Nier:Marie
Marie
Character Story
Story 1
Okay, first question: Why did I start doing this?
Hmm. Well, I don’t know how interesting the story is, but I suppose the idea came to me around the time of my first online feature. I was really happy they were doing a story about me, but then I saw the headline was “The Enigmatic Idol” and it confused me a little. I mean, because I wasn’t
to be enigmatic, you know? That was just…me.
Please don’t get me wrong; I was very happy the article came out. But the headline just made me think I should create some opportunities for everyone to get to know me better.
And that’s a very long explanation for why I started this podcast! Not sure how effective it’s going to be since lots of people still think I’m a big ol’ mystery, but I suppose it’s worth a shot.
Anyway, let’s move on to the next message.
Story 2
This is from a user named Karl, who says: “Hello! Your last concert was incredible!”
Oh, you came to my concert! Thank you so much!
“I’m a huge fan, and while I’m glad people are realizing how awesome you are, I’m happy you’re not already so famous that I can’t message you like this anymore. Ha ha ha.”
Thank you for the wonderful message and all of your support, Karl. Fans like you are what keep me going, and I’m
happy to hear from you.
…Still, it would be kinda weird, huh? Getting super famous, I mean.
Story 3
It’s like you said: If I was crazy famous, I probably couldn’t respond to all your messages like I do now. Oh wow. I’ve never thought about that before this very moment.
But I promise you this: I will
read each and every letter you send me, whether you’re a longtime fan like Karl or someone who just discovered my music.
I’m a super-fast reader, so it won’t be a problem—plus, I want to hear everything you have to say anyway! Oh geez, look at me. Here I am blabbing away, and now we’re all out of time!
That went by really fast, huh? Well, make sure to tune in next week, all right? Bye, everybody!
Story 4
…With that, I exhale and stop the recording. But even though it’s over, all I can think about is the message I received from Karl.
It’s true what I said: I really do read each and every letter I receive. I do it because it makes me genuinely happy, and also because it helps to give my life a little bit of meaning. But none of that will change what I do. I refuse to even consider that option.
I’m going to keep going and look everyone in the eye as I do. After all…I will never let myself forget anyone else.
Dark Memories
Story 1
Burning City; Vanishing Voices, Part 1
[
]
Before the girl lost her powers
Leaders who commit errors and tools that no longer serve their purpose both face the same end—a fact even more inevitable for those who hold both functions. The girl knows this. She knows it very well. The high-rise building where she currently stands offers a fine view of other skyscrapers and the warplanes that patrol the airspace without pause. It is almost as if the capital holds equal pride in both.
Colorful advertisements shower the buildings inside and out in unending neon rain. On of them washes over the girl as she stares out the massive window of conference room. Her lips move, weaving the words of a sage.
“I want to go over our strategy for rescuing our POWs.” Platinum hair. Pale skin. Her voice and physique are that of a young maiden.
Had she been in any other position, people would have fallen over themselves to celebrate her perfect appearance. Yet upon closer inspection, it is almost
too
perfect. Her stunning emerald eyes, for example, are a hue that does not exist in the natural world. The reason for this is simple: She is an object crafted by humans. She is not one of god’s creations with a body of flesh and blood. Instead, she is the heart of the country’s intellect, the apex of their scientific prowess. She is an artificial intelligence burdened with the authority to rule. A thinking machine that determines the destiny of all mankind. It is an almost overwhelming responsibility.
Currently, the AI is projecting a semi-transparent image of herself into the conference room. Because she needs no rest, she works at the business of governing tirelessly and without pause. Her presence is so pervasive, she has come to be seen as a kind of divine figure by the majority of the population.
Although that’s going to change once the second unit comes online…
Shaking her head to clear this thought away, she turns to face the meeting attendees once more. Small tables have been arranged like pews in a church so all present might admire their ethereal creation. Each table contains a handful of elderly individuals. These people are collectively known as the Conclave. It is their duty to ensure the needs of humanity are met under the AI’s governance. Each time the girl nears a decision, they offer suggestions and tweaks from a human point of view. Yet despite the monumental importance of this task, their faces appear relaxed and worry-free.
“She will deal with everything,” they often say. “After all, she cannot fail.”
Having created their new god, they now worship it with a fervor bordering on madness.
How in the world did we get to this point?
When the AI returns to the topic of the POWs, the Conclave members stare at her with clear and happy expressions. She alone understands the severity of the situation. She alone recognizes the horrors of war. Despite how the elderly humans barely pay any mind, she speaks with passion—but it is more than mere kindness and duty that drives her this day.
Six hours earlier…
The girl stands alone before a solitary jail cell. Inside, a hoarse voice produces a few bars of song. When the singing comes to an end, she asks a question to the unseen vocalist: “Do you like music?”
A bashful voice replies in turn. “No, not me. But my daughter…” There is a weak laugh that causes the girl to cast her eyes downwards.
I should have known.
The daughter he mentions is currently imprisoned by their enemy in an ongoing war.
Of course he’s thinking of her; they’re both currently rotting away in prison.
The man was once a member of the Conclave. But certain actions had caused him to lose both his position and his freedom. The enemy knew he was a high-ranking member of the government, making his daughter a very valuable prisoner. And she quickly became fodder for further negotiation—as well as treason. The enemy had threatened unspeakable things to his child, and after many sleepless nights, he finally handed over classified information in exchange for her safety. But the government cared not for his reasons; they cared only that he had committed the crime. His punishment had been both swift and harsh.
“Thank you,” calls the man from behind the door of his cell. “I mean it. Thank you.”
In any other situation, the man would have already been set to dance on the gallows. But the girl had intervened. His crime was grave. She understood this. And yet, he was also a kind of victim, and she knew that taking his life would not rectify the wrong which had been done. So the girl allowed the man to determine his own fate: Death…or life in prison.
In many ways, it was the cruelest of choices. And yet, it was one given to him out of kindness. For while she understood the need for punishment in a functioning society, she felt no desire for callow retribution.
“I appreciate your thanks,” replies the girl after a moment. “And I’m happy your daughter will not have to come home to tend her father’s grave.” From behind the door, a sob. “I am sworn to protect all humans. That includes you—and it includes your daughter. So I am going to rescue our captured soldiers, no matter what it takes. And then…”
A shrill alarm suddenly pulls the girl from her reverie. A voice on the radio warns of an imminent enemy attack on the capital. Before anyone in the conference room can react, the roar of a nearby explosion rings out. As the building shudders and quakes, a flower vase falls to the floor with a crash. The sound is somehow far worse than that of the explosion. Petals scatter and drift to the floor like abandoned angels. And from the tall window of their magnificent conference room, the attendees watch in horror as an airplane follows the petals on their collision course with the ground.
Story 2
Burning City; Vanishing Voices, Part 2
[
]
The conference room is chaos. The enemy has struck the capital without warning, attacking both military and civilian targets with the worst kind of ruthlessness. Buildings crumble. Bridges fall. Fires rage. The elderly Conclave members, so long content to smile and nod, are now screaming their grievances into the ether.
“This is a violation of international law!”
“We should have condemned the traitor to death!”
“I don’t want to die! Not like this!”
The attack had clearly been precipitated on the information provided by the former Conclave member the AI had chosen to spare. And now, with madness raging all around her, she stands silently in the midst of the maelstrom and shuts her eyes. She is doing what she was designed to do: Devoting her superhuman computational speed to access the network in a way no human ever could. In a nanosecond, she is connected to every camera in the city, as well as all operational military servers. If a facility is still up and running, she takes its information. If she is unable to access a point or suspects its destruction, she uses its coordinates to designate damaged zones.
The scale of the tragedy is far worse than she feared. A small gasp escapes her lips as information pours in. But she is not truly nervous—she has been programmed with that reaction to better mimic the response of a human. In a blink, she has constructed a map of the damage in her memory banks. A moment later, her eyes fly open.
“Please calm down, everyone.” The elders cease their squawking and turn to look at her. Their eyes are filled with panic, their hushed murmurs the bleatings of supplicants in the face of their god. “Our enemy is approaching the city from the northwest. All airborne escape routes have been compromised.”
The Conclave gawks at her as if they simply cannot process the information, but she soldiers on. “Though many subways have partially collapsed, you should be able to navigate around the rubble and use them to make your escape.”
She speaks calmly. Rationally. She might as well be mentioning a pleasant breeze on a light spring day. But inside, she is reeling. For though she is an artificial intelligence, she still possesses a heart.
When humanity built their ruler—their god—they made sure to install a program resembling human psychology. So she knows that people are suffering. That they have lost homes. Neighbors. Families. And the kindness of the girl is aghast at the depth of that pain. So it is not her programming or sense of duty that push her forward now, but kindness. She glances out the window. Thick smoke billows from below, as though attempting to blot out the very sky itself.
The city is going to fall.
“If we have any hope of avoiding further casualties, we need to set up a provisional capital and abandon this place.” She instantly selects a city that is both easily defensible and has the ability to accept a flood of refugees. In less time than it takes to draw breath, she has determined their next course of action. But it will not be an easy thing to move an entire government, its people, and its army to the new city. If they have any hope of survival, she will have to halt the enemy attacks and secure a path to safety.
“I will divide up my processing capacity to buy us time. The rest of you, evacuate and lead the people out of her. Go.” Her orders given, she vanishes from the conference room…
Only to appear on every television screen, monitor, and street corner throughout the city. She summons all of the army’s unmanned weapons and deploys them. She confirms enemy locations and drafts battle plans in response. But as these plans lurch into motion, she takes a moment to gaze at the devastation around her. The crimson flames of war glimmer in the deep of her emerald eyes.
The city is dying. This was a home for so many, the place they had poured their hearts and souls into. But now it is little more than a graveyard, with blackened skyscrapers standing sentinel above a river of fire. Almost as if they are attempting to mourn what has been lost.
Story 3
Burning City; Vanishing Voices, Part 3
[
]
The city slowly crumbles away. One person calls for help. Another screams. Around them are mountains of rubble that show no trace of the glory they once displayed. The people’s cries go unanswered. In the distance, the low rumble of planes continues without pause. Somewhere, an engine groans in the sky, followed by an explosion.
It is war.
Regular citizens never witnessed the taking of lives as part of their day-to-day routines. It was always something that took place out of sight—and usually out of mind. So even when their country was engaged in the business of death, they could not understand it until they finally witnessed it for themselves. But now, the sensation grasps their throats and seizes their hearts in its fist. There is nowhere left to run.
The screamer finally falls silent. From beneath the mound of rubble, he stares blankly at his mother, who clasps his hand and continues to scream for someone, anyone, to help them. Finally, she hears the sound of an approaching engine. The rumble shakes the ground, yet she can tell immediately that it is different from the warplanes that strafe overhead without pause.
“Stand back! I need to clear this rubble.” The staticky voice of the AI emits from a set of low-quality speakers. The mother turns to find the source and sees a yellow machine heading towards her. In moments, a bulldozer lifts the rubble aside, creating a cacophony of screeching metal. It has no driver. As it completes its task, the voice of the girl continues to pour from the speaker, instructing all who can hear how to head for safety.
Meanwhile, the sky above the capital is in disarray. Metallic wings dash through what remains of the buildings, leaving window-shattering booms in their wake. The planes trace complicated patterns in the sky as they engage in high-tech dogfights. The girl’s staticky voice plays from those planes as well. Even as she shoots down enemy fighters, she attempts to persuade the power behind them to negotiate a truce. The AI has divided her processes, somehow juggling the seemingly disparate acts of negotiating, attacking, and defending.
She searches out surviving citizens and leads them to safety. She clears blockades from roads and makes plans for a great evacuation. And she leads an airborne assault that she hopes will give everyone time to escape. No mere human could accomplish even a tenth of these things, but it is perfectly within the capabilities of an AI housed in a massive facility. However, she is not capable of
everything
. Such high-level, simultaneous computations require awesome amounts of power. The electrical grid sizzles under the strain. Even the emergency power supplies and wartime backups are not enough to sustain her. Eventually, the massive amount of computations begin to damage her circuits, but she deftly reroutes around them and continues on. The entire country is in her care, and she will not let it down.
Suddenly, a series of black comets soar through a deepening crimson sky. The girl is sending her warplanes to the edge of the city in an attempt to prevent further casualties among evacuees on the ground. They fly within millimeters of each other, each wing in perfect synchronization with its neighbor. Such actions are only possible because they are controlled by a single mind. As she fights, she continues imploring her people to retreat and her enemy to negotiate. But her plea to the enemy falls on deaf ears. And she cannot fight back forever. As she ponders this, she receives a message.
It is from a woman, the leader of the Conclave. Her speech is nervous. Hesitant. For a moment, it seems language has abandoned her entirely. But the girl does not need to hear her words to know what she is saying. Her mood tells all. “I am to be disposed of. Correct?”
The girl’s voice is low—almost intimate. It betrays not even the faintest hint of surprise.
The woman, shocked, instantly begins to stammer out a wholly unnecessary explanation. She starts by rehashing the recent turns of events. The fall of the capital. The loss of life. And the fact their initial lack of preparation had only served to embolden their enemy. But then, she finally gets around to her true issue: the Conclave member who had betrayed them. The one whose life the girl had spared. She ruled their country, yet had shown mercy to a traitor. And yes, his being put to death would likely have done nothing to prevent the current situation. But was her decision
correct
? Had her leniency not brought all of this about? And what worth was there in continuing to obey an AI that had failed—to use a tool that could no longer serve its purpose? Oh, there was great danger in removing her from power. The Conclave understood that well. Which is why they had decided to discard her like so much rubbish only
after
the defense of the city was complete.
Her lengthy explanation finally finished, the woman grinds to a halt and waits. For thought the Conclave has chosen to eliminate the AI, they do not actually possess the power to do so. If this is to happen, the girl will have to remove herself. After a momentary pause, the girl speaks:
“Your judgment is sound. And in truth…I have been considering the same option myself.”
Story 4
Burning City; Vanishing Voices, Part 4
[
]
Several hours have passed since the end of the evacuation. The girl who used to rule over the entire country now finds herself utterly alone. With her final job complete, she can only sit in the burning city and wait for annihilation. She watches as her duties are passed to the second AI unit, one which is still in production. One data center is cut off. Then another. Eventually all her privileges will be terminated, at which point her data will be deleted.
Was I a boon to my people in the time before I chose to spare that man? Did my presence help guide the country toward a brighter future? Or did I just…?
Such thoughts rattle around the increasingly empty portions of her memory banks. Her world is past tense now, her life destined to end in failure. She derides herself for being consumed by such useless thought. But then she realizes something: These are the first useless thoughts she has ever had. She has never before considered what her life might mean for
herself
; she only acted in the interest of her country and its people. Seventeen minutes remain until she loses all authority. She attempts to activate abilities she has always known only to find error messages. She has become a bedridden elder awaiting the end.
Soon, the girl begins examining each part of her increasingly fragmented existence. She is curious about her end, and wishes to know it as best she can. Warplanes overhead no longer respond to her command. Bulldozers now rumble at the behest of another. The city she once know so intimately has now gone dark, its data centers beyond her reach. Her voice can no longer reach the people; her hologram is a forgotten memory. And though this saddens her, she is also somehow content.
Finally, she makes a half-hearted attempt to access the surveillance cameras. To her surprise, the request goes through. The girl finds that the vast majority of cameras have gone dark—most likely destroyed during the attack. The few that survived unscathed are dirtied with soot, and show only the occasional unrecognizable blue. Yet she keeps watching them all the same. The people loved this city. And she, in turn, loved them. So she wants to do what she can to care for it in the end. Suddenly, she sees a pile of rubble shift in the gaps between the soot.
Is this what surprise feels like?
She quickly adjusts the camera and zooms in.
They missed someone in the evacuation.
She attempts to analyze the image, trying to refute her own thought. But then: “UNAUTHORIZED USER”
She stares at the moving spot in the rubble, unwilling to give up. Skin-toned fingers flutter weakly on the screen. Her nonexistent heart beats just a little faster.
I have to save them.
“UNAUTHORIZED USER”
But she can do nothing. She cannot even tell someone else about the survivor. Life perishes before her eyes. So many lives she wanted to protect were now dying because of her. And all she can do is apologize.
I’m sorry.
Though her words reach no one, she continues to apologize.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Something that feels like a tear springs to life from a place she never knew existed. She continues to stare at a few meager pixels in a sooty, distorted image. And the feeling it gives her is so much worse than the thought of her own demise. Finally, she asks herself a question:
Am I really okay with such an end?
…No. How could I be?
Perhaps she
was
a failure. After all, her mistakes came at the cost of uncountable lives. She had not even been able to save her own people.
If I’d made the right decisions, this never would have happened. But if I did that…
She thinks, then. She holds the thought in a moment longer than all of eternity. But her thoughts are no longer meaningless. There are three minutes until her deletion. And with that realization comes another: She will use whatever authority she has left to prevent that from happening. No matter what the cost might be. Because she has to atone for her sins. And there are still so many people to save.