To keep alive the flame of hope and a sense of purpose among the androids — beings created to fight in the name of a humanity that no longer existed in this world — a symbol was needed.
Something that could, somehow, justify the suffering, the sacrifice, and the endless cycle of pain they endured.
Thus arose the necessity to create a lie.
A beautiful, perfect… and necessary lie.
A lie called The Council of Humanity.
To motivate the androids to persevere, to give them a reason to continue fighting in a world that had long forgotten the meaning of "life," it was essential to provide proof — even if fabricated — that the Council truly existed and was watching over its creations from afar, cheering for them and guiding them through their fate.
And from that lie, the YoRHa Project was born.
Officially, its mission was noble — to develop a new generation of combat units: stronger, faster, and smarter.
Units created to turn the tide against the mechanical lifeforms and one day reclaim Earth.
Thus, YoRHa was born as the pinnacle of android engineering — an elite force, a living legend among existing androids.
Its members were revered and feared alike.
They wore black, bore the insignia of hope, and marched with the blind faith that they were fighting for something greater.
But the truth was far crueler than any of them could have imagined.
YoRHa had been created as an experiment.
Every member, every unit, every operation — all of it was part of a meticulously crafted plan to collect data.
Combat data, behavioral data, loyalty data…
And in the end, data on obsolescence.
The events that led to the destruction of A2's former squad — the sacrifice of her comrades, the confusing orders, the suicidal mission — none of it had been a strategic failure.
It had been part of the plan.
The Bunker's plan.
When the revelation echoed in everyone's minds, A2 froze for a moment.
Her gaze, once cold, now burned with barely restrained fury.
Anger boiled in her chest like acid, and for a second, she truly considered driving her blade through Commander White's heart.
"All of this... was for data?" she muttered, her voice trembling with rage and pain.
White kept her eyes lowered.
She knew there was no possible justification.
Once the experiment was deemed complete, the total annihilation of YoRHa would be ordered.
Its end would be staged as a glorious sacrifice — a collective death in the name of humanity.
"That would create the perfect illusion," White said, her voice distant, almost hollow. "The impression that a terrible price had to be paid… to protect mankind."
Her words hung in the air like lead.
Through carefully constructed tragedies, the morale of the remaining androids would be reinforced.
They would believe that their creators were still out there, watching from afar, proud of their steel-born children.
Faith would be reborn.
The cycle would repeat.
And the lie would live on.
"So…" Arthur finally broke the silence, his calm almost unnervingly dangerous. "You built an entire military force… only to destroy it later."
White didn't answer.
"Who's the damned sadist who came up with that idea…?" Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his hair and letting out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. "Tell me something, Commander White… do you see the YoRHa units as equals? Or are they just tools to you?"
The question hung in the air like a sentence.
White remained silent for several long seconds before replying:
"...I cannot consider YoRHa units — whose black boxes are made from mechanical lifeform cores — as equals."
The calculated coldness of her response made the room erupt with tension.
A2 clenched her fists, her eyes blazing.
If not for Arthur's presence, she would have slit White's throat without hesitation.
2B, on the other hand, stood motionless.
From the start of the conversation, she had remained in absolute silence — until that moment.
Upon hearing those words, her legs faltered.
The rigid posture of a perfect soldier gave way to something that almost seemed… human.
Her shoulders trembled faintly from the shock.
9S stood beside her.
He slowly removed his blindfold, revealing eyes full of disbelief.
"That's a lie... isn't it, Commander?" he asked, voice trembling, almost childlike. "The Council of Humanity didn't disappear… right? And the black boxes… they can't be made from mechanical lifeform cores… That's a lie, isn't it?"
The echo of his voice sliced through the air like a blade.
Then, a trembling, tearful voice came through the speaker of 2B's flight unit.
"That's a lie… isn't it, Commander…?"
It was Operator 6O.
Arthur looked up, surprised.
The voice came directly from the Bunker's communication channel.
But… no one had established a connection.
"Who contacted the Bunker?" he asked.
"It wasn't me," 9S replied quickly. "Actually… the Commander herself authorized the transmission."
Shock spread through the room.
White remained composed, yet there was something in her eyes — a quiet sadness, a burden she had carried for far too long.
In that instant, everyone understood.
She wanted the Bunker to hear.
She wanted everyone to know.
Suddenly, 6O's hesitant voice returned:
"Huh? What's that…?"
White slowly lifted her head and spoke softly, as though reciting her final confession:
"6O… what stands before you now is the [key] I left behind. Take it… and you'll know whether what I said is true."
And then, the channel went silent.
All the while, Arthur had been observing her every gesture, every flicker of emotion.
And in that moment, he noticed something the others did not.
White was lying — but not about the Council, nor about the YoRHa Project.
She was lying about not seeing 2B, A2, and the others as equals.
He could feel it — the way she avoided their eyes when she spoke, the faint tremor in her hands, the nearly imperceptible hesitation before answering.
She did care about them.
More than she dared to admit.
And by revealing all of this — to them, to the Bunker — she was trying to save them.
Trying to break the cycle.
Arthur finally understood.
She was giving them a chance.
A way out.
And somehow… he was part of that way out.
"Can I… hug you now?" she asked in a fragile whisper, as though all her authority had melted away.
Arthur smiled — a light, sincere smile, despite everything.
"Of course," he said, opening his arms to her.
(End of Chapter)