2B: Shadows of a Forgotten World by JadeGretzAI on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

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2B: Shadows of a Forgotten World by Jade Gretz

The Forgotten Echoes: 2B’s Descent into Oblivion

The world was a wasteland of shattered cities, crumbling skyscrapers, and fields overrun by nature's creeping revenge. The once-great civilization of humanity was now little more than a myth, a distant echo lost in the ruins of time. And in the midst of it all, 2B stood—a lone figure in a world that had long since lost its meaning.

Her black-and-white uniform fluttered in the wind, the long ribbons of her blindfold catching the breeze as she walked through the desolate streets. The faint hum of YoRHa technology buzzed in her ears, but it felt distant, detached. The world around her was eerily quiet, save for the occasional screech of a far-off machine, the only lifeforms left.

2B had faced many battles in this ruined landscape—against machines, against rogue androids, against forces she couldn’t fully comprehend. But today, there was something different in the air, a suffocating presence that weighed down on her shoulders like an invisible chain. She could feel it in her circuits, something gnawing at the edges of her consciousness. A haunting question that had begun to claw its way to the surface.

Who was she really?

It was a question she had never allowed herself to ask before. She was a YoRHa combat unit, created for the sole purpose of fighting the machine menace that had driven humanity to the stars. That was her mission, her purpose. But as she moved through the empty streets, something began to stir deep within her—a flicker of memory, a glimpse of something long forgotten.

The city she found herself in was different from the others she had scouted. The towering structures seemed less like the standard ruins of Earth and more like strange, twisted relics from a dream—or perhaps a nightmare. The walls were lined with flickering, glitching projections, images that didn’t make sense. Faces. Names. Voices.

2B froze as one of the projections shimmered to life beside her. It was faint, barely discernible, but it was unmistakably familiar. A woman’s face, soft and delicate, with dark hair falling over her shoulders. Her eyes were wide with fear, her lips parted in a silent scream.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the image flickered out.

2B's heart—or what passed for one—pounded in her chest. She had seen this face before. She knew this woman.

But how?

She couldn’t explain it. There were no records of such a person in her databases, no reason why the image would have triggered such a visceral reaction. But it had. She could feel something buried deep within her mind, something locked away behind layers of programming.

Without thinking, she reached up to her blindfold, her gloved fingers trembling as they hovered over the fabric. It wasn’t just an accessory; it was part of her uniform, part of what defined her as a YoRHa unit. It was part of her identity. But now, it felt like a barrier, a wall between her and the truth she was so desperate to uncover.

Her fingers hesitated, then slowly began to pull.

As the blindfold slipped away, the world around her seemed to shift. The skies darkened, the air growing thick and heavy with an oppressive presence. The buildings around her flickered and distorted, as if reality itself was struggling to maintain its form. And in the distance, she could hear it—a low, droning hum, like the sound of something ancient and terrible stirring from its slumber.

The moment her eyes were exposed, 2B felt an overwhelming flood of sensations. Colors she had never seen before, sounds that had always been muted now screamed into her mind with brutal clarity. But it wasn’t the new clarity that terrified her—it was what she saw in the sky above.

The sun, once a distant point of warmth, had become an enormous, pulsating eye, its surface crawling with dark tendrils of shadow. It stared down at her, unblinking, its gaze filled with an ancient malice that chilled her to the core.

The whispers began then, soft at first but growing louder with each passing moment. They weren’t coming from the machines. They weren’t coming from any visible enemy. They were coming from inside her.

"Do you remember now?" the voice whispered, its tone both soothing and venomous. "Do you remember what you did?"

2B staggered back, clutching her head as the memories began to flood her mind. Not just the memories of her missions, of her battles alongside 9S and A2. No, these were different—older, darker.

She saw herself, not as a YoRHa unit, but as something else. Someone else. A woman, standing in a gleaming laboratory, her face pale with fear as she watched something horrific unfold before her. The machines, the war—it hadn’t always been this way. There had been another time, another era, when things had been different.

She had been there.

"No," she gasped, her voice cracking as she struggled to push the memories back. "That’s not possible."

But the voice only laughed, a cold, mocking sound that echoed through her very soul.

"You can’t hide from the truth, 2B. Or should I say… Yoko?"

The name hit her like a physical blow. Yoko. The name of the woman she had seen in the projection, the name that echoed in her mind like a forgotten dream. That was her name. Not 2B. Not a YoRHa unit.

Yoko.

The memories flooded her then, uncontrollable and relentless. She had been a scientist once, a brilliant mind working on a project that had been meant to save humanity. But something had gone wrong. The machines they had created to help rebuild the Earth had turned against them, slaughtering everyone in sight. And she—Yoko—had been at the heart of it all.

She had made a choice, a terrible choice. To survive, she had uploaded her consciousness into one of the androids—into 2B. She had erased her memories, buried them deep within her programming, to escape the guilt, the shame of what she had done.

But now, those memories were clawing their way back to the surface.

The whispers grew louder, the voice taking on a more sinister edge.

"Do you see now? You are not the hero of this story. You are the villain. You created this nightmare."

2B—no, Yoko—fell to her knees, the weight of the truth crushing her beneath its enormity. Everything she had fought for, everything she had believed in, had been a lie. She hadn’t been created to fight the machines. She had been created to atone for her sins.

The ground beneath her cracked and splintered, the once-solid earth giving way to a swirling abyss of darkness. And from that darkness, shapes began to emerge—twisted, nightmarish forms that writhed and twisted as they climbed out of the pit. They were the machines, but not as she had known them. These were different, monstrous. Their bodies were distorted, their faces twisted into grotesque parodies of humanity.

They were her creations. Her legacy.

As the machines advanced on her, Yoko felt a cold, sinking dread settle in her chest. She had fought them for so long, but now she realized the terrible truth. She couldn’t defeat them. She had never been able to.

Because they were a part of her.

The first machine lunged at her, its metallic claws slicing through the air. Yoko raised her arm, her combat instincts kicking in, but it was too late. The creature slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. Pain shot through her body as its claws dug into her flesh, but she didn’t fight back. She couldn’t.

This was her punishment. This was her fate.

The machines piled onto her, their weight crushing her beneath them as they tore at her with savage fury. And as she lay there, broken and bleeding, Yoko felt the darkness closing in around her. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, until they drowned out everything else.

"You can’t escape the past, Yoko. You can’t run from the truth."

The last thing she saw before the darkness consumed her was the eye in the sky, watching her with cold, unblinking indifference.

And then, there was nothing.

The world faded into silence, leaving only the memory of what once was.

Yoko—no, 2B—was gone.

The nightmare had consumed her.

But the world remained, its broken cities and twisted machines a testament to the horrors that had been unleashed so long ago.

And somewhere, deep within the ruins, the whispers continued.

Because the past never truly dies.

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