Hearing the sudden voice, Loren turned his head sharply.
Standing by the door was a white-haired old man whose wrinkled face was lit with relief.
At that moment, fragments of memory surged through Loren's mind — names, emotions, places. The man was Freddy Morgan, the family's butler, who had served the Morgans for over forty years. He had been his father's right hand since youth — loyal, efficient, and one of the few people the young heir could truly trust.
"Yes, I'm awake, Butler Freddy. How long was I out?" Loren asked, his tone calm but edged with curiosity.
"Twenty hours, young master," Freddy replied, his voice trembling with excitement. "Your personal physician feared you might not wake for days. Thank the heavens you're all right."
"Twenty hours… no wonder my back feels like it's been nailed to the bed," Loren muttered, rubbing his shoulders.
Freddy's eyes widened. "You're uncomfortable? I'll summon Dr. Michaels immediately—"
Loren waved him off. "No need. I've just been lying too long. Maybe send someone to loosen my muscles instead."
"As you wish, sir," Freddy said, bowing slightly before leaving the room.
Moments later, two young women entered — both wearing the crisp uniforms of newly hired maids. Their postures were perfect, their gazes lowered in practiced professionalism.
"These are the new staff I recruited this week," Freddy said as he reentered. "They've passed medical and background checks and are certified in physical therapy and rehabilitation."
Loren blinked, caught off guard. "I was joking, Freddy. You didn't have to take it literally."
Freddy's expression didn't change. "You're the heir of the Morgan Group, sir. Everything in this house exists for your comfort — the staff, the estate, even the walls you stand in. They all serve you."
Loren stared at him, half-stunned, half-amused. The logic of the ultrarich really was something else. In his old life, he would've cursed people who talked like this. Now, he was one of them. The irony wasn't lost on him.
"…Right," Loren said finally, shaking his head. "Forget it. I've got other things to do. I'll send you a list of materials later — I need a private lab built in the basement. Make it happen discreetly."
Freddy hesitated. "A laboratory, sir? May I ask—"
"You may not," Loren interrupted, his voice flattening. "You'll know when it's time."
"Understood." Freddy bowed again and withdrew.
—
A month later, the basement had been transformed into a state-of-the-art laboratory — isolated, encrypted, and completely off-record. Not even Freddy had access clearance.
Within that sealed space stood Loren's greatest creation: YoRHa Unit No. 2 Type B — "2B."
She was exactly as he remembered from the original NieR: Automata archives: a flawless fusion of titanium alloy and synthetic muscle fiber wrapped in a layer of hyperrealistic bio-skin. Her face was a perfect paradox — cold elegance balanced by quiet melancholy.
Even knowing every servo and circuit beneath her surface, Loren still found himself entranced. She wasn't merely a machine. She was an ideal given form.
For a moment, a dangerous thought crossed his mind — what if she could feel?
He quickly dismissed it, forcing logic over impulse. But as the hum of her power core filled the lab, he couldn't help but think… perhaps this world, with its Stark-level engineering and Wakandan material science, might just make that wish possible.
Lauren's fingertips brushed lightly over 2B's flawless cheek. The smooth synthetic skin felt almost indistinguishable from that of a living woman. A bold idea flashed through his mind — one day, he would upgrade her, give her a true physical body, not just an imitation.
Driven by that thought, he pressed his thumb against the faint mark between her brows — the activation node.
A soft mechanical chime sounded. The android's eyes, pure and crystalline like cut sapphire, flickered to life. Slowly, she drew a breath out of habit rather than necessity, stretching with the fluid grace of a creature designed to imitate perfection. The motion was almost hypnotic — a blend of human subtlety and machine precision.
This was the brilliance of YoRHa's general-purpose combat technology: machines that could breathe, move, and even feel like humans. Their neural processors weren't simple AI chips — they were adaptive consciousness engines, capable of emotional evolution.
Of course, that evolution wasn't guaranteed. Some units remained cold, mechanical, unfeeling. Others, like 2B, had begun to awaken to something… more.
Lauren couldn't help but marvel. With this kind of intelligent framework, he could apply the same system to other machines — build a network, an army even. The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through him.
But his train of thought shattered the instant 2B approached him. She moved with deliberate, catlike steps, her expression calm yet unreadable.
Freshly reactivated, she hadn't yet been fitted with armor or clothing — her synthetic skin gleamed faintly under the lab lights. For a brief, dangerous second, the scientist in him wrestled with the man. His pulse quickened.
2B's gaze locked onto him, sharp and assessing, as if silently evaluating his reaction.