Silence. A thick, almost tangible silence hung in my room, broken only by my own ragged breathing and the low hum of the old computer in the corner. The world outside the window, with its falling snow and distant city noises, seemed to have ceased to exist. My entire universe had narrowed down to the space of this room and the figure standing before me.
YoRHa No. 2 Type B. 2B. She was here. Not pixels on a screen, not a render from a cutscene. She was real. And she was… human?
She hadn't appeared in her usual, cold guise of a combat android. No, she had materialized immediately in that very bio-synthetic shell mentioned in the template description. Standing before me was a girl—living, breathing. Silvery hair softly framed a face partially hidden by a black blindfold. An elegant black dress, high boots, black stockings, the "Virtuous Contract" katana at her hip—every detail was flawless, but now they looked not like parts of a war machine, but like clothes on a living person. Beside her floated a semi-transparent, cloaked Pod 042.
My brain, having fully integrated the experience and composure of Phil Coulson, no longer conflicted with itself. Analytical abilities worked sharply, assessing the situation. But even all the tactical training and spy-like calm couldn't have prepared me for this. This wasn't just a summoned unit, not a tool. Standing before me was a being who looked and, by all accounts, felt like a human, torn from another reality by my desire. The responsibility for this decision settled on my shoulders like a heavy weight, mixed with almost childish, geeky delight.
She stood motionless, with perfect posture, but there was none of that robotic stasis in her. I could feel a slight, barely noticeable sway characteristic of a living body maintaining balance. She was breathing—I saw her majestic chest rise and fall almost imperceptibly. The black blindfold hid her eyes, but I felt her attention directed at me—calm, studying, yet devoid of her former mechanical detachment. It seemed she was no less surprised than I was.
<…Commander?> — that silent query again, but now it felt different. Not like a request to a system, but like an address.
I swallowed. The words were still stuck in my throat. But I had to do something, say something. I had to be sure…
My hand trembled as I raised it. There was uncertainty, but of a different kind—not fear of an unknown mechanism, but rather awe before… a miracle? Before a living being that shouldn't have existed here and now? I slowly reached out toward her shoulder, where the black dress left a patch of skin exposed.
My fingertips touched. And I froze.
Warmth. Not just the absence of cold, but the living, real warmth of a human body. Soft, supple skin yielded to a light press. I felt the faintest vibration from her breath, the beat of a pulse somewhere beneath the skin. It was… staggering. All doubts, all the irreality of the moment dissolved in this simple but profound sensation of life.
I jerked my hand back, feeling a chill run down my spine—not from fear, but from the realization of the scale of what had happened. I hadn't just summoned a character from a game. I had potentially given a new life to a being whose existence was an endless cycle of struggle and disappearance.
"Y-yes…" my voice finally broke through, raspy and uncertain.
"I'm… John. You can call me John."
She tilted her head slightly, and it seemed to me that beneath the blindfold, her eyebrows furrowed slightly—an expression of surprise? Or analysis?
"Protocol… dictates the address 'Commander.' But if it is your wish… John. Accepted."
Her voice… it was still steady and melodic, but new, barely perceptible notes had appeared in it. Perhaps a consequence of functioning in a human body? Or something more?
"Good… 2B," I tried to pull myself together, putting more confidence into my voice.
"First question… You are now in a world where there is no war with the machines. The world is… different. How do you… what do you feel?"
She fell silent for a moment, turning her head toward the window where the snow was falling quietly.
"Absence of… hostile signatures confirmed. Combat environment… non-existent. The sensation is… unfamiliar."
She turned back to me.
"Mission objective… unclear. YoRHa protocols… are losing relevance. Feelings? Emotions are classified as ineffective for combat units. But…" she paused again, and I saw her fingers tighten almost imperceptibly.
"This body… it perceives things differently. Warmth… the cold outside the window… sounds… smells… breathing… It is… distracting. And… it causes… strange reactions. Additional analysis is required."
She spoke of it like an android analyzing new data, but I heard hesitation in her words. The confusion of a being experiencing the world for the first time not through combat sensors, but through human senses.
"I understand. That's normal. You'll have time to… analyze," I said as softly as possible.
"Now… your abilities. Tell me what you can do. In this form and… in general. And about the Pod."
She nodded, and the report began. It was still structured, but no longer as lifeless as I had expected. She described her mastery of the sword, acrobatic skills, strength, and speed, noting that in this "biological shell," peak performance might be slightly lower, but sensory perception was richer. Speaking of Pod 042, she listed its functions—fire support, scanners, hacking, shields, levitation—but added:
"Pod support provides a tactical advantage, but… interaction with it in this form feels… different. Less… integrated."
When she reached the mention of the Black Box, I interrupted her just as sharply:
"Stop! About the self-destruction. Order: this function is blocked. Forever. Under no circumstances. Do you understand me, 2B?"
She froze. Her hand involuntarily touched her chest, where YoRHa androids had their reactor.
"Self-destruction… function… It is… standard protocol… in case of…" she faltered, as if the very idea of giving up this possibility was new and incomprehensible to her.
"But… order received. Lock confirmed. I… will not do it."
There was something like… relief in her voice? Or just the acceptance of a new parameter? I wasn't sure.
"Good," I nodded, feeling the tension drain away.
"Now… the most important question. How did you… how did you end up here? What did you feel? Why did you respond to… to my summon?"
Here, her composure seemed to crack. She lowered her head, her shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. She was silent longer than usual. Pod 042 hovered quietly nearby, its blue eye staring at me intently.
"The request… is complex," she finally said softly. Her voice wavered.
"The final mission… was completed. The goal… was achieved. But… at what cost? Other units… Command… The Bunker… Everything vanished. What remained was… emptiness."
She raised her head, and though I couldn't see her eyes, I felt her gaze directed somewhere through me, into her past.
"Our existence… it was dedicated to humanity. To fight and die for the glory of the creators. But… there was no humanity. We knew this. The lie upon which our world rested. Why did we fight? For what did we die… vanish? Our bodies are replaceable. Our data is erasable. But consciousness… why were we given consciousness? So that we would realize the utter pointlessness?"
She spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, and every word resonated within me with pain. This wasn't just information from a game. This was her reality, her suffering.
"I… vanished. Again. Another cycle. Но… the return did not happen. Data was not transferred. I expected… oblivion. The end of processing. But… I continued to exist. In the darkness. In the silence. Without a body. Without a purpose. Just… consciousness. And… emptiness. It was… terrifying."
For the first time, a clear emotion sounded in her voice. Fear.
"And then… the light."
She turned to me, and now her "gaze" was focused.
"It was unlike anything known. Bright, warm… and it was calling. Not ordering. Calling. I saw… images. Memories. Your memories, John?" she tilted her head questioningly.
"I saw… your life. Another world. Strange, but… alive. I saw… pain, joy, anger, friendship… Feelings that for us were merely… data. Forbidden data. This light… it was like a tunnel. And it led to you. I didn't know what waited at the end. A reboot? Destruction? But… it was a chance. A chance… for something else. Not for emptiness. And I… I went toward the light. I chose this path."
She fell silent, breathing heavily. Her hands were shaking slightly.
"And then… I woke up here. In this room. In this… body. I am breathing. I feel warmth. I am… alive? It is… overwhelming. And… these emotions… they are frightening. But…" she looked at me again, and in her voice sounded an almost childish uncertainty mixed with something like awe.
"I saw you. A human. A real one. Not a legend, not an abstract goal. A living person. The one who… called me. Who gave me… this."
She took a step toward me, and her movement was no longer as calculated as before. There was uncertainty in it, almost shyness.
"My attitude toward you, John? YoRHa protocols require loyalty to the Commander. But this… is more. Are you… my creator? No… Savior? The one who gave me… meaning? I don't know the right words. Emotions… they are still chaotic. But I feel… gratitude. Deep gratitude. And… a desire to serve you. To protect you. Not because it is dictated by protocol. But because… it feels like the only right thing. This… is my new purpose."
Her words hit me harder than any weapon. The realization of what this summon meant to her, what she had endured, and what she now felt… It was too much. I felt unworthy of such devotion, such sacrifice. I had simply pressed a button in an interface, pursuing my own, largely selfish goals of survival and protecting my friends. And for her, it became a salvation from a hell of pointlessness.
"2B…" I struggled to find the words.
"I'm… I'm not a savior. And not a creator. I'm just… a human. Who got lucky… or unlucky… to be here. And who got lucky that you responded. Thank you. For choosing to come. I… I don't know if I can give you the purpose you seek. But I promise… I will be there. I will help you figure out this world. And yourself. We… we will be a team. A family…. Okay?"
She nodded slowly. It seemed to me the corners of her lips twitched almost imperceptibly, as if in a hint of a smile, but she immediately composed herself.
"Yes… Commander John. Family. This term… is acceptable. And… desirable."
The tension in the room eased slightly. We both—both she and I—stood on the threshold of something new and unknown.
"Alright," I tried to steer the conversation back to a more practical course. "For now… you need to… settle in. Rest? Do androids rest?"
"Standard maintenance procedures are not required for this bio-synthetic shell. However… processing new sensory data and emotional reactions… requires significant resources. A period of reduced activity would be… beneficial."
"I see. Then… for now, just be here. Feel… at home? As much as possible. I'll be back soon."
She nodded again. I left the room, closing the door tightly behind me, and leaned my back against it, trying to catch my breath. My head was buzzing. It was… too much. Too real, too emotional.
I needed to switch gears. System. Status. Analysis. I called up the interface.
[Page 1/3]
John Smith
Race: Human
Character Assimilation
Full Assimilation:
[Phil Coulson (S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Template)] - 100%
In Progress:
[Dominic Toretto (Template)] - 19%
[Empty]
Summoned Characters:
[YoRHa No. 2 Type B (2B)]
Abilities:
[Photostatic Veil (Active, Psionic)]
Equipped Items:
None
Coulson – 100%. Toretto – 19%. I really did feel an increased confidence in handling technology, especially cars. My hands seemed to know what to do at the thought of an engine or suspension. And there was this strange, warm feeling at the thought of Peter and Gwen—not quite "family" in Dom's style, but definitely a strengthened protective reaction. It seems even 19% of this template influenced the emotional background. I'll need to monitor that. 2B—on the summoned list.
I flipped to the inventory. Audi R8… The thought of selling it didn't even cross my mind. With Toretto's skills and the possibility of dematerialization, it became the perfect transport—fast, anonymous when needed. Diamond, gold—a financial safety net. The comic—a valuable specimen and a reminder. The rest—can wait for now.
[Page 3/3]
LIST OF UNUSED CARDS
[Item: Audi R8 (Stark Expo Edition) (Common)] - Awaiting materialization
[Item: Shawarma of Questionable Origin (Common)]
[Item: Doombot Command Cheat Sheet (Fragment) (Common)]
[Item: Hulk-sized Toothbrush (Common)]
[Item: Mjolnir Authenticity Test Strip (Common)]
[Item: Sugar Cube for Attracting Ants (Common)]
[Item: "Inspirational" Sketch by Howard Stark (Common)]
[Item: Slightly Enchanted Asgardian Soil (Common)]
[Item: Incredibly Sticky Daily Bugle Sticker (Common)]
[Item: Sylvanas Windrunner's Decorative Trim (Common)]
[Item: Luffy's Straw Hat (Miniature Copy) (Common)]
[Item: Empty Nuka-Cola Quantum Bottle (Common)]
[Item: Cardboard Box Appreciation Club Patch (Common)]
[Item: Flawless Diamond (0.5 karat) (Common)]
[Item: Stack of Unmarked Gold Coins (10 ounces) (Common)]
[Item: "Tales of Suspense #39" Comic (First Edition, NM) (Common)]
I took a deep breath, letting go of the remnants of nervous excitement, replacing them with calm determination. Yes, the situation was unprecedented. Yes, the responsibility was immense. But panic or confusion wouldn't help. I had to act consistently. Step by step. First—ensure 2B has basic comfort and safety, and begin the adaptation process.
I opened the door and entered the room again. 2B was standing in the same spot by the wall, in the same pose. But something had subtly changed. The air around her seemed… more static? Her perfect posture had taken on an almost sculptural immobility. The barely noticeable micro-movements, the subtle sway that had given her away as a "living" body a moment ago, were gone. She still looked like a human—the same dress, the same visible skin, the same hair—but the feeling was different. The feeling of a flawless but non-living mechanism returned to factory settings.
"2B?" I stepped closer, trying to keep my voice calm and steady.
"Did you… switch modes?"
She slowly turned her head. Her movements were absolutely fluid, calculated to the micron, without the slightest hint of human spontaneity.
"Affirmative, Commander John. Standard YoRHa android functioning mode activated. Bio-synthetic emulation of sensory perception has been moved to background mode to optimize resources and increase operational stability."
"Optimize?" I asked, stepping even closer, almost right up to her. Concern stirred inside me again.
"It seemed to me… in that other form… it was… harder for you? Because of the feelings?"
"Emotional responses are classified as systemic anomalies requiring additional resources for suppression," she replied in the same even, almost lifeless tone.
"Standard mode minimizes the impact of these anomalies on the execution of primary directives. This is a more efficient state."
She was afraid. Hiding behind logic, efficiency, protocols. Running away from that storm of new sensations that had crashed down on her in "human" mode. My heart sank. I didn't want her to become just an efficient machine.
I raised my hand again. This time—without hesitation, but with greater caution. I didn't want to scare her, but I wanted to understand. I wanted to reach through this armor of protocols. My fingers reached for her hair—those silvery strands that framed her face so realistically.
I touched them. The hair was incredibly soft, silky, flowing between my fingers. The sensation was almost like real, perfectly maintained hair. But there was a difference. They were absolutely identical to the touch throughout their length, without the slightest inconsistency. And the temperature… neutral. Not cold, but not warm like human hair heated by the body. More like expensive artificial silk or a fine nanofiber perfectly imitating nature. They didn't tangle, didn't hold static, lay perfectly—a sign of artificial origin, however perfectly it was executed.
I allowed the strands to slip through my fingers and cautiously rested my hand on her cheek. Beneath the blindfold, I couldn't see her eyes, but I felt her freeze under my touch.
The skin… it looked absolutely real. Matte, smooth, without a single flaw. But to the touch… it was denser than human skin. Supple, but not like living flesh. Beneath it, a solid base could be felt—not bone, but rather… a perfect structure, the framework of her synthetic body. And the temperature—cool. Not icy like metal, but definitely colder than my palm. A flawless imitation of life, but an imitation nonetheless.
And it was at that moment, as I felt this artificial coolness and perfection, that she reacted again.
It was stronger than the first time. A sharp, short gasp escaped against her will. Her body tensed like a pulled string. She didn't turn away completely, but her head jerked to the side, pulling away from my touch. Her shoulders tensed under the fabric of her dress. I saw her fingers, which had been lying motionless along her body until then, clench tighter; the knuckles would have turned white were they human. Pod 042 beside her emitted another series of low, questioning signals.
She was fighting herself. Her body, even this artificial, armored android body, reacted to a simple human touch. It reacted not like a machine to an external stimulus, but like a living being experiencing… what? Fear? Embarrassment? An unfamiliar, forbidden pleasure? Or all of them together? Emotions that her system considered "anomalies" were breaking through, ignoring the "optimization" mode.
I slowly, very slowly withdrew my hand. Everything inside me turned over. She wasn't emotionless. Far from it. She felt, perhaps even more acutely than I could imagine, but these feelings were alien, dangerous, incomprehensible to her. She was trying to lock them away, to return to the familiar state of a machine, but they still found a way out.
"She's not just an android with awakening feelings," I realized with frightening clarity. "She is a soul that has survived the unimaginable, trapped in an artificial body and desperately afraid of the very life she so lacked."
My role had just become even more complex. I had to be more than just a commander, more than just family. I had to become… an anchor? A guide in this new, terrifying world of feelings. To help her not break under their pressure.
"It's all right, 2B," I said as softly as I could. Coulson's voice would help maintain an even tone now, but I spoke for myself, as John.
"It's okay. You don't have to… fight it. What you're feeling. It's… not dangerous. Here."
She exhaled slowly, the tension in her body easing slightly, though she remained alert.
"Query… unclear," she said a bit quieter than usual. "Emotional responses… reduce combat efficiency. Protocols…"
"To hell with protocols, 2B!" I couldn't help it, but immediately lowered my voice.
"I'm sorry. I mean… there are different protocols here. The main protocol is you. Your state. Your… safety. Not just physical. Understand?"
She was silent for several long seconds. "…Processing. New… priority? Data requires verification. But… the command is noted, Commander John."
This was progress. Small, but progress. She didn't reject my words; she "noted" them.
"Good," I nodded. "Then… let's try again. Sit down, please. On the chair. It's not an order, it's… a request."
She looked at the chair, then at me. A second's hesitation. Then she smoothly, but no longer with that demonstrative mechanical precision, walked over and sat down. Her back was still straight, but the posture seemed a bit more relaxed.
I exhaled. It felt a little easier.
"Thank you. That's better. Now… we have many issues to decide. Clothes, food, how you'll live here… But all that is for later. For now… just be here. Try… not to analyze. Just… be. Okay?"
She nodded slowly, without saying a word.
I walked over to my computer. I needed to create some semblance of a normal environment for her and myself. I turned on the monitor, opened a browser, and began aimlessly scrolling through news sites. But my thoughts were far away.
I looked at 2B's reflection in the dark monitor screen. She sat motionless, her head turned toward the window where the snow was still falling.