-brick with a handle, this particular thing is a little marvel of technology called Laser Pistol. I kid you not, when the first models of those were rolled out everybody was just as skeptical. Yet, nobody ever thought we could fly and then the Wright Brothers came. Same about ever emerging past our planet's atmosphere (Yuri Gagarin says hello, and so does Neil Armstrong).
So, eventually, just like the universal battery, the LP was unavoidably available for all who wanted to use it. This particular model, thankfully, survived the vacuum preservation and was now tucked safely by my side. I unclip it and kneel, taking careful aim with both hands. Arms tremble in anticipation, as the thrill, expectation and excitement cloud me.
ZHYOM!
The shot goes wide. Very much so. Despite the weapon having virtually no recoil, it appears I have squeezed the trigger so sharply I jerked the whole thing a little upwards, with the shot going a good dozen centimeters above the ugly thing's head. The quartet of incest victims collectively jumps in surprise, displaying almost human emotion, their round heads turning towards me in one, synchronized movement.
-Android! Ambush! Failed!
-Destroy!
Their eyes light red, their stances go wide, then, they move towards me, air filled with screeching metal and thunder of their steps.
"Can they even be angry? Their eyes are certainly red." I think to myself as I watch them rush me in abject mortification. In time it takes me to comprehend that they move much faster than I expected with what limited engineering knowledge I had, the bastards close the gap a little, their stubby legs propelling their bodies with unexpected speed.
I fire another shot, missing entirely as I rise up and stagger backwards, frantically glancing behind me to not trip on the rubble. As far as I know I just wasted two out of five shots the universal battery holds. I will have to reload in the middle of this. To hell with this, I need to shorten their numbers.
No longer retreating, I take a firing stance, then calmly squeeze the trigger.
The angry orange beam is unleashed on the machine menace, as I again jerk too hard, the shot swaying closer but still missing and evaporating a support beam of what looked like a thousand-year-old noodle stand. The thing folds like a house of rusty cards with all the complimentary bang and clutter.
The other shot hits. Oh, and how does it hit! Center mass, scorching marks appear on the leading stubby's chassis. It falls on its ass, flailing it's arms like a windmill.
-ARRRGG! PAIN!
-Angry!
The others echo its cries, now halfway towards me. I have to take the wounded thing out, now. Carefully lining up both of my arms, I grasp the handle of my pistol, then put the slightly flailing probe form in my crosshairs. ZHYOM goes the gun, the beam connecting with the creature's eye, penetrating the lid. The reaction is immediate as the area around the shot brightens and whatever the creature has for brains cooks off and detonates, quite spectacularly I might add, with small scattered bits of metal shrapnel going everywhere, scratching the concrete.
Three of them remain, now perilously close. I have one shot before I can run, and this time I half-turn to retreat before I fire, praying the shot connects. It bloody doesn't. Well, there goes my ammo, though two out of five straight out of cryostasis isn't that bad. I try to calm myself down as I outpace the metal bastards with a quick jog in short order. The distance is mine again.
"Why did I decide to fight them? What instinct irked me to take immediate hostilities towards these things? Here I thought I would wake up, eat breakfast then wake the rest of us before the systems fail. Yet, here I am, firing orange soda beams at rusty midgets."
I giggle at the association. The laser pistol was designed as a weapon of last defense, with powerful shots yet small capacity, so the fact that I automatically engaged this creatures is concerning.
My arm moves around my pouches, and the more it moves, the more my guts coil in fright. Did I forget additional batteries? I swear, loudly and profoundly. What I didn't forget is that the battery type is universal, though. I quickly pull out my flashlight, unscrew and stuff its head, lense included into one of the belt pouches, then push the revealed inside with the index finger. I was proven correct as another universal battery comes popping out.
-Yes! Let's get you into the g-.
Having not a moment to celebrate I sway my whole body to the side, hitting my head against the concrete wall as an ironclad arm blurs past my midsection and tears a chunk out of a building I backed myself against with a glancing blow. They are already upon me. I spare a dazed glance towards them, then half-stumble half jog towards the only way the three stooges didn't block- to the right.
On the move, I pluck out the warm battery from inside my LP with a quick push of a button, then replace it with a relatively fresh one. Something tells me that the charge had depleted a little and I shouldn't expect the full amount of shots. Whatever, I have recharged my soda dispenser.
-Taste the pain, metal bitches.
I spare myself a cliché in the heat of the moment as I take aim again.
ZHYOM! And the head of the one in the lead in absence of the one I destroyed does a faithful representation of the sledgehammer-hit watermelon and promptly explodes into chunks. Snarling, I fire again.
ZHYOM! Another one pops like a metal grape, flails and bonks itself on the hard ground, then rolls to the side, deactivated.
ZHYOM! The soda beam of death hits the down-right portion of one of the two remaining oversized tin-cans. Directly into what goes for the body in these things and the metal dummy lists heavily to the side. Still, it maintains its course towards me, screeching even louder.
ZHYOM! The screeching proves distracting, but at this distance it is hard not to hit their oversized heads, not with zero recoil. The funny-looking thing goes the way of the Dodo, erased from existence in metal fireworks, some of which bounce of my chest piece. Gleefully, I pull the trigger on the last remaining one, point-blank. It flinches.
-AAAAH! Scary!
It exclaims as it recoils, not attacking for a moment. The shot does not come and we both pause, the machine having raised both its arms in mock surrender, the silence between us broken only by the gears inside the metal creature shifting audibly, and the perpetual low hum of my pistol as I squeeze the trigger a good ten times before we both explode into action again.
I outpace what was surely a devastating blow, the air at my lower back audibly displaced with the sound of a metal hammerhead missing my behind horrifyingly close. I didn't want to think what would it do to my ass if it connected as I scramble back towards the bunker. It follows me, eyes red and arms still flailing. What kind of batteries do these things have? They looked like they could use a few yearly maintenance procedures yet here they are, trying to kill me. Not without reason though, I fired first, still debating on "why" of it though.
As the slightly opened door comes into view I surge forward, grasping it in a quick few steps and squeeze past it, giggling like a child. Like a rat escaping the kitchen I push myself past the metaphorical floorboards (and quite real flaky metal) and return to my hidey-hole. I turn around, glance at the bunker ground for something I can hit the short wind-up toy that is bent on killing me, only to find it wedged into the gap.
It jerks forward, one free arm absolutely destroying whatever air it finds before it, but still misses my humble person by a wide margin. I step back, examining the predicament. A giggle, then a full blown laughter overtakes me as I mock the stuck stubby in the way that would make a TF2 character shed a prideful tear. My whole body shakes as I descend towards the hidden facility, cackling. Soon, I will return with more ammo and this little bastard would be done for. I need to be quick, it seemed feral enough to sacrifice some of itself to push through the gap.
Down to the supply depot I go. Now, that I've taken a breather and a delightful stroll, my head is a little bit clearer and some of the bunker's layout emerges from my foggy memory. We have the Preservation Chambers paired next to the Power Generation room. The small Armory is close after, the one I visited, at least. It has some unopened closets, I might find additional cells there. After that, there is the Cafeteria paired with the Vacuum Storage. Situated above, (probably because it needs to be closer to the surface) via a small tunnel is the Communication Room. After I am done with my chores I'll have to take a look in there.
"I really need some chocolate drink after all this." I think to myself, already halfway to Armory. Thankfully, the layout of the entire thing is a modular segmented automation with mechanical redundancies, therefore even had I not opened the door before my head was clear enough to remember the instructions quite clearly. The door hisses open and I stand inside, the smell of old machine oil now identifiable. I bump my toe on some bits on the floor, nudge them aside and proceed to the only locker to open upon my entrance. It seems I won't be getting into personal belongings of the bunker's other inhabitants…
"And it's not like I need them." I think to myself as I stare inside, apparently, my storage unit. One other Universal Battery, making it a total of three, a set of knee and elbow pads I forgot to put on initially. Looking at them, I idly rap my knuckles against my temple. Bonk-bonk is the response. I sigh in relief as I realize that, despite having emerged out of preservation in a state of emergency, being half asleep, alarmed and clueless, I managed to somehow exit the preservation rooms, have a snack at the Cafeteria, wander into the Armory, put on some of my armor, composite helmet, forearm-mounted PDA I now realize I almost broke with all the flailing around I did, arm myself then stumble outside on whatever assignment the supposed VI of the bunker had sent me before my mind even came to be. It is quite surprising what drilling accomplishes, despite its dehumanizing , let's check the PDA…
[Survey of the area complete. Please proceed to the Comms room.]
Comms it is, then. Now, as far as I remember, it is also a Command post from which I could access the flow of information regarding the state of affairs. Could definitely use some human company right now. Flight of stairs after flight of stairs passed, and after a certain point I felt the now familiar pressure in my ears release, and I could hear more clearly.
I reach the door and push through it, the mechanical door release sliding to the side smoothly, yet it does not open yet. As far as I am concerned, the method of Vacuum Preservation requires absence of air, therefore it is not time to step inside yet. From beyond the door, a prolonged hiss could be heard, after which the door opens on its own accord, the rest of the mechanism completing the folding somewhere in the wall. The array of electronic equipment presented in front of me is in remarkable condition. "Pristine, as if untouched, never used…". I will ponder on this later, though, as I am Eager to be the one to start the process of Reemergence. I glance at my PDA.
[Access the designated terminal, please].
No reason to not listen to it, I reckon. With a push of a button a keyboard and a screen unfold in front of my eyes, the latter blurring to life with yet another emblem that is no longer recognizable to me.
[Welcome, user. The recent data package has been fully processed].
The corresponding folder lights up on the desktop, and I promptly click on it.
My eyes flicker between lines of text…At a first glance, all seems nominal. Meteorological read-outs stand out a little, yet a shift in temperature over a prolonged course of time was expected. A degree or two, that was. Whatever I am reading currently does not bode well for our future crops…Whoever will manage them.
[Whoever indeed. It seems that the procedure has left you slightly confused. Perhaps, a debriefing would be good?]
My PDA helpfully suggests. I open the logs, and in just a few minutes I realize I have made a great mistake.
I stumble away, from the briefing room to the exit. The lines of text imprinted into my mind. I barely make it to the entrance without collapsing, yet newfound strength courses through me as I see the Machine again. I tower over the half-ruined Stubby. It writhes on the floor, having worked the entire torso and an arm inside, leaving the other and its legs behind, the one working arm trying and failing to prop itself so it could demolish me. Now, I understand why I was urged.
That feeling, that desire to unleash my weapon - it is simply the seething, unrestrained anger of countless of millions of humans whose lives are now no more than a passing memory, that has now bubbled past the surface of my subconscious. That instinctual hatred of one another? Both of us can attest to that in equal measure. I level my pistol at it without hesitation. The heels of my boots clack together as my back straightens, arm of execution outstretched and pointing towards the stubby's rabid red eyes. A cruel, snarling grin painfully splits my features as I glare balefully at the downed enemy of mankind.
-In humanity's name, I pass judgement on behalf of untold billions of my fallen brethren. You shall receive no quarter.
The following shot evaporates half its head and, with a final upward jerk of all its remaining limbs, The Machine goes limp and silent. The gun goes back into its holster with a quiet, almost indistinguishable hum. I take a full chest of breath, teeth grinding together in fury and wipe the spit from my lips.
-All of us. Gone.
What a feeling, that is. Unhindered, boiling fury. Never in my entire life I thought I would feel it. There is no reason to thrash around, throwing what limited things I have in my possession in infantile tantrum, though. No reason to kick the downed Enemy, as that would most likely result in me reenacting Aragorn. Anger clouds me, until a single, piercing thought surfaces to my conscious. "Use it." My mind tells me. "Do what a true son of humanity must. Harness this anger, bend it to your will, use it to fuel the fire of resilience." My PDA beeps the same moment.
[We lost the war, yet we are not done for. Live and complete the survey. Awaken the rest of them.]
I find myself in complete agreement as I speak to my fallen foe again:
-Deep beneath me, my brethren lay. I will secure a future for them, whatever it takes. The moment your kind failed to eradicate us you have sealed your fate. On behalf of humanity, I declare Total War.
This is it. If at least ten of you would find this interesting, I will write more. As I said in the description, the humans of the 6th Millennium, the ones receiving the full brunt of the Machine invasion, as well as their previous counterparts tackling the White Chlorination, would be a little bit more than a disjointed mass of quarreling states. And more than dead.
Edit:
Made it a little more bearable to read. Enjoy.