When White accepted the position of YoRHa Commander, she truly believed she was ready—mentally, emotionally, and even existentially—for the burden that came with it.
She was convinced that she had extinguished every spark of compassion within herself. Empathy would only be a weakness. Mercy, a fatal mistake.
After all, command demanded cold decisions. And cold decisions could not coexist with feelings.
The YoRHa units were unlike any ordinary androids.
Each one possessed a core—a black box created through the reconstruction of a Machine Lifeform's nucleus.
The fusion of mechanical essence with synthetic structure produced something... unclassifiable.
They were not mere automatons.
And because of that, White always believed she should not—and could not—see them as her equals.
"They are not my comrades," she repeated to herself like a mantra.
They were only tools.
Instruments of war and data collection. Extensions of a greater mechanism.
Sending a unit to die meant nothing more than fulfilling protocol.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Or at least, that was what she used to believe.
With time, White noticed something changing within her—slowly, quietly.
An emotional corrosion. A system failure.
An error that should not exist.
First came doubt.
Then discomfort.
And finally... guilt.
For a moment, she thought there was something wrong with her own code—a virus, perhaps.
But diagnostics showed nothing. No anomalies. No corruption. Nothing.
It wasn't a programming defect.
It was something far more dangerous: humanity.
She began seeing her soldiers—her units—not as numbers or resources, but as people.
She watched them smile between missions, talk among themselves, share hope in a war where hope was not meant to exist.
They fought believing they were serving a glorious cause.
But White knew the cruel truth: most of those missions were empty.
They had no real purpose, except to generate data.
Each order given was, in truth, a death sentence.
And most of those orders... came from her.
She was a demon sending her own soldiers into hell—in the name of a greater good.
Even so, drowning in guilt, White carried on.
Because she believed that the sacrifice of a few would ensure the salvation of all.
But there was one name—one single name—that made that weight unbearable.
2B.
2B... the perfect warrior. Disciplined, cold, efficient.
But White knew the truth behind the title.
2B was not truly a YoRHa Type B.
She was a YoRHa Type E—an Execution model.
Her main duty was not to fight Machine Lifeforms.
It was to eliminate her own kind.
Her role was to infiltrate squads, observe... and when necessary, execute those who learned too much.
It happened often with the Type S androids, the data analysis specialists—like 9S, her eternal mission partner.
White knew that 2B was destined to kill him every time he uncovered or got too close to the truth behind Project YoRHa.
And that tore something inside her apart.
Because, despite the cold exterior, White knew 2B better than anyone.
She knew what lay beneath that calm voice, that impassive gaze, that mask of obedience.
Beneath the metal shell and combat protocols was a kind girl.
Shy, gentle... someone who only pretended to feel nothing so she wouldn't fall apart.
And White saw herself reflected in her.
Both prisoners of unquestionable orders.
Both lying to themselves just to keep existing one more day.
That's why, when the truth was finally revealed, White couldn't face her.
Not because she feared 2B, but because she understood her.
That kind of pain that tears apart what you thought was your soul—leaving you hollow, but still aware.
A cruel, naked reality.
If 2B were to attack her now, it would almost be a relief.
White would finally get what she deserved.
And yet, even amidst collapse, there was still a faint spark of hope.
Someone might still inherit what was left of YoRHa.
Someone who could bring true salvation and meaning to their existence.
A man who, somehow, remained human in a world that had forgotten what humanity meant.
That was why White did the unthinkable: she revealed everything about YoRHa.
She allowed every unit to know the truth—to think for themselves.
To stop being disposable tools.
She didn't know—couldn't know—that the Bunker's fate was already sealed.
That she, the units, and the entire system were doomed to destruction.
When she handed the command key to 6O, it wasn't out of anger.
It was... liberation.
Descending to Earth was her final choice.
Not an escape, but a silent surrender.
White did not fear being destroyed.
What consumed her was the thought of having condemned so many for so long.
And in that state—stripped of arrogance, stripped of command—she found herself standing before him.
Arthur.
When he finally allowed her to approach, White hesitated for a moment.
Something stirred inside her—a pulse of anticipation, fear, and a yearning for redemption.
Then she stepped forward and embraced him.
At first, gently.
Then, tightly.
She felt his warmth seep through the cold fabric of her uniform.
She could feel the steady, human rhythm of his heart.
And something within her simply... broke.
White held him tighter, as if trying to merge with his body.
Like a child who, after years of solitude, finally finds the arms of someone they can call home.
For an instant, she allowed herself to imagine—just imagine—that she could finally rest.
That she could fall asleep without guilt, without duty, without command—cradled in the arms of that man.
But reality soon returned.
More than anyone, she knew.
She didn't deserve that kind of peace.
She didn't deserve forgiveness.
And yet...
As his arms wrapped around her in return, White realized that perhaps—just perhaps—
there was now a reason for her to keep existing.
(End of Chapter)
A/N: I think this was the first time I've ever written a chapter like this. What did you think?
White -