abandonware | i n [B] o x . // EXPIATION.

[It'd been her usual routine for a while, since Minato had coaxed her out of her self-inflicted punishment. Find an area that looked particularly bad and start cleaning up. Sometimes she helped with the cleanup groups, though she rarely ever spoke and left as soon as the work was done. Sometimes she would keep awake in the small hours of the night, moving away rubble. Righting the things that she had helped destroy. It was oddly soothing, this: the sudden awareness that things she had ruined would not be that way forever, for once.

She's not seen the man — Ragna of the so dark and mysterious title — in a while. She keeps tabs on those she has met out of the same attempts to keep her mind orderly. To dwell too long on this place and its illusions made her chronic paranoia worse by magnitudes. And so she maintains her sense of reality by making sure that the people around her don't change too drastically.

... He has changed though, she realizes as she approaches. No longer missing pieces.]

I do this every day.

[Her response, as it usually was, is flat. But after a moment, she decides to try and make conversation.] Most of the humans can't lift this junk. So I do it.

Haven't seen you in a while. [She adds.]

[ Ragna takes a brief moment to study the woman in silence, taking this opportunity to try and assess if she's suffered any damage in the battle that no doubt ensued after he was out of the picture. She doesn't seem to be doing any worse than the last time he'd seen her, at least, so it's reassuring. And while he's certain she's sturdy enough to get through that and the restoration efforts, he still folds his arms on his chest and scoffs in response to her explanation. ]

At least take the weekends off.

[ All work and no play... and all that. He suspects she would scoff at the idea of "play", but that's all the more reason for her to learn to appreciate it more. He's not about to accept "cleaning up rubble" and a viable hobby for her to pick up. ]

I was in time-out.

[ And... that's it. He simply refuses to elaborate, though he figures it's not that difficult to put two and two together. He had no qualms about giving his life in exchange for granting the other Chosen a chance to fight back, but acknowledging it? That's a whole different story. ]

... You?

[ Listen, it's a small miracle he responds to the attempted small talk with something other than contempt, okay. You can't expect him to flat-out ask how she's been doing, even if that's what the half-assed question is meant to imply. ]

No.

[Her response comes immediately and without much emotion. She sets to work nearby him after that, she and Pod working in concert to move heavy slabs and jagged stone.

His answers make her look over to him, their eyes meeting for a second. Then A2's gaze shifts back to her work.] I see.

[...]

Guess I was too. If that's what you want to call it. [She isn't stupid, for all that Pod quipped about her "cognitive ability," or whatever. She doesn't know the what or the how behind everything that had happened recently — her obsessive combing of the network had ceased during her Shade-induced exile. She hadn't yet gone back to this routine. But she knows that wherever he'd been, it must have something to do with that monster.]

Back now though. [Sardonically:] Good as new.

[ The man rolls his eyes at that flat refusal, having seen it from a mile away. Not that he doesn't understand the need to keep yourself busy, though he personally believes doing so with personal interests is way better than work. Although to do so, one needs to figure out what their interests are in the first place, of course. Or is she doing all that precisely because she doesn't want to find out more about herself?

He almost comments on that, but before he can, her admission shuts him up for good. Ragna's heart sinks, and his gaze dropping to the ground. Of course. What was he even thinking? That just because he managed to buy them some time, there would be no casualties? There's no way things would've gone that well. And although he can't recall his actions after fusing with the Black Beast, it doesn't stop him from feeling the familiar pang of guilt in his gut. Regardless of what actually happened, whether he killed her with his own two hands, or she died as the result of fighting, or simply as an accident, it was still caused by him. By his own weakness.

He knows apologizing will probably not go so well with her, if their previous interactions are anything to go by... so instead, he decides to offer her the truth. ]

... That monster... it was me.

[ He admits slowly, hating how feeble his voice sounds. But it is what it is, and he has no right to run away from it. ]

[In the wake of his confession, A2 grows even more quiet than usual, the preternatural stillness that she'd mastered during her years of hiding returning. She turns to look out at the destruction that the monster had wrought.

Then she speaks up again.]

I see. Explains you being back in one piece.

[She returns to her work, the conversation seemingly left on a hook. Then she speaks again. ]

The choice I made to fight was my own. [...] It was stupid, anyway. It was to stop the monster, but I figured the explosion would blow a hole in this simulation. Bad bet.

[This is delivered plainly, almost absently. Her death was such a non issue for her that she can speak about it like this: in practical and strategic terms. Though he doesn't say as much, she has the sense that he feels guilt. For harming others, or the destruction in the city itself, she doesn't know. But A2 has no desire to pass judgment on another person, least of all when she'd harmed and destroyed herself.]

[ The silence between them is deafening, and it's only when the woman replies that Ragna lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. It's not relief, necessarily ─ in fact, he thinks he'd prefer scolding and the blame being (rightfully) put on him, since he's not entirely sure what to do with this... acceptance, he supposes? But it's still good to get it off his chest. If nothing else, he can rest knowing he's not keeping secrets to avoid responsibility.

The man shakes his head in response to her more in-depth explanation. While that does sound like an overkill, he can't exactly blame her for going to such lengths when faced with the Black Beast. ]

No, it was worth a shot. I probably would've done the same if I were you.

[ And he did, probably even multiple times. Back when he didn't know any better, he tried to destroy the world to escape from its endless loop, only to end up going back to square one. He figures it must be the same for the AI controlling this world; how long until it gets tired of watching it all fall apart over and over again?

The man moves back to looking through the rubble, moving the bigger chunks out of the way to make the reconstructions efforts easier. As he drops a jagged piece of concrete that no doubt used to be a wall into the designed bin, he unexpectedly adds one more thing. ]

... Just... don't do it again.

Mm. It was a last resort. [In more ways than one, she thinks. She flexes her fingers absently after moving another large piece of rubble. His request surprises her, though she supposes that she shouldn't be surprised. He seemed, to her, to be unreasonably preoccupied with her well-being. Like most people here were, actually.

Self-destruction was an inevitability of her life, she wanted to say. This body of hers was only a body, a vehicle. A weapon. She had used it as such through her exile from YoRHa and endless hunt to destroy the machines. Her mind had been harvested for data, her face repurposed. Pieces of her discarded and reimagined into something better. What did it matter, what happened to this body? To her. Every moment she moved and survived was at the expense of someone else. She thought at the end she'd been able to set it right, for 9S. For Anemone, and all the others who would survive in her stead. Instead she had been taken away from that planet and placed somewhere else, with no idea if anything she'd done had even mattered. Square one.

Instead she says something that surprises her.]

You should take your own advice.

[She sounds a little older when she says this, more weary, the childish spite that usually accompanied this comeback absent today.] This place is...

The people here care about others. [...] If that's so, then someone here has to care about you.

[ "Last resort," she says. He will not begrudge her for that attempt to bring the enemy down; that would make light of her sacrifice, and as much as he thinks she shouldn't have done it, he has no intention of insulting her. Ragna watches her in silence for a moment as he works on removing a couple of smaller pieces of rubble, wondering whether she would have made the same choice if she'd had more of a life in the first place. It's easier to give up something you'd never had, after all.

What the woman says next gives him a pause, and he blinks in surprise, awkwardly stopping mid-lifting a broken metal beam from the debris. Never the one to practice what he preaches, he tries not to think about it too hard and moves on to the rest of her comment, which isn't any easier for him to digest. ]

Mhm.

[ A reluctant acknowledgement more than an answer, but it takes a lot from him to give even this. As much as he'd like to deny it, say there's no one here he cares for or that cares for him... well, that would be a flat-out lie, and he's never been great at those. He tried, bless his heart, he really did; he was his usual, asshole self to everyone around, making it clear he's not interested in silly things like friendship or teamwork. After all, what would be the point? His presence here is temporary, and sooner or later, he will disappear, his very existence erased from the world ─ just as it was in his own one. Not because of any destiny bullshit, but because that's the choice he's made: that the world is better off if Ragna the Bloodedge had never existed in the first place.

But life has a funny way of throwing him a curveball even when he thinks he's got everything figured out, and he somehow ended up caring a whole lot about the people here, and ─ what's even worse ─ those people care for him in return. Again. And he will no doubt cause them a lot of pain and anguish, even if that's the last thing he wants to do. ]

They shouldn't... but they do.

Hm.

[A noncommittal grunt at his response. She tries not to think about how he's spoken the thing that she thought to herself all the time. She was a blight. She had watched each of her comrades die for their mission, for her. And she ended the lives of others because she refused to die. Because she couldn't just give up. To die without struggle would be spitting in the faces of those who had died so she might live.

But she was too much of a coward to survive alone. She wasn't capable of it. So becoming attached was an inevitability. She thinks, I'm dead anyway, because as far as she knew, she no longer existed in the world she came from. She had been freed of the endless and cyclic emptiness of that place. And she was left free-falling, and inevitably became afraid of a world so vast when it had before been so small, so meaningless. Of course she would attach herself to others, lamprey-like, too weak to stand on her own. Hiding behind No. 4 when she didn't know how to handle a social situation. Stammering when No. 16 yelled at her. Bowing her head in respect when No. 22 gave her some bit of advice. She'd thought she'd left that part of her under ice. But it was thawing, slowly.

This time she rationalizes this weakness to herself: she had resolved to become stronger. When Aldrip encountered some outside threat, she would neutralize it. She would be a bulwark. This way, if anything were to happen again, she would be ready for it. She was nearby to continue to gather intel and further her skill. She had a mission again.

She thinks of these things as Ragna speaks. Then, she says, simply and without inflection, a little shrug following the words:] Yeah. Humans are like that. They personify things.

But you're not like them. [...] You're like me.

[This new understanding comes with no warmth. She stares at him unsmiling, eyes flat.]

[ Ragna meets her gaze, his eyes narrowing in a scowl. Her words have the unfortunate side effect of bringing back memories of how he himself viewed the clones of his sister once upon a time, something that he's not proud of now. "Killing's for people. I'm here to destroy you." How foolish it was of him to see them as less than humans... granted, back then he was full of rage and grief that fueled that worldview, but that's an explanation, not an excuse. Somewhere deep inside him, there are bits and pieces of memories of the scientists who would treat him and his siblings in much the same way: like they're tools, disposable objects, things. He keeps those recollections locked, doing his best not to think about them if he can help it. It would be pointless to dwell on them ─ he is who he is, and he's fine with it. No need to ponder it beyond that.

The tension is the air is almost palpable, but after a moment that seems to stretch into eternity, Ragna finally relaxes a little, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. ]

... That obvious, huh?

[ It's not something he's ever brought up during his time here; not necessarily because he's embarrassed or uncomfortable with it, but he's never seen any need for it. He keeps his past under lock and key, and this is no different, but it's also not the worst part of it. And since she's brought it up... he figures he might as well confirm her suspicions. ]

Dunno if I'd go as far as saying we're the same... but probably pretty similar.

[ He pulls the collar of his shirt down a little, revealing a small tattoo just beneath his collarbone; aside from a symbol that might not tell her much, A2 will notice a simple phrase there:

"No. 5". ]

[Not the same, but similar. Not unlike the machines, she thinks, and the androids who didn't know they were built from the leavings of their most hated enemies. Without thinking, A2's hand goes to her chest, where her black box resides beneath a metal ribcage.

Her eyes flit to the tattoo Ragna shows her — a designation. No wonder he had been so insistent on his humanity — that she find personhood of her own. It was not unlike Rose, who had decided on names for all of her squad. For A2 and her own teammates. Girlish and delicate words — the names of flowers. But A2 believed herself unworthy of such a thing. There wasn't a need for her to have a name or a family. No amount of kindness here would convince her otherwise.]

Pretty similar. [She repeats, somberly.] Hm. Not much good comes out of being similar to me.

[ The man tilts his head to the side slightly, watching her reaction to this revelation. It's surprisingly tame, but honestly? He's grateful for that. He doesn't think it should be that big of a deal, anyway; some people are born, some are made, but he doesn't believe their origins should affect the way they live their lives. ]

How so? [ He asks, genuinely confused at first, but before she even answers, the possible reason dawns on him. Ragna frowns, adding another question with a scoff. ] You're not about to give me more of that "I shouldn't be alive" bullshit, are you?

[ Ironic, for him to be so vehemently opposed to that idea when he's come to the same conclusion regarding his own existence, though until she proves him wrong, he assumes her life isn't ruining the entire world. So no, he won't accept the idea that she's not worthy of existing. ]

It's the truth.

[Says A2 simply, matter-of-factly. This was not the first time someone had gotten angry at her for telling the truth.] Nothing good has ever come of it.

[She thinks of 2B, naturally. Her desperate attempts to save the one good thing she knew existed in the world. Doomed to repeat a cycle of killing the one she cared for the most, over and over again.]

People like me don't get happy endings. It's just the way the world is designed. So, I doubt you'll get one either.

[A2 draws her greatsword. Then she drives it into a spot cleared of rubble, and with a grunt, sits down to lean against it. The sun is beginning to set and she wants a good vantage point to watch it.] All you can do is wait for the other shoe to drop.

[ "People like me don't get happy endings."

The statement rings painfully true. In fact, that's something he's thought about himself more than once. So why? Why does hearing that from someone else cause his chest to tighten as if squeezed by an invisible hand? Why does he feel this irrational anger building up inside him? He's perfectly fine with the fate he's chosen for himself, but the idea of someone else resigning themselves to a similar destiny is almost too much to bear.

Ragna clicks his tongue in annoyance and draws his own sword in response, pointing at the woman with its blade. ]

... I'm not known for my patience.

[ He responds slowly, his voice low and gruff, matching the flames of quiet determination flickering in his mismatched eyes. ]

So what if I don't get a happy ending? So what if I'm doomed to fail, and will end up dying miserably? That's no reason for me to roll over and accept it. I can and will fight back until the very end! ... And if by doing that I can make a change in the world, then that's good enough for me.

[ A2's right about one thing; he's never gonna get a happy ending. But if his actions can lead to someone else getting one... if his loved ones get to live their lives happily, then it doesn't matter how much he has to suffer. ]

i n [B] o x . // EXPIATION.

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