Sand lashed across my face, scraping my skin and forcing its way into my eyes. I squinted into the open desert, blinking fast as the wind whipped harder.
No doubt about it now.
The hobo actually wasn't crazy.
I let out a long breath and pushed myself upright, slow and steady. For the first time in—honestly, maybe ever—I felt good. Not just passable, not functional in a barely-holding-it-together way. Good. The kind of good that made you realize how much you'd been hurting before.
There was no dull ache along my spine. No phantom pain flickering from my shoulder.
I hadn't expected much. When that smelly old drunk came up to me in the park, claimed to be a god, and offered a deal in exchange for a McDonald's combo meal, I figured worst case, I'd lose ten bucks and sit through thirty minutes of rambling. Best case? Maybe I'd get a story out of it.
But standing here now—sun burning high, dunes rolling out to the horizon, and something deep in my chest working for once—I had to admit... the results kind of spoke for themselves.
I took another breath, deeper this time. Felt the air cut clean through my lungs. The fog in my mind thinned as I tried to remember the build from that "Choose Your Own Adventure" paper the old man handed me. I hadn't studied it all that closely, but I did remember one thing.
I rolled up my sleeve, half-dreading some crude graft job. What I found made me whistle.
My arm gleamed with a dark gunmetal finish, sleek and seamless like something ripped out of a sci-fi game. I turned it over, flexed the fingers, and twisted the wrist. It responded instantly, like it had always been part of me. No delay. No foreignness. Just muscle memory that happened to be made of steel.
I crouched and grabbed a fistful of sand, letting it run slowly between my fingers. Felt the grit against skin—my metal skin—and the dry kiss of wind tugging along my forearm. The sensation was oddly intense. Almost more tactile than before.
Then I noticed it.
A journal, half-buried, but placed too perfectly to be accidental, centered right in front of me like someone had dropped it there.
I stared at it for a second before the memory clicked. One of the Objects that had been in the build was a journal.
I stepped forward, picked it up, and flipped it open without hesitation.
The first page slammed into me like a punch.
DEFEAT THE MACHINE NETWORK.
The words weren't just printed. They burned. Not on the page, but in my mind—hot and sharp, like someone had engraved them behind my eyes.
I could feel it.
A weight anchored into my brain.
Then the visions hit.
A sea of deserts crawling with machines. Forests overrun with clusters of them, hidden like nests. Across every terrain, every ruin, they stretched—thousands, millions—an endless tide of blinking red eyes and steel limbs reaching out to claim the world.
And then came the dark.
A land with no sun. Only layers of red dots pulsing through the black, watching from all sides.
At the center of it all stood two red girls.
And with them came the geas, settling into my mind like it had always belonged there. I knew without a second of doubt—I had to defeat the machine network.
I exhaled sharply, mouth dry.
Nothing good's ever free.
Still... looking around, feeling the strength in my limbs and the clarity in my mind, I had to admit—I couldn't say I regretted it. Kill some rogue AI god, save the world, or whatever? Sure. It could be worse. Not like I was panicking. Not even a little.
I started walking. One foot in front of the other. Kept it simple. Motion gave me something to anchor to, something that made the overwhelming scale of this task feel slightly less impossible. If I stopped and let my brain sit with the idea of killing billions of machines... I might never move again.
Didn't matter. I was already moving.
Eventually, I slowed, just for a moment. Let the wind wash over me.
Even if this wasn't free... I was still grateful.
"Thanks, you old bastard," I shouted toward the sky. "Hope the McChicken was worth it!"
There was no answer, just the wind sweeping across the dunes.
I turned toward the faint outline of buildings in the distance, barely visible, blurred by heat shimmer, and set off.
And maybe it was just the wind.
But I could've sworn I heard someone laughing.
——
I had a lot of expectations when I started wandering. I wasn't a hardcore gamer or lore junkie, not by a long shot. My familiarity with Nier extended to a few gameplay clips, maybe some trailers, and a half-read wiki page. Just enough to recognize the game, maybe catch a name or two. That was it.
And now, standing ankle-deep in a sun-bleached desert with the wind chewing at my clothes and sand grinding against my boots, I was really starting to regret not playing the game. Hard to appreciate a world fully when all you remember boils down to "machines fight androids."
Still, even with that limited knowledge, it was hard not to be amazed.
Seeing it on a screen didn't do it justice. Not for the scale. Not for the weight of it. The ruins appeared gradually, half-sunken and crumbling, jutting out from the dunes like the bones of some long-dead colossus. Giant metal carcasses, shattered towers, and rusted bridges snapped midair. Time had smoothed the edges, but nothing could make the place feel less alien.
It was amazing.
Back home, I'd always wanted to travel the world. Just somewhere that wasn't a hospital room or a job I hated. But life had other plans, and money, health, and timing never lined up. Now I was here, in a world that wasn't mine—but hell if that was going to stop me.
I heard movement ahead, and instinct kicked in. I stilled, breath caught in my throat. The hope was that it was an android—maybe I could talk to it, reason my way for some help. If it were a machine... well, that came with different problems.
Either way, I needed to stop drifting and start scavenging. Food, water, shelter—those weren't guarantees anymore. My body, even with its new upgrades, was still mostly meat, and meat had needs.
I stepped carefully, each footfall deliberate as I moved toward the sound. The ruins around me rose like the shattered ribs of a cathedral half-swallowed by sand. Crumbling walls gave way to long shadows and deeper echoes. The sound got clearer—metal dragging against stone, a whine of static, and then—words. Warped. Garbled. Glitched like a broken speaker caught in a loop.
"Together—"
"Love—"
I edged toward a jagged window frame and leaned in to take a look.
"LOVE LOVE."
"TOGETHER FOREVER."
"FEED ME."
Below, in what looked like a sunken courtyard, a cluster of machines had gathered. Their bodies were familiar in shape—stubby arms, rounded heads—but they were bigger than I remembered. Human-sized or larger, maybe six feet tall, and thick with uneven plating. They moved in awkward rhythms, bumping into each other, separating and colliding again in waves.
Their voices overlapped, distorted cries of affection laced with static, as they pressed into one another with increasing intensity. The whole display felt like someone had animated a sex scene and forgotten to tack on the right models. The air was filled with just clangs as the machines went through their pantomime of an orgy without any privates.
I couldn't look away. Part horror, part disbelief, part "what the hell am I even looking at?"
Robots. In a full-on sex party.
Frozen in place, I just stared, torn between nausea and the creeping certainty that I was going to need therapy if I ever got out of this.
Then a voice whispered right behind me.
My whole body jerked as I spun around—and there it was. A machine, close enough to touch, staring at me with wide red eyes that glowed. Up close, the scale was worse. It loomed, every inch of it heavy with mismatched scrap and reinforced joints. Hundreds of pounds of weaponized metal stood between me and the only safe exit.
There was one other way out.
Straight through the machine orgy.
Yeah no.
I tried edging sideways, slow and quiet, hoping the thing would lose interest. But every time I moved, it mirrored me. Step by step. Watching like I had something it wanted.
Fine. Plan B.
I bolted, lunging hard to the side in a sprint. For a second, I thought I had it—but then my shoulder clipped its plating. Pain exploded down my side as I slammed into the ground, air punched from my lungs. I barely had time to move before its hand clamped around my arm.
Cold metal gripped against flesh with mechanical force.
"BABY!"
The voice was shrill, twisted with something that was a pantomime of love. Panic surged up my spine as I twisted and swung with my metal arm, aiming for what I guessed was the neck. The hit landed, solid, but it was like punching a steel girder. It didn't flinch.
"Seriously?" I wheezed.
My brain scrambled for answers. There had to be something the arm could do—anything. The machine was dragging me in now, arms folding, mouth constantly spewing the same word. Whatever it was about to do, I wanted no part of it.
Desperation kicked in.
I jerked my cybernetic arm forward, more reflex than thought—and then a brilliant lance of golden light erupted from my palm. The beam tore straight through the machine's chest, slicing it down the middle like butter. One second, it was hauling me toward whatever nightmare it had queued up. Next, it was collapsing in a heap, split clean through.
I just lay there for a second, heart pounding. Somewhere between a laugh and a breath, I let the words fall out.
"Hell yeah."
But the moment didn't last.
The air shifted, pressure dropping like a storm was about to break. Sound dimmed. My ears rang.
And then came the footsteps.
I looked up—and saw more of them emerging from their screwed up orgy. Half a dozen at least, maybe more, all glowing red in the shade. Their eyes locked on, and I didn't wait to see what they wanted.
The arm came up, and I fired.
Each flick of my hand unleashed another beam. Machines dropped one by one, limbs twitching as they fell like puppets with their strings cut. My aim never wavered. Every shot landed center mass, no hesitation, no error.
By the time it was over, the air reeked of scorched metal and ozone. I stood in the center of it, breathing hard, heart racing. Smoke curled from the wreckage around me.
"That... that was definitely the marksman skill," I said, turning my arm over slowly. "No way my aim's ever been that good."
I let the silence settle again. Watched the last bit of smoke trail upward. The beams had sliced through them like they were made of paper. Whatever this thing was fused into me, it was fucking awesome.
Behind me, something tore through the ruins.
"I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS!"
Another machine, lurching into view, its legs dragging as it staggered into the clearing. The voice was raw with rage, even behind the strange apathetic tone the machines spoke with.
I didn't hesitate.
Raised my arm. Took aim.
"Come on, then," I taunted, lining up the shot with steady precision.
And pulled the trigger.
"Bang."
Nothing.
No light. No beam. No recoil.
I tried again. Still dead. The energy that had pulsed beneath the surface of my arm was gone, dimmed to cold, lifeless metal.
Seriously? It had ammo?
Before I could swear, the shadows around the ruins shifted.
More machines stepped into view. Two. Four. Ten. Eyes igniting in the dark one by one until the whole clearing was ringed in red.
Every one of them staring straight at me.
Ah... crap.