To keep the flame of hope and a sense of purpose alive among the androids—beings created to fight in the name of a humanity that no longer existed in this world—a symbol was necessary.
Something that could, in some way, justify the suffering, the sacrifice, and the endless cycle of pain they endured every single day.
Thus, the need for a lie was born.
A beautiful, perfect, and deeply necessary lie.
A lie called the Council of Humanity.
To motivate the androids to persevere, to give them a reason to keep fighting in a world that had forgotten the meaning of "human life," it was essential to provide proof—even if fabricated—that the Council truly existed and watched over its creations from afar, rooting for them and guiding them along their destined path.
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 more intelligent.
Units created to turn the tide against the machine lifeforms and, one day, reclaim Earth for humanity.
Thus, YoRHa was born as the pinnacle of android engineering—a special forces unit and a living legend among existing androids.
Its units were both revered and feared.
They wore black, bore the insignia of hope, and marched with blind faith that they were fighting for something greater.
But the truth was far more cruel than any of them could ever imagine.
YoRHa had been created as an experiment.
Every member, every unit, every operation—everything 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 destroyed A2's former squad, the sacrifice of her comrades, the confusing orders they received, and that fateful suicide mission were not strategic failures.
They were simply part of the plan.
The Bunker's plan.
When that revelation echoed through the minds of everyone present, A2 froze for a moment.
Her gaze, once cold, was now filled with barely contained fury.
The anger burned in her chest like acid, and for a second, she truly considered tearing Commander White apart.
"All of this… was for data?" she murmured, her voice trembling between rage and pain.
White kept her gaze lowered.
She knew there was no possible justification.
Once the experiment was deemed complete, the total destruction of YoRHa would be ordered.
The end would be staged as a glorious sacrifice—a collective death in the name of humanity.
"It would create the perfect illusion," White said, her voice sounding distant. "The impression that a terrible price had to be paid… to protect humans."
Her words lingered in the air, heavy as lead.
Through carefully constructed tragedies, the morale of the remaining androids would be reinforced.
They would believe their creators were still there, watching from afar, proud of their children of steel.
Their faith would be reborn, and the cycle of pain and suffering would continue—and the lie would live on.
"So…" Arthur muttered, confused. "You created an entire military force… just to destroy it later."
White did not respond.
"Which twisted bastard came up with something like that…?" Arthur let out an exasperated sigh. "Answer me this, White… do you see the YoRHa units as equals? Or are they just disposable tools to you?"
The question hung in the air for a few seconds.
White remained silent for a long moment. Then she answered:
"…In good conscience, I cannot consider any YoRHa unit that uses a black box created from a machine lifeform as my equal." she said, turning her face away.
A2 clenched her fists, grinding her teeth harder and harder.
If it weren't for Arthur's presence, she would have already torn White's throat out without hesitation.
2B, on the other hand, stood completely still.
Since the beginning of the conversation, she had remained in absolute silence—until now.
Upon hearing all those words, her legs faltered for a moment.
Her shoulders trembled slightly from the shock.
9S stood beside her.
He slowly removed his visor, revealing eyes filled with disbelief.
"This is a lie… isn't it, Commander?" he asked, his voice shaking. "The Council of Humanity really exists… right? And the black boxes… they can't be made from machine lifeform cores… this is a lie, isn't it?"
Immediately after, a trembling, tearful female voice came through the speaker of 2B's flight unit.
"This is a lie… isn't it, Commander…?"
It was Operator 6O.
2B lifted her gaze, surprised.
The operator's voice was coming directly from the Bunker's communication channel.
But… no one had established a connection.
"Who contacted the Bunker?" she asked.
"I did," 9S replied quickly. "Actually… the Commander herself authorized the communication."
Shock spread through the group.
White remained composed, but there was sadness in her eyes—this was the weight of the truth she had carried for so long.
At that moment, everyone understood why she had allowed it.
She wanted the Bunker to hear.
She wanted everyone to know the truth about what they were fighting for.
Suddenly, 6O's voice returned, hesitant:
"Huh? What is this…?"
White slowly raised her head and spoke calmly, as if delivering a final confession:
"6O… what stands before you now is the [key] I left behind. Take it… and you will know whether what I said is true."
And then, the channel fell silent.
Throughout all of this, Arthur had been observing White carefully.
It wasn't difficult to notice that she 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 sense it—the way she averted her gaze as she spoke, the slight tremor in her hands, the almost imperceptible hesitation before answering.
She cared about them.
More than she wanted—or was able—to admit.
Revealing all of this, to them and to all the androids in the Bunker, was her way of trying to save them from so much pain.
A way to break the cycle of suffering.
She was trying to give them a chance.
"Can I hug you now?" she asked in a fragile whisper, as if all her authority had dissipated.
Arthur smiled at her.
"Of course." he replied, opening his arms.
(End of Chapter)