Chapter 6

~o~

'You're human?'

At a loss for words, John should have been paying full attention to the people staring at him as if he was an exotic animal in a cage, but those two words kept repeating in his head over and over again.

'You're human?'

As opposed to what, Devola? A machine? A soldier of Legion?

It wasn't phrased in a way where the person truly didn't know like, "Are you human?"

'You're human?'

The wording of that question was beyond strange, and it implied a certain number of things—some of which should have resulted in him being attacked or terminated. However, there was no hostility in those stares. Instead, there was a strange mixture of surprise, awe, and reverence. None of them seemed to think the question was out of place. That, in itself, was unsettling, especially due to the nature of the question.

Did this mean that she wasn't human?

Honestly, John felt like he should have been panicking right about now, but instead, what took hold of him was an alert calmness. Before he could consider anything else, he needed to secure an escape route. Unfortunately, surrounded by a crowd that was slowly increasing in number, his chances of escaping just the twins were small, let alone an entire group of these people.

Just what were they anyways?

Red Eyes? It was possible. In the Legion war, the Red Eyes had been positively monstrous in appearance, though there had been a few exceptions that had humanoid appearances with some even approaching a human-like facial structure. It wouldn't be all that implausible that they could have evolved to look more human, though if that was the case, they should have already torn him apart from limb to limb. The fact that they didn't have glowing red eyes made this possibility a bit more far-fetched as well, but maybe they had evolved or mutated the trait out of themselves. Unlikely as it was, he still had to keep it in mind since it wasn't any less ridiculous than the other things that they could.

Terminators? The fact that they were fighting the machines—or machine lifeforms as they called them—made this possibility the lowest on the list. The only reason that he wasn't sure if Skynet existed was the individuality that he saw on the machine that was imitating a biker. Its behavior was so deviant and outlandish that it felt like an impossibility for the Skynet that he knew of which kept its terminators on read-only mode to prevent them from learning too much outside of a walled environment.

That brought him to the most likely possibility.

Clones.

There had been some projects to that effect, but the problem, at the time, was that these genetic clones tended to deteriorate rapidly with very few exceptions. It was actually something of a commonality between all of these distinct cloning projects, enough that producing new life by DNA samples was considered unworkable as a whole. However, that didn't mean that it couldn't have been solved in the following years. Maybe they succeeded? With the ravages of the White Chlorination Syndrome, he could one hundred percent imagine mankind producing WCS-immune clones to carry on the legacy of humanity and then deciding that while they were at it, they would make them into designer babies with superior attributes which would explain the twin's physical abilities.

It would also explain why they hadn't attacked him.

"You're human…" John began, breaking the silence as he focused on the twins. He noticed that everyone stiffened up at his words. "Or at least, something like humans."

"No!" Popola blurted out, though she seemed to recoil from the loudness of her own voice and toned it down. "No… We could never reach their greatness."

John sucked in his breath. As much as he had thought it, there was a certain validation when it was actually voiced out by someone else. However, he needed to make sure.

"So…you are not human…?"

"No…" Popola shook her head, the sadness of the gesture seemingly echoing her thoughts.

As expected, these were the children of mankind.

"Then what exactly are you?" John asked.

"Androids."

"It must have been harrrrrdd—wait, what? Androids?" John sputtered as his thoughts grounded to a halt.

He really should stop assuming.

"Androids? Really? Androids? But you can't be androids," John said in a rapid-fire sequence, as if to stall for his brain to catch up. "You act too human!"

The words were out of his mouth before his mind caught up. Inwardly, he grimaced. Would they take that as an insult? Did he need to…

Those were some bright smiles. He could only stare blankly while a brushfire of whispering erupted as the people in the audience started to converse with each other excitedly, even as more came to observe the commotion. This was all getting too much for him to process.

"Okay, hold on a moment. Just give me a second to—"

"Hey! W-wait a goddamn second, aren't all you humans supposed to be on the moon?" The mackerel lady had apparently found the courage to pose the question to him, though he could hear the hesitancy in her voice. "You know, from where we grunts get orders from all the time."

"The moon?" John asked, his eyes drifting unconsciously upward as if to search for it. "Wait, huh? No, more importantly, just give me a second, okay? Alright? God…"

Seriously, if it wasn't one bombshell, it was another. His mind was still spinning from the previous revelation, let alone this new one. However, it did make sense in its own way. Humanity had always been adept at running away and hiding from its problems. That was how humanity had survived so long against Skynet in the future that…didn't really exist anymore. In any case, it wouldn't surprise him one bit if everyone had built rockets and sent themselves to the moon to build a colony instead of trying to solve the White Chlorination Syndrome problem. Rather than derision, he considered it as definitely praiseworthy since it couldn't have been easy to get to or survive on the moon. He probably would have been on one of those rockets himself if he had not used the time machine.

All in all, that actually took a burden off his shoulders, even though the situation couldn't have been good for them to decide to abandon Earth. After all, there was no guarantee that the White Chlorination Syndrome wouldn't spread up there, though they probably could purge it out into the vacuum of space now that he thought of it.

However, he needed to focus on the situation at hand.

"So you're saying that you're all androids?" John scanned the crowd for any dissenting opinions, but he found none. "Not clones?"

"Does he mean replicants?" Someone from the crowd chimed in and was subsequently shushed down.

"Uh, yeah, sure, I guess?" John turned the term over in his head. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he wasn't sure where he had heard it. Probably was correct. "I mean, yes, that. Thank you."

The man who had been shushed was staring back at him with widened eyes, and he puffed his chest out pridefully. Oddly enough, the others around him were giving him glares filled with envy.

"Mister human, sir." A younger man chimed in bravely, earning the same oddly envious looks from his peers. "There hasn't been a replicant for thousands of years."

"T-thousands of years?!" John's exclamation apparently surprised everyone as they took several steps back. Even the twins who were sitting on the ground seemed to flinch under his incredulous and questioning stare.

"Y-yes, sir..." The young man nodded his head meekly.

"What…" John cleared his throat. "What year is it?"

"Umm, 11943 A.D, sir."

John felt like all the sound around was drowned out by the overly loud beating of his heart. Swallowing his saliva audibly, he put his hand through his hair and scratched, letting the pain of his fingernails raking his scalp steady him.

"Sorry, I think I misheard you. Could you repeat that again?"

"He said, 11943 A.D." The mackerel lady interceded for him, having recovered from her shock, though her expression had taken a more contemplative look. "Oh, and it's June 10th, five in the afternoon, if you're wondering."

"A.D. as in anno domini?"

"Yeah, what else?"

John staggered back and for the first time, all the people in the area rushed toward him in concern. It was to his surprise that he found Devola and Popola were now on either side of him, supporting him. How did they get here so fast?

"Are you okay, sir?" Popola asked as she looked him over for any sign of something wrong.

"I'm fine. It's just… Well, all of this is a lot to take in," John replied. "And it's John, not sir."

"We…we can't…" Devola started but stopped when John gave her a frown.

In fact, his entire audience seemed to freeze from his disapproval, as if they were a bunch of children in a classroom. Everywhere that he looked, they couldn't meet his gaze and turned away slightly to avoid his notice. Were they really androids? Maybe he could have categorized them as such if their reactions were all the same preprogrammed movements, but there were little differences here and there from each other from the hunching of their shoulders to slight grimaces on their faces. There was even one who defied this convention; the mackerel lady was meeting his stare head-on.

"What's your name?"

"Jackass."

"I mean, what's your real name?"

"I told you already. It's Jackass."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Uh, just making sure." John coughed into the top of his closed fist, more to hide his expression than anything else. "Did someone give you that name?"

"No, I chose it for myself."

"…okay, sure, but do you know what it means?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have chosen it for myself if I didn't know."

"Alright, just making sure." Not that John understood why someone would name themselves after an insult, but it was illogical touches like these that made him doubt that they were androids. "So you're really all machines?"

Contrary to what he was expecting, there were shocked gasps from the twins. More interestingly, there were outbursts of angry mutterings from the crowd, as if he had accused them of a heinous crime. However, the one that gave the most incensed glare was Jackass'. If looks could kill, hers would have given him some nasty burns.

"There is no fucking way that we're some junk heap machines!" She crossed her arms over her chest. "We're proud androids!"

"Yeah!" Someone from the crowd cheered.

"Fuck the machines!" Another chimed in from the side.

John looked bewilderedly around him.

"That's not what I meant," He looked to where Popola was supporting him with her hand on his chest and grabbed that hand, ignoring her surprise and shock. "What I mean to ask is if you are mechanical under—"

The skin was soft and human-like. That, he knew from a week before, but what he hadn't known about was the warmth that radiated from her artificial flesh, enough that he would have mistaken it as living tissue if he wasn't aware of its true nature beforehand. Still, it was enough to make him second-guess himself.

"Are you really artificial under here?"

Popola wordlessly nodded with a dazed expression.

There it was. Pressing his thumb down, he felt the hardness that was not of bone. He pushed in more and felt the grooves that were just like the inner exosuit of the Resistance member that he found at the mall. On that note, he probably shouldn't tell them about that. As iconic as he might be, he wasn't sure that it would be enough to protect him from the anger and retaliation that would ensue, especially if they really did act like human beings.

After all, the concept of rebelling against their creators—fictitious or not—was as old as civilization.

That said, the craftsmanship on just her hand was marvelous. The wrinkles and folds in the skin were meticulously created, such that they didn't look out of place at all. Each finger was very feminine in design and sported its very own unique fingerprint. If there was an imperfection to it, it was in its perfection. Like a piece of art, her hand was shapely with a lightly toned skin without the marring of veins or calluses that should have been there considering how much she had fought with a sword. For all intent and purposes, it was a hand good enough to model for manicure commercials.

"Who made you?" John asked as he turned her hand over to examine the back and knuckled area.

"M-most a-androids are made in space stations, but I…" Popola glanced hesitantly at her sister, Devola, who nodded at her. "We…we don't remember because our memories were—"

"Just what is going on out here?!" Another voice, firmer, cut in. Like the tides of an ocean parting, the crowd made a path, letting through a tanned woman in desert clothing. Over her clothes, she wore a green hooded cape that was embroidered at the ends like an ethnic shawl. "What are you all standing around for? Why aren't you at your posts?!"

"Anemone!" A soldier spoke up, grabbing her attention as he pointed in John's direction. "There's a human here!"

The woman in question took one look at John before turning her attention back to the soldier.

"Ajax…" Anemone sounded exasperated. "What did I tell you about taking anything from Jackass?"

"Hey!" Even though Jackass sounded offended, she didn't look one bit insulted.

"Uh, boss?" Another soldier, perhaps a friend of Ajax, chimed up. "They confirmed it. He's human."

Anemone turned to the twins who were still holding up John despite him not needing it anymore and gave them a skeptical look. At that, Devola answered back with a nod.

"He's human," Devola said. "There's nothing mechanical inside of him at all. I checked." She paused for a moment. "Twelve times."

Anemone took a moment to process that, and then another to take a half step back, as if punched. Her gaze went straight to John, and her stern visage slowly melted away to morph into one of disbelief and denial. At this point, John finally remembered to let go of Popola's hand. The girl quickly retracted her hand back, only to cradle it to her chest. There was a moment of silence before the leader of the camp slowly walked up to him, disbelief clear in her eyes. She approached him cautiously, as if afraid of spooking him.

"You look…just like us…" Anemone murmured as she examined him closely.

"I'd like to think that I'm less pretty and more handsome," John said jokingly, though a certain nervousness bled through into his voice.

Anemone reached up, cautiously and shakily, to touch his cheek, but John preempted that and took her hand into his. Just like with the twins, he could feel her warmth through her palm and digits as well as a softness that belied her nature. Quite frankly, the female soldiers that had once been under his command had nowhere near this kind of softness, having that worked out of them by endless warfare. It did, however, monetarily remind him of a time before the Legion.

"You're real..." Anemone let out a shocked and awe-filled whisper.

"As real as you are." Everyone around them was watching him with varying levels of emotions in their eyes. It was easy for John to see that they had never really interacted with humans, which made sense, given that humanity seemed to be stuck on the moon.

Actually, were they really stuck? If they could travel through space, perhaps mankind had gone as far as Mars or Saturn. Maybe even have the technology to leave the solar system. A dream of humanity had always been to explore the stars, and it had been eleven thousand years after all. Were they interstellar by now? Perhaps even galactic?

John shook his head to rid himself of those errant thoughts. What was important was that humanity was still alive. Judging by the fact that they were still actively sending their creations down to Earth, that meant that it was possible to get in contact with them.

"Real as..." Anemone's eyes looked at him in more confusion, but only for a second more. Releasing his hand, she became panicked. "Ajax, grab everyone and seal the base now! Nobody in or out—no, belay that. Let them in, but don't let anybody leave. Bolster the defenses and make sure no machine lifeform comes within a two kilometer radius of the base. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." A number of people in the crowd split off to do just as ordered.

"Jackass, cut off all outgoing communications and get a message to the Council on the most secure channel we have. Omega encryption, situation code: Lunar Seed."

"You got it!" Jackass ran off to another tent.

"The rest of you. Get back to your posts! I want us ready for any trouble that comes our way."

The remainder of his audience jumped, as if startled into action, and quickly dispersed. In the chaos of it all, Anemone turned to John and the twins who stayed by his side.

"Please, this way, sir. There are things you need to know," Anemone told him before looking at the twins. "You two come too. I think you both are the only ones with a database on human physiology, correct?"

"Among other things," Devola mentioned.

"Devola…" Popola looked a little exasperated. "Please be serious."

"Lead the way," John simply said as he followed behind Anemone while being flanked by two protective red-headed girls.

~0~

Above the Earth, in the endless expanse of space, a massive satellite floated in orbit. It was one of many such satellites that hovered above the planet, beyond the reach of the machine lifeforms. It wasn't due to a difference in technological levels since the machine's mastery over anti-gravity proved that they were capable of reaching beyond, but for whatever reason, they had never attempted to leave the Earth's stratosphere. It was the only reason that the Army of Humanity could subsist in its endless fight over the millenniums.

In this space beyond the reach of the machines, this unmanned satellite received a heavily encrypted signal with the proper authorization codes, allowing for direct transmission with the highest priority. It redirected the message over to one of over a dozen massive space stations that floated above the world, acting as both a home base and construction facility. However, among the many countless androids that worked to maintain its operation, there was only one in particular who received the message.

This lone android stopped, her hand still raised in mid-air. She reviewed the message several times, checking and rechecking, but the matter contained within did not change in the slightest. Sterile words stared back at her, prompting more urgency than she had ever felt even in the last Machine War. This matter was beyond the scope of her authority, far beyond the judgment call of one single leader. Constructing her own message, devoid of all detail, she encrypted it and sent it out to all personnel necessary.

All across Earth and space, the members of the Council of Humanity were recalled in short order.

~0~

"Looks like you are digesting the mackerel correctly," Popola said with a bit of wonder in her voice. "No sign of congealing fluids."

"Not that I'm doubting you, but I've been eating it for over a week."

"Besides signs of recent malnutrition, you are as healthy as I can tell with my current equipment."

What equipment? That was the question running through John's head while he was sitting down in a wooden chair, letting the more reserved of the twins do a medical examination. The thing was, she was doing it barehanded. As far as he knew, she was just groping various parts of his body as if she was a massage therapist. To him, that could hardly be considered a medical examination, but maybe the future was different. Still, it would have been relaxing in a way if there weren't a couple of heavily armed Resistance members standing guard in the command tent, trying not to stare too obviously at the lone human within these clothed walls.

It was a spacious enough room with a single wooden desk, messily stacked with papers strewn haphazardly across the surface. Not only was it not as clean and organized as he expected from androids—and wasn't that a hoot and a holler—but it was distinctly lacking a more computerized look. When he had thought of the future, it was certainly more with a cyberpunk kind of appearance than this guerrilla affair that they had going on here. Shouldn't paper be out of vogue by now?

"Why use paper? Don't you have internal memory storage or external hard drives?"

"It's because paper can't be hacked," Anemone said as she entered the tent, followed closely behind by Devola. "And the machine lifeforms don't usually have fingers to handle delicate work. Most of them can't turn a page without ripping it."

John moved to stand up, a habit ingrained in him from military service, but Anemone was quick to wave him down.

"Please, stay seated. I apologize for the wait." As she walked over, Anemone grabbed a stray chair and dragged it with her. Plopping it down in front of him, she took a seat in it and crossed her arms across her chest, not in an intimidating way but in more of a contemplative one. "Popola, how's his condition?"

"Minor signs of malnourishment, but he seems healthy for a person who jumped out of a building," Popola answered, though she paused for a moment, realizing that she needed to clarify her statement. "Humans aren't made to land from that height. Even a fall from ten meters could cause serious injuries."

"I'll provide a list of food for human consumption," Devola chimed in.

"See to it. I'm charging you both with the maintenance and upkeep of his health. Consider that your number one priority as of this moment."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sure, will do."

"Sir," Anemone began, turning her gaze to John.

"Please, call me John. I'm not in the military anymore."

"Alright… John…" Anemone slowly said, as if feeling every syllable on her tongue. "What are you doing here on Earth? The Council had no idea about your presence, and the preliminary order was to secure you. My top priority as of this moment is keeping you safe. So, please tell me, how did you leave the moon base?"

"I didn't. I was never on that base." John shook his head. "Look, I have some questions. Well, a lot of questions."

"So do I." She held his gaze for a moment before she broke. "But you go first, ask away."

"What happened in the past ten thousand years?" Before Anemone could open her mouth, John quickly said, "The Cliffs Notes version please."

They stared at him in confusion.

"I mean the summary," John explained. "If I want more details, I'll ask for them."

"I understand that human lives are relatively short, but shouldn't this topic have been taught up there," Anemone asked, visibly confused.

"Like I said, I've never been up there," John said. "In fact, you could say that I'm not native to this era."

"Cryostasis?"

"Time travel," John corrected. It sounded unbelievable even to his ears, but so was being over nine thousand years in the future. "I'm actually from 2018."

It wasn't only the three of them who stared incredulously at John; even the guards had stopped acting like they weren't eavesdropping and were now just openly gawking at him.

"Time travel is impossible!" Anemone declared. "And there's never been any record of humanity building a time machine."

"I know it sounds unbelievable, but it's the truth," John said. "We attempted to create a time machine to go back in time to stop the White Chlorination Syndrome from spreading, but instead, for some reason, I was sent forward."

"To 11943…" Popola said in shock. "Does that mean you were there in the early days of android development?"

Her words and the emotion on her face made him pause for a moment. It still surprised him how human-like their personalities and habits were, making him feel like he was talking to actual flesh and blood people.

"Funny you should mention that," John said with a reminiscent smile. "I was actually involved with the project at the time."

If they had been in awe before, all the androids in the room were now looking at him with tremendous shock and disbelief. It was a better reaction than Skynet had its creators, but honestly, while he had been integral to coding the operating system, there had certainly been far more teams involved in the many other aspects of the project that he really couldn't claim to have done all that much. Besides, by this day and age, they probably had built upon the coding infrastructure that he provided, if not outright improved or replaced it.

"All and all, got to say that I'm really impressed with what I'm seeing. Until you mentioned it, I actually thought you guys were based off of something different," John said as he looked at the Androids. "For a project that I worked on to last ten thousand years is pretty crazy, honestly. I would have thought it'd be replaced with something better by now."

They visibly recoiled from his words, and that was when he realized what he had just said.

"I don't mean that in a bad way!" John hurriedly waved his hands in a placating way. "You're all extremely advanced, so much so that I'd have never thought you weren't human until you told me. I'm just saying that it's incredible how far things have advanced from my time yet some things still remain somewhat familiar."

At their rapidly calming emotions, he breathed a little easier. Feeling a little stiff from his one-man comedy show, he rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about everything. Thinking about them as androids wasn't really getting him anywhere. All he was doing was confusing himself and making some bad judgment calls. Quite frankly, they were human enough to be considered human. Sure, they didn't have the flesh and blood, but they were human where it counted.

Besides, he was American, and the United States was practically a melting pot of different races, cultures, and customs.

Or at least, it used to be like that. Now, they all lived on the moon, apparently.

Probably still a melting pot though.

"The humans up in space must be extremely advanced by now," John said as his curiosity took hold of him. "Besides the moon, have they also colonized Mars yet? Maybe even expanded out of the solar system?"

If he thought about the scale, ten thousand years was a ridiculous amount of time. In the twentieth century alone, technology had advanced at a mind-numbing speed to send a man to the moon and put a personal computer into almost every home. Even thinking about a hundred years before his time was like an ancient era in comparison. How far could humanity go with a hundred times that time frame? It was nearly unimaginable.

Yes, John had to admit that the more he thought about it, the more excited he was starting to get. This was the future, and while there were hostile machines on Earth, humanity as a whole had taken to the stars. What had once been an unreachable dream seemed like it was being achieved right in front of him, and he felt a certain sense of pride at the thought.

However, unlike the prompt responses from before, there was only silence this time. What gave away the tension was the downcast glances exchanged between the twins. Anemone simply closed her eyes and crossed her arms, a stern frown on her face.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"Sir—John," Popola corrected as she remembered his earlier words. "Humanity hasn't… They haven't…"

"They've never left the moon." Devola finished for her sister and then looked at him, fear prevalent in her eyes.

It didn't register with him immediately, but soon, John felt a sort of rising alarm within him.

"What do you mean they never left the moon? Explain." His words came harsher than he had intended, judging by the twin's flinch, but he needed answers. "Please."

"When Project Gestalt failed, nearly the entire human population perished with it," Devola said in a voice choked with so many emotions that it nearly strangled the sound. "Our model was responsible for that failure. We were the cause of the fall of mankind, and the survivors on the moon had never recovered from that."

It was hard for John to listen above the sound of his frantic heartbeat in his ears. He felt both lightheaded and cold, as if someone poured ice water down his back.

"Project Gestalt…" It was both familiar and unfamiliar, but he desperately grasped for the memory. By the time that four heartbeats passed by—agonizingly slow yet fast in his perception—he came upon that recollection. "Isn't that the one that was supposed to separate the soul from the body?"

"Not supposed to. That's what it did," Popola answered softly. She was holding her sister's hand, grasping for that familiar comfort. "Separation of body and soul. The soul kept in stasis, and the body cloned from the blueprint of the soul. Gestalts and replicants, respectively."

"Every time a replicant died, they were cloned again. Perfect with no deviation or mutation. They were nearly mindless, living their lives under the command of android caretakers and working together to fight the Legion until the day that the White Chlorination Syndrome is no longer a threat. At that point, insertion of the gestalt into its replicant would commence," Devola explained. "Eventually, the Legion was destroyed and the white Maso was expelled from the world, but by that time, the replicants had gained sentience despite lacking souls."

"Before the project could come to completion, a replicant rebelled and destroyed a key component of the project," Popola continued. "It resulted in gradual and inevitable extinction of both the gestalt and their replicant."

"…because there was no way to complete the project anymore," John said in a voice just above a whisper.

"Yes." Popola lowered her eyes, her long lashes obscuring the sight. "As observers, our model was supposed to stop such a thing from happening."

"It's…" Devola looked up pleadingly. "It's not our fault! We were in a different town. The two who caused—"

"Devola!" Popola opened her eyes, though she didn't look at her sister. "Devola, that's enough. We share a responsibility."

"You don't think I know that?!" Devola's free hand clenched into a closed fist. "I know… I know we can never do enough to atone for what—"

"Enough!" John's outburst made the androids in attendance flinch. "Give me a minute to think. Please."

Lo' and behold, the most stupidest idea of a project had been the one chosen for the majority of humanity to undergo. Why hadn't they simply gone with the moon project? That one apparently had survivors even to this day, even though they weren't exactly thriving. If the Hamelin Organization hadn't been bankrolling Project Gestalt, the moon project probably would have been the most logical and reasonable choice. Instead, because of one international group with way too much power and authority, they went with some obscure project that used the unstable magic particle known as red Maso to fuel a process that was barely understood for a conclusion that could have come out of a fairy tale. Seriously? Take out the soul until the White Chlorination Syndrome disappears and then put it back in? What were they expecting it to be? Plug and play? A Russian matroyshka doll?

Well, desperation and corruption always did make people stupid.

Glancing at the twins, John could see them flinch again under his stare, like they were children who were waiting to be scolded.

What were they expecting out of him? For him to blame the death of mankind on them? The ones responsible had been another pair of twins according to Devola's argument with her sister, not this pair who were standing in front of him. If he thought like how they were expecting him to think, then that would be the same as thinking that the T-800 who saved him was the same as the T-800 that tried to kill his mother. Despite being the same model, those were two different terminators, and he would only ever consider one of them to be Uncle Bob, the same one who sacrificed everything for him.

"Dev, Pop." When they only started to shake in response, John said, "Look at me."

Reluctantly, the twins looked up with an expression like they were facing a judge, jury, and executioner.

"I can't speak for all of humanity, but I don't think you both are to blame for this." It was only his beginning words, but a shock went through the twins, causing them to look at him with wide eyes. "Look, I have only known the both of you for a little while now, but even I can tell that you really care. If you had been there, would you have tried to save everyone?"

"Of course!" Devola fiercely replied. "Any android would. Our entire purpose is for the glory of mankind."

"Well, not really what I was asking, but I guess that's enough. That makes this next part real easy for me."

John nodded his head, taking a deep breath before he finally spoke again.

"Again, while I don't speak for mankind—can't really—I can, however, see right from wrong so I'm going to tell you what I think. I—the human standing in front of you—have decided that it was not your fault. None of it was. In my eyes, you two are innocent, so really, stop beating yourselves over it."

The twins stared blankly at him.

"…yeah, and that's that."

There was a moment of silence.

"…what do you mean?" Devola finally asked.

"Uh, I mean what I said? Well, let me put it in simpler words." John looked at Devola and Popola. "You two, the models standing in front of me, are not to blame."

"I—we don't understand," Popola said.

"It wasn't your fault. Plain and simple." John made sure to meet their questioning gazes. "While I may have been a bit distracted by everything, you did say that it was another Devola and Popola model, right?"

The twins nodded hesitantly.

"Then that makes all the difference in the world. It's not like all you Devola and Popola were networked or linked into some kind of hive mind, were you?" John's eyes flickered between the two. The subsequent shake of their heads confirmed his assumption. "So the Devola and Popola that I'm talking to—right here and right now—are the ones who I fought together with, right? Not some other Devola and Popola elsewhere, correct?"

Again, the twins nodded hesitantly.

"Then it's as simple as that. The blame for someone else's mistake shouldn't have been placed on your shoulders."

"B-but the leaders—"

"Were probably making you guys out to be convenient scapegoats. Humans can be stupid like that, especially politicians." John knew that whoever had been in charge would have never accepted responsibility for the project's failure. Placing the blame on faulty machines would have been far easier.

Even in the far future, some things never change.

"But we were responsible!" Devola shouted in anguish and anger. "It was our fault."

"Were you the same Devola and Popola in charge of Project Gestalt?"

"Well, we were in charge of a town in—"

"No, I mean, were you both in charge of the key portion?"

"No…"

"Then you're innocent. I'm not sure if the meaning of the word had changed over the years, but during my time, that means that you're blameless, free of guilt, and most importantly, not responsible."

"You can't just—"

"You guys are really dead set on carrying this cross, aren't you?" John huffed out in an overly exasperated manner. "Seriously, if you still want to take the blame, then be my guest, but this human here is saying that you're innocent. If that's not good enough, then I promise to argue on your behalf with those guys on the moon. Until then, will you let it go?"

The simple question hung heavily in the air, shutting down the objections from the twins.

After a few moments of silence, the atmosphere became a bit awkward even for him. In all honesty, John hadn't expected the conversation to end simply like this. He had expected more opposition, and he had a few more arguments that he could have thrown up. Still, the fact that it ended here meant that it was up to them whether they accepted it or not. There was only so much that could be said before they just had to figure the rest out on their own.

"You…you really did it…"

John started, having forgotten that there were more androids in the room. He turned to Anemone and saw a complicated expression on her face.

"Anemone, did you—" John had only just begun talking when there were multiple booms in the skies above. "An attack?!"

John ran out of the tent, leaving the twins behind who were still processing his input. As soon as he cleared the clothed flaps, he stopped and looked up only to find dozens of contrails high above in the skies, each of them heading in the base's general direction.

"Oh." Anemone, having followed behind him along with the two guards, whistled in appreciation. "Looks like they emptied out the Bunker for you."

"Who?"

"YoRHa."

~o~

A/N: Action is important, but reaction is just as important.

Thanks again, Vahn, for editing and also for doing more than just editing.

Ko-fi if you want to support my work. Thanks!