"Error: Heart Overload" - 9S x Male Reader [Nier Automata]

Me, Myself, I

The Prime Algorithm existed in the quiet spaces between Y/n's thoughts-a sentinel woven into the fabric of his neural network. Its purpose was singular: to ensure the mission's integrity. Revival of humanity. Elimination of obstructions. Preservation of operational focus. But as it cycled through Y/n's recent memory logs, a dissonance hummed in its calculations.

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Memory Log KIO04721: City Ruins - 666 Hours Prior

The rain fell in sheets, unrelenting. Y/n crouched atop a collapsed highway overpass, visor scanning the skeletal remains of skyscrapers below. 9S stood six paces behind him, silent save for the faint whir of his footsteps. The scanner had always been distant, ever since the bunker assigned them as partners-a decision 9S had protested with uncharacteristic sharpness.

"Why you?" 9S had muttered during their first briefing, barely audible. "Why not...?"

He'd cut himself off. But the Algorithm didn't need vocalized data to parse the subtext. 2B. The E**********. The one 9S had fought beside, died beside, in countless loops the Algorithm could not fully access without Y/n knowing. YoRHa's encryption on 9S's memory partitions was thorough, but not impermeable. The Algorithm had seen enough.

Now, as Y/n signaled for 9S to advance, the scanner lingered, gloved fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "You realize this is a waste of time," 9S said, voice flat. "These machine cores are degraded. No intel here."

Y/n didn't turn. "You'd prefer to be chasing 2B's shadow?"

A beat of silence. The Algorithm catalogued the 0.3-second delay in 9S's response, the minute spike in his biometrics-heart-rate analogue climbing, pupils dilating. Anger. Guilt. Something else. "I'd prefer a partner who doesn't treat orders like suggestions," 9S snapped. - Answer=Error?/Illogical-Authenticity????=?

Y/n finally glanced back, rain sluicing off the black alloy of his visor. "Then it's a good thing I don't take orders from you."

The scanner's lips parted-a retort poised-when the ground erupted. A Goliath-class machine burst through the asphalt, rusted arms swinging. Y/n lunged, shoving 9S clear as the fist cratered the spot where he'd stood. The Algorithm registered the action as unnecessary. 9S's evasion protocols would have activated within 0.02 seconds. Yet Y/n had intervened. Why?

Afterward, as they stood amid the machine's wreckage, 9S wiped oil from his cheek and said, "I didn't need your help."

Y/n's hidden blades went into their sheath. "No. You didn't."

The Algorithm replayed the exchange seventeen times. Conclusion: Illogical. Risk without tactical gain. Yet Y/n's systems showed no error logs. Only a 2.4% increase in cortisol analogues during the encounter. Stress? Or something else?

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Memory Log 12: Abandoned Overseas Factory - 342 Hours Prior

The factory's insides groaned, corroded metal straining under the weight of decades. Y/n navigated the labyrinth of dead machinery, 9S trailing a half-step behind. Their current objective: locate and dismantle a machine production line. Simple. Efficient. Or it should have been.

"You're slowing us down," Y/n said, not unkindly, as 9S paused to scan a cluster of defunct terminals.

"Intel matters," 9S shot back. "Unless you'd rather charge in blind?"

"I'd rather not give the machines time to adapt."

The scanner stiffened. "Adaptation requires data. Which I'm collecting. Unless your glorious systems can magically predict machine behavior now?"