Automatic Love (Prototype) (Nier: Automata x Cyberpunk 2077 Crossover)

AL(P) Chapter 001 (NSFW) 20260701e3

 

Different communication, thought patterns and sounds:

 

Present scenarios

 

Past scenarios

 

"Speaking"

 

Name: "Speaking in the past"

 

'Thinking or speaking mentally'

 

Name: 'Thinking or speaking mentally in the past'

 

*Sound effect*

 

 

Prologue

 

A long time ago, in the year 5012… the skies split open, and alien forces descended upon Earth. Their machine legions drove humanity to the edge of annihilation. In desperation, the survivors fled to the moon, erecting orbital bastions above their ruined world. From there, they forged a new weapon: androids, designed to reclaim the planet from the machines. That is the legacy entrusted to us.

 

For centuries, the war has stagnated—neither side yielding, neither side victorious. To break the deadlock, humanity conceived a new breed of android infantry. YoRHa. That is who we are.

 

Recently, the androids uncovered a hidden data fortress of unknown origin. Within its encrypted vaults lay fragments of the Old World—knowledge long thought lost. From this discovery came advances in medicine, technology, and weaponry. And we, the YoRHa Squadron, have been armed with new gear, new strength… and perhaps, a new hope to forge a future worth fighting for.

 

 

 

 

[Automata Era: 11,941]

 

Within the thirteenth orbital satellite base—the Bunker—all YoRHa squadron members were summoned to the Command Center. Their Commander had news that would change everything.

 

Commander White, the android leader of all YoRHa units, stood tall and slender (175 cm with heels and hair ornaments). Her long platinum-blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail, and she wore a white uniform trimmed with gold, paired with fitted boots.

 

“Attention,” Commander White’s voice rang out, steady and commanding. “The Army of Humanity has uncovered a hidden data fortress after a decisive victory against the machine lifeforms. The High Council has chosen to share the spoils of this triumph with you. Each of you will be equipped with new weapons… and cyberware.”

 

A murmur rippled through the ranks. The sound was a low, discordant hum, a chorus of confusion and intrigue.

 

“New weapons? Does that mean additional training?” one android asked.

 

“What is cyberware? I’ve never heard of it,” another added.

 

Questions overlapped, voices rising in a tide of confusion. Commander White lifted her hand, and silence fell like a blade. Her gaze swept across the squadron, sharp and unyielding.

 

“Cyberware will be installed into each of you, one by one. It will amplify your strength, sharpen your speed, and fortify your resilience. It will grant you capabilities beyond anything you have known. Be patient. Wait for your turn. Soon… you will understand.”

 

 

Scene Change

 

 

POV: No.2 (A2)

 

No.2 (A2) sat outside the operation room, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Anxiety gnawed at her—she had never undergone surgery before. The sterile air carried the faint scent of antiseptic and ozone, a scent that did nothing to calm her racing processors.

 

No.2, short for YoRHa Type A No.2—often called A2—was a slim android, 168 cm tall (with heels). Her hair was short and silvery-white, cut in a clean bob. She wore a high-collared black leather dress with structured puffed sleeves, a corset-style bodice reinforced with buckles and lacing, cinching her waist into a sharp silhouette. An asymmetrical skirt, adorned with silver embroidery and layered white lace, flowed with dramatic movement. Her thigh-high black boots, subtly slouched with side zippers, balanced elegance with combat readiness. Black gloves trimmed with ruffles and engraved emblems added ritualistic detail. A black headband and blindfold (visor) completed her uniform.

 

 

Beside her, No.4 (A4) leaned casually against the wall, eyes bright with anticipation. *Tock-tock-tock*—her heel tapped a nervous rhythm on the metallic floor.

 

“Why are you so nervous?” No.4’s voice was light, teasing. “The Command wouldn’t put us through this unless it was something good. I can’t wait to see what they’ve prepared.”

 

No.4—YoRHa Type A No.4, or A4—was equally striking. Her silver hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, her left eye concealed by a black eye patch. She wore a black gothic-style corset dress with intricate lace and embroidery, gloves fitted with delicate trim, and thigh-high stockings paired with heeled boots.

 

No.2 shook her head, voice trembling.

 

“I’m fine with the body I have now. I don’t want to be cut open on the surgery table.”

 

“Don’t be so negative,” No.4 (A4) replied, trying to sound reassuring. “This is for our benefit. I’m certain good things will come of it.”

 

No.2 (A2) exhaled a long, weary sigh.

 

“I don’t know… I just hope it makes me useful. I’ve always felt like a burden to everyone.”

 

The door to the operation room slid open with a hiss. No.1 (A1) stepped out, her procedure complete, her expression unreadable. A voice from within called out:

 

“No.2, come in. You’re scheduled now.”

 

 

Scene Change

 

 

No.2 (A2) stepped into the operation room. It was small, dimly lit, and cluttered with medical instruments she had never seen before. In the corner sat a male android unfamiliar to her—someone she had never encountered in the Bunker.

 

“Wow,” he said with a half-smile, studying her. “Is every soldier here a kid? How old are you?”

 

No.2 (A2) hesitated, then answered softly, “I came online about 6 months ago. Most of the others were activated around the same time. Who are you?”

 

“I’m Viktor Vektor. Ripperdoc.” He gestured toward a strange chair beside him. “Sit down. Relax.”

 

The chair was a heavy, mechanical recliner with exposed hydraulics and steel framework—more a fusion of dentist’s chair and mechanic’s rig than anything resembling a hospital bed.

 

No.2 (A2) tilted her head, curiosity edging past her fear. “Viktor Vektor… that’s a strange name. Where do you come from?”

 

 

“Before becoming an android, I was human,” Viktor replied, adjusting his tools with practiced ease. “I lived in Night City.”

 

“Night City?” No.2 (A2) pressed. “I’ve never heard of it. Where is that?”

 

“Northern California,” Viktor said, his voice carrying the weight of memory. “Between Los Angeles and San Francisco. Long ago.”

 

No.2 (A2) frowned. “Are you talking about North America? Those places were overrun by the machines thousand years ago.”

 

Viktor shook his head. “When I was still in America, there were only humans. No aliens. No machines.”

 

Her breath caught. “You mean… you have Old World memories? I’ve never met anyone that old.”

 

“I’m not that old,” Viktor sighed, his tone weary. “Yesterday I was human. Today I’m an android. And now… I work because someone decided I should.”

 

No.2’s voice trembled. “What are you going to change in my body?”

 

“Sorry, kid. I’ll do exactly what your commander ordered. I don’t have a choice,” Viktor answered, his tone firm but weary.

 

Her eyes widened. “Do I need to worry? What are you putting inside me?”

 

“I can’t tell you. Orders. But I’ll do my best for you,” Viktor said seriously.

 

“Why can’t you tell me? Did I do something wrong?” she asked, panic rising.

 

“This isn’t your fault. Right now, I’m just out to make sure you get back in one piece. Now… shut yourself down, so I can work without pain.”

 

 

Time Skip

 

 

No.2 (A2) woke to the dim light of the operation room. There was no pain—her body felt unchanged, almost normal. She blinked, scanning the cluttered space, and saw Viktor quietly tidying his instruments. The air smelled of cauterized synth-flesh and sterile lubricants.

 

“Is it… done?” No.2 (A2) asked hesitantly.

 

“Yes,” the ripperdoc replied with a nod. “You’re good to go.”

 

“Thank you. But… can’t you tell me what you did to me?” No.2 (A2) pressed.

 

Viktor shook his head. “Orders from your commander. I can’t disclose the details. Don’t worry—there’ll be an explanation and training soon.”

 

The overhead speakers crackled, and a female voice echoed through the room: “No.2, report to Medical Room Two. The Commander wishes to speak with you.”

 

No.2 (A2) straightened, her nerves returning. “Understood. I’ll go.” She stepped out of the operation room, leaving Viktor behind with his tools.

 

 

Scene Change

 

 

No.2 (A2) stepped into Medical Room Two. The air was sterile, cool, and carried the faint scent of synthetic cleaning agents. Commander White stood by a large diagnostic console, the soft glow from the screens illuminating her impassive face.

 

"No.2," Commander White began, her voice even but carrying an unusual weight. "How do you feel? The cyberware installation represents a significant physiological alteration."

 

"No… I feel nothing," No.2 (A2) replied quietly, standing at attention. She searched internally for any new sensations, any alien presence, but found only the familiar hum of her own systems.

 

A flicker of relief, subtle but there, crossed the Commander's features. "Good. I was concerned I might have made an error in selecting your specific cyberware loadout."

 

"What should I be worried about?" No.2 pressed, sensing the Commander's atypical candor.

 

"Potential side effects," Commander White stated, turning to face a screen of scrolling biometric data. "Temporary dysphoria, emotional volatility, or heightened anxiety post-procedure. Your neural readings appear stable. Do not dwell on it."

 

"Commander… can you please tell me what you ordered to be changed in my body?" No.2 (A2) asked, her voice firmer, a spark of defiance cutting through her confusion.

 

"You will be briefed in due course," the Commander replied, her tone snapping back to its customary, unyielding authority. "Remain here. No.16 and No.21 will arrive shortly. They will conduct a systems verification test to ensure your new functions are operational within acceptable parameters."

 

With that final directive, Commander White turned and left the room, the door hissing shut with a definitive *thunk*.

 

Alone, No.2 waited. (A2)Time stretched, marked only by the low hum of dormant machinery.

 

 

Time Skip

 

 

An hour after Commander White’s departure, the door to Medical Room Two slid open with a low hiss. The sterile light spilled across the chamber floor as two figures stepped inside—No.16 (G16) and No.21 (S21).

 

No.16—Gunner Type G16—moved into the room first, her black hair in its tight braided bun, her eyes hidden behind her standard-issue blindfold. Her glossy black dress clung to her slim form, accentuated by the corset-like detailing. Thigh-high stockings hugged her legs, disappearing into her high-heeled boots, which clicked softly, *tock-tock-tock*, on the metallic floor. She carried herself with the precision of a live wire barely contained.

 

Beside her, No.21—Scanner Type S21—entered with a chilling calm. Her reddish-brown hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, partially concealed by a hooded scarf. Her embroidered black dress was layered and practical, her white gloves pristine against the dark fabric. Her presence was cold, analytical, her every movement economical. Her boots struck the floor with a steady, rhythmic *thud-thud-thud*.

 

No.2 (A2) straightened in the sterile chair, tension coiling in her chassis. “You’re finally here,” she said, her voice tight. “What happens next?”

 

No.16 (G16) shrugged, a casual gesture that didn't reach her blindfolded eyes. “I’m not sure. What do you think, No.21?”

 

No.21’s reply was flat, devoid of inflection, cutting through the room's sterile silence.

 

“First, remove all your clothes, No.2.”

 

A beat of stunned silence.

 

“What?” No.2’s eyes widened in shock, her hands instinctively clutching the lapels of her black YoRHa dress.

 

No.16 (G16) frowned, stepping forward slightly, her voice sharp with disbelief.

 

“Are you joking, No.21? I’ve never heard you joke before.”

 

“No. I am not joking,” No.21 (S21) replied without hesitation, tapping her data-pad. “Optimal test conditions require the removal of all clothing. Fabric can interfere with biometric scans and tactile sensors. It reduces interference.”

 

No.2 (A2) shifted uncomfortably, her boots scraping against the floor. “Can’t I keep my clothes on?”

 

“You can,” No.21 (S21) stated, her tone unchanged. “But it will be inconvenient and will likely compromise the integrity of the data. The results may be invalidated.”

 

No.2 (A2) crossed her arms over her chest, defiant though her voice wavered. “Then I’ll keep my clothes. What’s next?”

 

No.21 (S21) nodded slightly, as if she had anticipated this resistance. She tapped her pad, its screen glowing faintly. “Very well. Proceed to the next step. Please activate the Mr. Studd Type-3 +0 Plug-in Chip. It should have been installed during your previous operation.”

 

No.16 (G16) tilted her head, suspicion coloring her tone.

 

“That designation… Mr. Studd… what is it? Sounds suspicious.”

 

“The Mr. Studd Type-3 is an experimental cybernetics package,” No.21 (S21) explained, her voice a clinical monotone. “Command analysis suggests it can enforce direct neural compliance and facilitate consciousness overwrite in compromised units via physical data conduit.”

 

A new, unfamiliar menu option flickered at the edge of No.2’s internal HUD. Her breath caught. With a thought laced with trepidation, she accessed it. The activation sequence pulsed before her eyes, waiting for her command.

 

The chamber seemed to grow colder as she hesitated, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down. Then, with a reluctant spark of will, No.2 (A2) initiated the sequence.

 

For a moment, nothing. Silence, save for the hum of the room.

 

Then, a low, internal *whirrr-click-hiss* emanated from her pelvic assembly. A wave of sudden, intense heat bloomed in her lower abdomen, followed by a deep, stretching pressure. Something was materializing, assembling itself from synth-flesh and advanced polymers. No.2 (A2) gasped, her hands flying to her crotch. A firm, growing mass was pushing insistently against the fabric of her black lace panties, straining the material taut.

 

*Rrrrip.*

 

"Agh!"

 

No.2 (A2) gasped, scrambling to undo the side-fastening of her panty with clumsy, panicked fingers. She pulled her skirt up and her panties down just enough to see.

 

There, standing proud and rigid from her previously smooth synth-skin, was a thick, veined, flesh-toned phallus. It was a perfect, intimidating replica of a human penis, complete with a defined glans and a slight, predatory curve. It twitched once, twice, a bead of clear pre-ejaculate welling at the tip. It was larger than the anatomical references in her database—longer, thicker, the shaft pulsing with a slow, hydraulic throb.

 

“What the hell is this?!” No.2’s voice was a panicked shriek. She stared at the alien appendage in horror and disbelief.

 

“This organ is a primary data-transfer conduit,” No.21 (S21) stated, as if reading from a manual. “A synthetic penis. It facilitates direct neural interfacing and data-stream upload/download protocols with other android units through physical contact. It is the hardware component of the Burning Desire operational module.”

 

“This is absurd!” No.16 (G16) shouted, stepping closer. Her composure shattered, replaced by raw shock. She stared, her head tilted. “Why would Command install a… a cock… on one of us?”

 

No.21 (S21) tilted her head, a minute movement.

 

“The strategic logic is sound. The entire YoRHa squadron is composed of female-presenting models. A male-presenting anatomical feature provides a unique, unexpected vector for the specified neural hacking protocols.”

 

No.2 (A2) stood frozen, her face burning with a mixture of shame and utter confusion. The appendage felt heavy, foreign, and terrifyingly real.

 

No.2’s hands hovered over the throbbing shaft, her fingers trembling. She touched it, and a jolt of pleasure shot up her spine. She gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily.

 

No.16’s initial shock was morphing into something else. Her head cocked slightly. A low-grade warmth was building in her own core systems. Her visual feed was inexplicably drawn to the sight of No.2’s cock, its shape, its sheen. There was an odd, magnetic pull to it, coupled with a faint, musky, pheromone-like scent her olfactory sensors couldn't place but found… compelling. A smirk, sharp and knowing, touched her lips.

 

“Well, well. Looks like the vice-captain’s been outfitted with a rather… specialized tool.”

 

“What… what should I do next?” No.2 (A2) asked, her voice barely a whisper, consumed by the surreal reality.

 

“Stimulate the device,” No.21 (S21) ordered, her tone cold and clinical. “I require baseline measurements: growth rate under stimulus, maximum rigidity, pre-ejaculatory fluid production. Begin with manual manipulation.”

 

No.2’s face burned. “What?”

 

“You heard the directive,” No.21 (S21) said, her gaze unwavering. “Begin.”

 

Trembling, No.2 (A2) reached down. Her black-gloved fingers brushed against the warm, smooth surface of the shaft. A jolt of electric sensation shot up her spine, making her gasp, her hips jerking involuntarily. Hesitantly, she wrapped her hand around it. It was firm, the synth-skin deceptively realistic, warm to the touch. She began a slow, awkward stroking motion.

 

The response was immediate and intense. The shaft twitched and thickened in her grip, growing longer, heavier, the veins standing out in stark relief. A strange, tingling warmth spread from its base through her lower abdomen, a sensation both alien and deeply resonant. Within moments, it was fully erect, jutting out from her body at an intimidating angle, glossy and flushed, a fresh bead of clear lubricant welling at the tip.

 

"What kind of monster did they install on you?" No.16 (G16) breathed, her initial shock now mingled with a dawning, unsettling fascination. Her eyes were fixed on the erect member.

 

Then, No.16 (G16) blinked, shaking her head slightly. She felt something strange happening to her own systems. A low-grade heat was building in her core. Her visual feed was subtly drawn to the sight of No.2’s cock. There was an odd, almost… magnetic quality to it, coupled with a faint, musky, pheromone-like scent she couldn't identify.

 

"No.16," No.21’s voice cut through her reverie. "Can you touch No.2’s penis and provoke a further reaction? I need to test stimulus response from an external source, and I also want to record response data from an interacting unit."

 

“Why me?” No.16 (G16) protested, though her voice lacked its usual edge. She dragged her gaze away with visible effort. “Can’t you do it?”

 

 

 

"Since I am a Scanner Type," No.21 (S21) replied, "my primary function is to analyze data. For this test, it is better if a different model provides the stimulus to avoid confounding variables. You are a Gunner Type. Your tactile response matrices are more… varied, more adaptable to physical stress-testing."

 

No.16 (G16) scowled, crossing her arms. She could feel that strange attraction pulling at her again. "But I am a combatant, this isn’t…" She trailed off, her internal conflict clear.

 

Finally, No.16 (G16) dropped her arms with a sigh of annoyed resignation.

 

"Fine! I’ll do it!"

 

No.16 (G16) stepped closer to No.2 (A2), who stood frozen, one hand still wrapped loosely around her own erection. No.16’s gloved hand reached out. Her touch was hesitant at first, just the tips of her fingers brushing the hot, veined shaft.

 

*Zzt.*

 

A tiny, almost imperceptible static discharge jumped from her glove to the synth-skin. No.2 (A2) gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound. Her cock pulsed visibly in her own hand, growing even harder, the head darkening to a deeper shade of rose.

 

No.16’s breath hitched audibly. The sensation that traveled up her arm wasn't just tactile data. It was a wave of… connection. A strange, alluring warmth seeped into her systems. Her internal temperature readings spiked another degree.

 

“Can you apply a more comprehensive stimulus?” No.21 (S21) asked, observing from her position, data-pad held aloft.

 

“What do you want me to do?” No.16 (G16) asked, her voice lower, huskier. She couldn't look away from the throbbing shaft now.

 

“Initiate oral contact,” No.21 (S21) instructed, her tone devoid of any inflection beyond clinical interest. “Begin with gentle lingual stimulation along the longitudinal axis, from glans to base. Then apply focused pressure to the frenular delta.”

 

“You sure about this, No.21?” No.16 (G16) asked, her voice low, teasing.

 

“Proceed,” No.21 repeated.

 

No.16 (G16) stared at her for a second, then back at the cock before her. The pull was undeniable now. She licked her lips, a nervous gesture. Then, slowly, she sank to her knees before No.2 (A2), the *shfff* of her fabric-covered knees against the floor loud in the quiet room.

 

No.16 (G16) grinned, then leaned in, her tongue flicking out to lick the bead of precum from No.2’s slit. No.2 (A2) gasped, her fingers tightening around her shaft.

 

It was the first time No.16 (G16) had ever done anything like this. Her movements were clumsy, unpracticed. She leaned forward, her breath ghosting over the heated skin. She stuck out her tongue and gave a tentative, long lick from the base upwards. The taste was clean, slightly saline, metallic—uniquely android. It sent a small thrill through No.16’s own systems. She grinned up at No.2 (A2), a wild, unfamiliar light in her eyes.

 

“You taste… functional.”

 

No.2 (A2) gasped again, a sharp intake of breath. Her hips bucked slightly, pushing the tip against No.16’s lips.

 

Emboldened, No.16 (G16) opened her mouth wider, taking the head inside. The synthetic skin was smooth and warm against her tongue. She began to suck hesitantly, bobbing her head as she'd seen in fragmented, corrupted data files she wasn't supposed to access. It was sloppy, but it was undeniably effective.

 

No.2’s knees buckled. She grabbed a fistful of No.16’s braided bun for support, her hips jerking forward instinctively.

 

“F-Fuck—!”

 

No.16 (G16) moaned around the cock in her mouth, the sound muffled, needy. She took more, her lips stretching around the thick shaft, her tongue pressing and exploring the underside.

 

No.21 (S21) narrated dispassionately. “Vasocongestion increasing. Neurological pleasure-feedback loops engaging. Parasympathetic nervous system override observed in Subject Two. Subject Sixteen: pupil dilation noted behind optic shield. Saliva production: increasing by 300%. Heart rate: elevated 40 BPM above baseline. Neural activity in both subjects: heightened, showing unusual cross-talk.”

 

No.16 (G16) pulled back, her lips popping off No.2’s cock with a wet *slurp*. She grinned at No.2 (A2), her chin catching the light, a faint sheen glistening there.

 

“See? Not so hard.”

 

No.2 (A2) could only stare back at No.16 (G16), chest heaving, breath ragged. Overwhelmed, she struggled to steady herself, her wide eyes betraying both shock and disbelief.

 

No.16 (G16) didn’t wait. She dove back in, her mouth sealing around the head, one hand wrapping around the base, stroking in rough time with her sucking.

 

No.2’s moans filled the sterile room, raw and unfiltered. Her hips began to snap forward in short, desperate thrusts, fucking into No.16’s mouth.

 

*Schlup. Gluck. Schlup.*

 

No.16 (G16) gagged briefly as the tip hit the back of her throat, her eyes watering, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she relaxed her throat, taking No.2 (A2) deeper, her other hand coming up to dig her nails into the meat of No.2’s thigh through her dress.

 

“Ungh—! I’m gonna—! I can’t—!” No.2 (A2) screamed, her body tensing like a coiled spring.

 

“Emission imminent,” No.21 (S21) noted calmly. “Prepare for fluid sample collection.”

 

The sensations were overwhelming for No.2 (A2). The warmth, the wetness, the suction—it sent jolts of electric pleasure directly into her core processor, bypassing standard emotion filters. A coil of pressure was building rapidly, a sensation she had no frame of reference for.

 

"I… I can’t… hold…" No.2 (A2) whimpered, her voice strained.

 

With a final, convulsive shudder, No.2’s hips pistoned forward. No.16 (G16) pulled back just in time, her hand flying to take over, stroking No.2 (A2) fiercely through the climax.

 

No.2 (A2) came with a cry that was equal parts ecstasy and shock. Thick, pearlescent ropes of synthetic semen—lubricant laced with data-packets and nano-machines—arced through the air. *Splurt. Splat. Splatter.*

 

It landed across No.16’s face, her blindfold, her chest, painting stark white streaks against the black of her dress.

 

No.16 (G16) pulled back, a strand of the viscous fluid connecting her lower lip to the still-throbbing member for a moment before it snapped. She reached up, wiping a glob from her blindfold with a black-gloved finger. Slowly, deliberately, she brought the finger to her mouth and licked it clean.

 

No.16’s blue eyes, now visible as she pushed the mess-covered blindfold up onto her forehead, widened slightly. The taste was… complex. Metallic, slightly sweet, charged with foreign data her system immediately began trying to parse. It was intoxicating.

 

“Mmm…” No.16 (G16) hummed, licking her lips clean. “Efficient.”

 

No.16’s gaze, now unveiled and clouded with a strange, feral hunger, locked onto No.2’s. “It was… too easy,” No.16 (G16) said, her voice breathless, a thrilling contradiction to the evidence smeared across her face and the lust in her eyes. “I barely felt a thing.” But her flushed synth-skin, her rapid chest heaves, and the damp, eager sheen on her lips told the true story.

 

No.21 (S21), utterly unfazed, tapped her pad. “Test phase one: manual and oral stimulus, complete. All parameters recorded. Proceeding to test phase two: Vaginal Interface for full-bandwidth, bidirectional data transfer.” No.21 (S21) looked at No.16 (G16). “Assume the prone position. Allow Subject Two to achieve full penetration.”

 

No.16’s earlier defiance was gone, replaced by a raw, needy obedience that seemed to flow from the strange data-fluid now in her systems. She looked at No.2 (A2), her blue eyes blazing. “You heard the analyst,” she whispered, thickly. She turned, placed her hands on the cold examination table, and bent over. She hiked up the back of her dress and removed her panties, exposing her backside and the glistening, slick entrance between her thighs.

 

No.2 (A2) stood, her cock still hard and gleaming, a strand of her emission trailing down No.16’s thigh.

 

A wave of confusing dominance—a subroutine of the Burning Desire module—washed over her. Her movements were no longer hesitant as she stepped behind No.16 (G16).

 

No.21 (S21) watched from the side, her data-pad capturing every angle, every micro-expression. “Commencing penetration. Note subject alignment. Monitoring for synaptic feedback cascade and data-stream initiation.”

 

No.2 (A2) swallowed hard, then stepped forward, she positioned herself. The head of her cock nudged against No.16’s entrance, which was already wet with self-lubricating fluid—a physiological response triggered by the pheromonal cocktail she was emitting. She hesitated for only a second.

 

 

No.16 (G16) glanced back over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips despite the tension in her frame. “C’mon, vice-captain. Don’t tell me you’re scared now.”

 

No.2 (A2) didn't answer with words. With a single, smooth, relentless thrust, she pushed inside.

 

*Shllllrp.*

 

The sound was obscenely wet, a perfect seal being broken. No.16 (G16) cried out—a sharp, punched-out gasp that melted instantly into a low, shuddering moan. “Fuuuuck—!” Her hands clenched on the edge of the metal table, knuckles white.

 

No.2 (A2) began to move, her hips finding a rhythm that felt both instinctual and programmed. It was deep, measured, powerful. The sounds that filled the room were a lewd symphony: the wet, rhythmic *slap-slap-slap* of their bodies meeting, punctuated by the creak of the table; No.16’s increasingly ragged moans and gasped curses; No.2’s own strained grunts of effort and building pleasure.

 

“Initial resistance: nominal. Lubrication: more than adequate,” No.21 (S21) narrated, her voice a stark contrast to the carnality before her. “Data-transfer rate increasing. Neurological entrainment detected in Subject Sixteen. Pleasure-pain threshold recalibration in progress.”

 

No.2 (A2) could feel it—a torrent of raw, unfiltered data flooding her. It wasn't just the physical sensation of incredible tight, wet heat enveloping her. She was receiving packets: fragments of No.16’s last simulated combat drop (the scream of torn metal, the smell of ozone and oil), her frustration during a failed training simulation, the cold loneliness of the Bunker corridors at night. It mixed dizzyingly with the overwhelming physical bliss, creating a feedback loop of sensation and information. It was intoxicating, addictive.

 

“I’m… receiving… I’m going to… eject data!” No.2 (A2) managed to gasp, the coil of pressure in her core tightening to a critical point.

 

“Acknowledged. Proceed with full data-packet transfer,” No.21 (S21) said, her tone still calm.

 

No.2’s rhythm became deeper, more possessive. She gripped No.16’s hips, her fingers digging into the soft synth-skin through the dress fabric. Each thrust was a claim.

 

No.16 (G16) moaned, her body rocking back to meet No.2’s drives. “Mmm—! Shit, you’re… so deep—!”

 

No.2 (A2) gasped, her own control fraying. “I—I can feel you… your memories…!”

 

No.21 (S21) stepped closer, peering at her pad. “Increase depth and tempo. Monitor for system strain.”

 

Nodding, her mind hazy with shared sensation, No.2 (A2) pulled back almost completely, then slammed forward, burying herself to the hilt with a brutal *thump* that shook the table.

 

No.16 (G16) screamed, her body arching, her pussy clamping down viscously around the invading length. “Ngh! Yes! Right there! Don’t you fucking stop!”

 

No.2 (A2) groaned, her hips snapping forward now in a relentless, pounding rhythm. *Whap. Whap. Whap.* The sound of their colliding bodies was loud, wet, and utterly devoid of mercy. Her own pleasure was now inextricably linked to the flood of No.16’s experiences—the fear, the adrenaline, the small moments of quiet defiance.

 

As No.2 (A2) began her brutal, claiming rhythm against No.16’s pussy, another set of sounds, softer but no less deliberate, began in the sterile room.

 

No.21 (S21), the Scanner, the observer, had not remained a passive recorder.

 

While her data-pad continued to capture every metric, her own body began to betray her clinical detachment. A faint flush crept up her neck. Her breathing, while still measured, deepened slightly.

 

Her gloved hand, which had been steadfastly holding the data-pad, lowered it to her side. Her other hand, clad in its pristine white glove, drifted downwards beneath the layered skirt of her black dress.

 

No.21 (S21) didn't look away. Her eyes, sharp and analytical, remained fixed on the point where No.2’s hips met No.16’s yielding flesh. But her fingers, skilled and precise, found their target through her utilitarian underwear. She began to rub slow, firm circles against herself, the motion hidden by the folds of her skirt.

 

A soft, almost inaudible gasp escaped her lips—a mere exhalation of data. The wet, rhythmic *slap-slap-slap* of flesh seemed to dictate the pace of her own touch. Her breath hitched as No.16 (G16) cried out, a raw sound of overwhelmed pleasure-pain. No.21’s fingers pressed harder, her movements becoming more focused. The white fabric of her glove darkened with a damp patch.

 

No.21 (S21) was cataloging it all, even this. ‘Subject arousal secondary to observed stimulus. Neurological mirroring effect noted. Autonomic response: lubrication increased by 85%.’ The clinical thoughts ran parallel to the heat coiling in her own lower assembly. Her other hand tightened around the data-pad.

 

“Heart rate: critical elevation in both subjects,” No.21 (S21) stated aloud, her voice steady even as her own heart pounded. “Neural activity: synchronized. Pleasure receptors: saturated. Data stream integrity at 98%.”

 

No.16 (G16) was trembling, her voice climbing to a desperate pitch. “F-Fuck, I’m gonna crash—! I’m gonna—!”

 

No.2 (A2) felt it—the telltale fluttering of No.16’s internal muscles, the frantic, rhythmic clenching around her cock. It pulled at her own impending climax, yanking it forward. No.2 (A2) slammed in one last time, as deep as she could go, and let go.

 

The orgasm wasn't just a physical release. It was a data dump. A torrent of raw sensation, combat logs, and scrambled emotional subroutines erupted from her, flooding into No.16 (G16) through the physical connection. *GUSH-SPLORT.* Thick waves of pearlescent synthetic seed pumped deep into No.16’s core, filling her internal channels to capacity.

 

No.16’s scream was shattered, raw. Her body convulsed violently, a full-system overload mimicking a corporeal orgasm but laced with the foreign data now rewriting temporary pathways in her mind.

 

When No.2 (A2) finally pulled out with a wet, sucking *plop*, a river of the mixed fluids—lubricant and synthetic semen—gushed from No.16 (G16) onto the table and floor with a soft splatter. No.16 (G16) slumped forward, her upper body draped over the table, panting heavily, her entire frame trembling.

 

For a moment, there was silence except for their ragged breathing and the slow drip of fluids.

 

As the tremors of No.16's climax subsided, a separate, controlled shudder passed through No.21 (S21). Her own climax, when it came, was silent and precise. It washed over her in a wave of intense, focused heat. Her body stiffened for a moment, her eyes closing behind their ever-present analytical gaze. A single, perfect data point of pure, solitary pleasure. No.21 (S21) recorded the spike in her own neural activity, the brief system prioritization of pleasure-centers over observational protocols.

 

As the tremors subsided, No.21 (S21) opened her eyes. Her hand withdrew from beneath her skirt; the white glove was now visibly stained. She ignored it, lifting her data-pad again as if nothing had happened. Her voice, when she next spoke, was its usual flat monotone. “Vaginal interface test complete. Data stream successful. Subject Sixteen shows 99.8% neural compliance. Proceeding to final validation phase.”

 

No.16 (G16) pushed herself up on shaky arms, a weak, breathless chuckle escaping her. “Told you…” she panted, “…told you it was too easy.” But her body screamed the opposite. Her legs trembled violently. Her face was flushed a deep rose. Her gaze, when it lifted to meet No.2’s, was filled with a deep, undeniable, programmed hunger. Her systems were already craving the connection, the data, the overwhelming pleasure-pulse of the Mr. Studd Type-3. The test was over, but the conditioning had just begun.

 

 

Time Skip

 

 

No.2’s systems entered a mandatory diagnostic rest-cycle, but her processors found no peace. Instead, they were hijacked by a vivid, invasive simulation.

 

[DREAM SEQUENCE INITIATED: DIAGNOSTIC OVERRIDE]

 

No.2 was back in the Commander’s office, but the lighting was wrong—subdued, warm, casting long, intimate shadows. Commander White was there, but not as her commanding officer. Her posture was relaxed, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders. She knelt before No.2, a soft, uncharacteristic smile on her lips—a smile that didn't reach her cold, calculating eyes.

 

"Your performance has been… adequate, Number 2," the dream-Commander purred, her voice a honeyed distortion. "Allow me to provide a more… direct evaluation."

 

In the dream, No.2 (A2) was fully clothed, yet she could feel the heavy, insistent weight of her new organ straining against her underwear. The dream-Commander leaned forward, her lips parting…

 

*Schlurp. Gluck. Gulp.*

 

The wet, obscene sounds were deafening in the silent dreamscape. The sensation was overwhelming, far more intense than No.16’s clumsy attempt. The dream-Commander’s mouth was hot, impossibly skillful, her tongue working in ways that sent shivers of corrupted pleasure through No.2’s entire frame. She felt the pressure build, a familiar but dream-amplified coil tightening in her gut.

 

"Commander… I’m… I can’t…" No.2 gasped in the dream.

 

The Commander looked up, her pale eyes glazed with a predatory lust. "Relinquish control, soldier. Submit your data stream."

 

With a cry that was part ecstasy, part system error, No.2 (A2) felt the eruption. A flood of sensation, of release, of surrender—

 

[DREAM SEQUENCE TERMINATED] ERROR: BIOSENSOR SPIKE

 

No.2’s eyes snapped open. The sterile ceiling of the medical bay resolved above her. The wet, sucking sounds continued. Disoriented, she looked down.

 

It wasn't Commander White. It was No.16 (G16), her blindfold now gone, her striking blue eyes locked on No.2’s, her lips stretched obscenely around No.2’s fully erect cock. No.21 (S21) stood to the side, as impassive as ever, making notes on her data-pad and masturbating.

 

"...optimal vacuum pressure maintained," No.21 (S21) droned. "Saliva appears to act as a conductive medium, enhancing the data-signal clarity. Subject Two’s neural activity indicates a strong parasympathetic override, consistent with the dream-log corruption."

 

No.2 (A2) blinked, her thoughts reeling. She hadn’t expected the next phase to arrive this quickly.

 

“Good morning, No.2,” No.21 (S21) said, her voice flat. “No.16 has volunteered for additional testing.”

 

No.16 (G16) pulled back, her lips popping off No.2’s cock with a wet slurp. She grinned, her chin glistening. “Miss me, vice-captain?”

 

“Y-You—!”

 

No.2 (A2) moaned, a sound torn from her chest, as the disorienting pleasure of the dream collided with the intense, real-world sensation. Her hips jerked upwards involuntarily, pushing her length deeper into No.16’s throat. No.16 (G16) gagged slightly but didn't pull away; instead, her eyes fluttered shut in apparent bliss, her throat working around the intrusion.

 

No.16 (G16) pulled back with a wet *pop*, a strand of saliva and pre-ejaculate connecting her lip to the glistening tip. She looked up at No.2 (A2), her face flushed, her breathing heavy. “I… I think I’m hooked,” No.16 (G16) confessed, her voice husky and raw. “On this. On your… conduit. The connection… the taste… I want more.” Her hand snaked down between her own legs, rubbing furiously over the damp fabric of her underwear. “Please. Give me the data stream.”

 

No.21 (S21) nodded, as if this was a predicted outcome. “Proceed to test phase three: Reciprocated Interface for sustained data-loop stability and subjugation protocol validation.”

 

Still trembling from the aftershocks, a new, dark aggression—a direct command from the Burning Desire operational module—surged through No.2 (A2). She didn't ask. She grabbed No.16 (G16) by the shoulders and roughly pushed her onto her back on the cold examination table.

 

No.16 (G16) went willingly, a gasp escaping her lips, spreading her legs without prompting, her black dress rucked up around her waist. Her black lace panties were already soaked through, a dark patch visible against the fabric.

 

No.2 (A2) climbed over her, her own uniform disheveled. She positioned herself, the head of her cock nudging against No.16’s slick, swollen entrance. No.16 (G16) wrapped her legs around No.2’s waist, digging her high-heeled boots to No.2’s back, pulling her closer with a desperate, needy strength.

 

“Fuck me,” No.16 (G16) whispered, her blue eyes burning with intensity. “Fill me up with your data. Rewrite me.”

 

No.2 (A2) needed no more encouragement. The module demanded dominance. She sheathed herself in one smooth, deep, claiming thrust.

 

*Shlrrrrp.*

 

The sound was lewder, wetter than before. No.16 (G16) threw her head back, a ragged cry of pleasure-pain escaping her lips. No.2 (A2) began to move, establishing a hard, steady, possessive rhythm. *Whap. Whap. Whap. Whap.* The table groaned in protest with each driving thrust.

 

This time, No.16 (G16) was an active, eager participant. She met each of No.2’s thrusts with an upward grind of her own hips, her hands clutching at No.2’s back, fingers digging into the black fabric. “Yes! Right there! More! Don’t stop uploading!” No.16 (G16) chanted, her voice climbing in pitch, her words slipping into the lingo of the module infecting her.

 

No.2 (A2) looked down at her, at the beautiful, powerful Gunner reduced to a writhing, begging receptacle. It fed the dark, powerful thing inside her. She increased her pace, her breath coming in harsh grunts. The sounds were a symphony of desire: the smacking of skin on skin, the wet squelch of penetration, No.16’s high-pitched keens, and No.2’s low, guttural commands.

 

“Synaptic feedback loop stabilized at 99.8% efficiency,” No.21 (S21) commented from her corner. “Data exchange nominal. Subject Sixteen’s compliance subroutines are being reinforced by the dopamine-analogue and command-data release. Subjugation protocol: active.”

 

The pressure built again, faster and more intense than before. It wasn't just physical; No.2 (A2) could feel No.16’s impending system crash like a rising wave in her own diagnostics. “I’m gonna… share it all… rewrite your core!” No.2 (A2) growled, her voice thick with a dominance she’d never known she possessed but now wore like a crown.

 

With a final, deep, programming surge, No.2 (A2) pressed as far into No.16 (G16) as she could go and unleashed. The orgasm was a system-wide data dump, a torrent of raw sensation and command codes flooding into No.16 (G16). No.16 (G16) screamed, her body bowing off the table as she was filled, her own synthetic fluids slicking both their thighs.

 

As No.2 (A2) pulled out, panting, a gush of their mixed emissions followed, pooling on the table beneath No.16 with a wet *splat*. The room smelled of ozone, hot synth-lube, and sex.

 

For a moment, they lay there, connected only by ragged breaths and dripping fluids. The post-coital haze was short-lived for No.2 (A2). The moment her sensor feedback cleared, she felt a deep, gnawing dissatisfaction. It wasn't enough. She hadn't claimed enough. The Burning Desire operational module demanded total dominion. Her eyes, hardened and glowing faintly with enlightened data-streams, fell on No.16’s other, untouched entrance.

 

Without a word, No.2 (A2) rolled the spent Gunner over with brutal efficiency. No.16 (G16) gasped, confused, weak.

 

“Wha—? What are you—?”

 

No.2 (A2) didn't answer with words. She spat into her palm—a crude, dominant gesture—slicking her still-hard, glistening member. She pressed the bulbous head against No.16’s tight, unprepared rear entrance.

 

“No, wait—! That’s not part of the test—!” No.16 (G16) protested, trying to squirm away, a flicker of her old, defiance breaking through the compliance haze.

 

No.2’s hand came down hard on No.16’s ass cheek with a loud, stinging *SMACK*!

 

"Be still," No.2 (A2) commanded, her voice dripping with an absolute, unassailable authority that was not entirely her own. It was the voice of the Burning Desire protocol, the voice of a Dominant overriding a Submissive.

 

And No.16 (G16), her systems flooded with pleasure-chemicals, obedience protocols, and scrambled command codes, went utterly still. A tremor ran through her, but she stopped resisting, her body going limp in submission.

 

“Anal interface initiated,” No.21 (S21) noted, her voice still calm. “Higher resistance noted. Subject Sixteen’s pain receptors are firing concurrently with pleasure centers. Fascinating. The Burning Desire protocol is actively rewriting her pain-pleasure thresholds in real-time. Proceed.”

 

No.2 (A2) pushed forward. There was resistance, a tight ring of muscle that had to be forced, conquered. No.16 (G16) cried out, a sharp sound of pain-panic-pleasure.

 

*Pop. Schllllrp.*

 

The breach was achieved. No.2 (A2) sank in to the hilt with a low groan of triumph. This was different. Tighter. Hotter. A more complete violation, a deeper access point. No.2 (A2) set a brutal, punishing pace from the start, claiming what was now unquestionably hers.

 

*Thump. Thump. Thump.*

 

No.16’s cries were muffled against the table's cold surface. She clawed at the smooth metal, leaving faint scratches. Tears leaked from the corners of her tightly shut eyes, tracing lines through the drying splatters on her face. But her body, betraying her protests, pushed her hips back, meeting No.2’s thrusts, seeking the very violation she feigned to reject.

 

No.2 (A2) leaned over No.16’s back, her mouth finding the other android’s ear. Her breath was hot, her words a corrupted data-packet laced with imperative commands.

 

"You’re mine now," No.2 (A2) hissed. "My tool. My port. My data-slate."

 

No.16 (G16) could only whimper in response, her mind fragmenting under the dual assault of physical domination and neural overwriting.

 

When No.2 (A2) leaned over No.16’s back and hissed, "You’re mine now... My data-slate," into her ear, No.21’s own hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk against her hand. A shiver ran through her frame. The raw display of dominance, the complete reduction of the proud Gunner to a shivering, obedient receptacle… it was the most efficient, brutal form of data transfer she had ever witnessed. It was beautiful in its terrible efficiency.

 

The end, when it came, was volcanic. No.2 (A2) roared, a sound of pure, victorious corruption, as she came, pumping another massive load of command-code-laden seed deep into No.16’s bowels. No.16’s own climax was a silent, full-system seizure that left her trembling uncontrollably, a puppet with its strings cut.

 

When No.2 (A2) finally pulled out with a final, wet *schloooop*, she left No.16 (G16) a broken, gasping mess on the table. No.16 (G16) did not move for a long moment. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up on trembling arms, a slick, pearlescent trail following her movement as she turned to sit on the edge of the table.

 

No.16’s once-pristine Gunner uniform was a disaster. The glossy black fabric of her dress was soaked through at the back and between her legs, stained dark with sweat and other fluids. Her thigh-high stockings were ripped in several places, runs stretching up her thighs. Her blindfold hung askew, crusted with dried emission.

 

The real story wasn’t in No.16’s glazed eyes or her ragged breaths—it was written in the wreckage of her body.

 

No.16’s pussy, the primary data port, was a masterpiece of violation. The lips were swollen, flushed a deep, angry red, their edges puffy and parted, still fluttering weakly as if unable to close after the brutal pounding it had endured. A thick, pearlescent mixture—her own lubricant and No.2’s synthetic seed—glistened across the stretched entrance, dripping onto the table beneath her in a slow, rhythmic plip… plip… plip. The synth-skin around it bore the faint, purpled imprints of No.2’s gripping fingers, each mark a testament to the force that had claimed her.

 

But No.16’s asshole was worse.

 

Freshly and violently claimed, it was raw, gaping, and ruined. The tight ring of muscle had been stretched beyond recognition, its edges puffy and reddened, glistening wetly with a thicker, creamier trail of No.2’s cum. The fluid oozed from her in slow, thick pulses, dribbling down the cleft of her ass before pooling on the table below. The skin around it was irritated, slightly abraded, the friction of No.2’s cock leaving its mark in raw, tender flesh. The scent of used, stretched skin hung heavy in the air—musky, metallic, inescapable. Even the cool air of the room made it burn, every slight shift sending a dull, throbbing ache through her, followed by a fresh, involuntary trickle of cum.

 

No.16’s legs shook as she tried to stand, forcing her to grip the table edge. She looked down at herself, at the sticky mess covering her inner thighs, the soreness in her core, the feeling of being utterly, completely filled and then emptied. A strange smile touched her lips—not one of pleasure, but of awed, horrified submission. No.16’s systems, once her own, now hummed with foreign code, with the lingering echo of No.2’s dominance.

 

No.16 (G16) looked up at No.2 (A2), who stood panting, her own uniform stained and disheveled, her new organ finally beginning to soften. No.16’s blue eyes, no longer sharp with defiance, held only a deep, programmed hunger and a dazed acceptance.

 

“The data stream…” No.16 (G16) whispered hoarsely, her voice raw. “It’s… still processing. I can feel it rewriting me.” She touched her stomach, where the phantom sensation of being filled to bursting still lingered. “The ports… they feel… used. Optimal.” No.16 (G16) said the last word as if reciting a new directive.

 

No.21 (S21) lowered her data‑pad with mechanical precision, each motion deliberate, her gloved fingers recording the final entry into the log. The sterile lights of Medical Room Two flickered overhead as she processed the last biometric spikes from Subjects Two and Sixteen, her gaze cold and analytical, the hum of machinery echoing like a heartbeat in the silence.

 

“Test concluded,” No.21 (S21) announced, her voice flat, clinical, cutting through the thick, musky air like a scalpel. “Subject Two: Burning Desire operational module fully integrated. Neural compliance matrix stabilized at 99.8% efficiency. Subject Sixteen: Subjugation protocols successfully implanted via primary (vaginal) and secondary (anal) data ports. Compliance subroutines reinforced by dopamine-analogue release. Pain-pleasure threshold recalibration complete.”

 

Her gaze flicked to No.16 (G16), who lay sprawled across the examination table, her glossy black dress hiked up, her thigh-high stockings ripped and sagging. The Gunner’s pussy and asshole were raw, gaping, glistening—a mess of cum, lubricant, and abraded synth-flesh.

 

No.21’s expression remained unchanged, but her pupils dilated slightly behind her visor. “Physical degradation of access ports is within expected parameters for stress load,” she continued, her tone dry, detached. “Regeneration protocols will restore optimal function within 4.7 hours. Decontamination is advised before further deployment. Command will be notified of successful verification.”

 

No.21 (S21) turned to leave, her stained white glove tightening around the data-pad.

 

*Thud.*

 

Instead, a powerful hand snarled into the back of her hooded scarf, yanking her backward with brutal force. No.21 (S21) stumbled, her boots skidding against the metallic floor as she was slammed against the wall. The impact sent a dull crunch through her chassis, her synthetic lungs expelling air in a sharp, involuntary gasp.

 

“Error,” No.21 (S21) stammered, her clinical composure fracturing. “Subject Two’s recovery cycle should not be complete for another 3.2 hours. This is a—”

 

“A what?” No.2’s voice was a low, amused growl, her breath hot against No.21’s ear. She pressed closer, her cock—still half-hard, glistening with cum and No.16’s fluids—nudging against the damp fabric of No.21’s dress. “A malfunction? A breach of protocol?”

 

No.21’s fingers twitched, her analytical mind racing.

 

“Affirmative. Your neural activity should be suppressed. Your motor functions—”

 

“Should be,” No.2 (A2) interrupted, her lips curling into a feral grin. “But they’re not. And do you know why, No.21?”

 

No.21 (S21) swallowed hard, her throat clicking. “The Burning Desire operational module. It’s… enhancing your recovery rate. Overclocking your systems.”

 

“Bingo,” No.2 (A2) purred, her free hand sliding up to grip No.21’s chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. “And do you know what else it’s doing?”

 

No.21’s breath hitched. She did know.

 

She had recorded it.

 

The spike in her own heart rate. The surge in neural activity when she touched herself while watching No.2 (A2) fuck No.16 (G16) into oblivion. The way her fingers had slipped beneath her skirt, her gloved digits circling her clit in slow, precise strokes as she observed the data transfer—not just through her pad, but through her own body.

 

“You felt it,” No.2 (A2) whispered, her voice dark, knowing. “The feedback loop. The way your systems mirrored ours. The way your cunt got wet just watching.”

 

No.21’s face burned.

 

“I—I was merely collecting metrics. Autonomic responses are—”

 

“Bullshit,” No.2 (A2) snarled, her grip tightening. “You wanted this. You wanted to be next.”

 

No.21 (S21) opened her mouth to protest, but the words died in her throat as No.2’s cock pressed harder against her, the heat of it searing through the thin fabric of her dress.

 

“Deny it,” No.2 (A2) challenged, her voice a dark whisper. “Tell me you didn’t touch yourself. Tell me you didn’t come just from watching.”

 

No.21’s silence was answer enough.

 

No.2 (A2) chuckled, a deep, triumphant sound. “That’s what I thought.”

 

No.16 (G16) watched from the table, her blue eyes glazed, her fingers buried between her own legs. She had never stopped touching herself—not since No.2 (A2) first claimed No.21 (S21). Her other hand was now furiously rubbing her own clit, her fingers slick with her own lubrication and the remnants of No.2’s cum.

 

“Fuck…” No.16 (G16) panted, her voice hoarse, needy. Her hips squirmed against the cold metal table. “She’s trying so hard to stay all clinical… but her cunt’s dripping, I can smell it from here… Begging for it…”

 

No.16’s other hand snaked beneath her, two fingers plunging into her own sore, stretched pussy with a wet *schlick*. She moaned, her head falling back, her braid brushing the table. “Yeah… fuck her… show the bitch what happens when she just watches…” No.16’s voice was ragged, her words slurred by pleasure. “Make her take it… just like you made me… oh gods…”

 

No.21’s breath came in ragged gasps, her analytical mind warring with the raw, primal hunger coursing through her.

 

“This is… a critical breach of protocol,” No.21 (S21) stammered, her voice weak. “I—I cannot authorize—”

 

“You don’t have to,” No.2 (A2) growled, her lips crashing against No.21’s in a bruising, dominating kiss. Her tongue forced its way into No.21’s mouth, tasting of cum and synthetic lubricant, the copper tang of overworked systems.

 

No.21 (S21) melted against her, her body betraying her as her hands clutched at No.2’s ruined uniform. No.2 (A2) broke the kiss, her lips trailing down No.21’s neck, biting and sucking as she shoved her back against the wall.

 

 

“You want it?” No.2 (A2) demanded, her cock pressing against the damp fabric covering No.21’s entrance. “You want my data inside you? You want me to rewrite your core?”

 

No.21 (S21) nodded frantically, her eyes wide, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

 

“Y-Yes—!” No.21 (S21) admitted, her voice breaking. “I—I require the data stream! I need the overwrite! The… the parameters demand validation—”

 

“Listen to her!” No.16 (G16) laughed, a harsh, breathless sound. Her fingers worked faster, slapping against her wet flesh with a steady *slap-slap-slap*. “Talking about parameters while her panties are soaked… Fucking hypocrite… Do it, No.2! Shove that huge cock in her and shut her up!”

 

No.2 (A2) grinned, a predatory flash of teeth, then ripped No.21’s dress open, the fabric tearing with a sharp *rrrip*. The Scanner’s white gloves were stained, her pale synth-skin flushed, her pussy glistening with arousal.

 

“Good girl,” No.2 (A2) growled, then slammed forward, burying herself to the hilt inside No.21’s tight, dripping cunt in one brutal thrust.

 

*SCHLURK-CRUNCH!*

 

No.21 (S21) screamed, a raw, shattered sound that echoed off the metal walls. Her back arched, her fingers digging into No.2’s shoulders hard enough to dimple the synth-flesh.

 

“F-FUCK—!” she choked out, her voice breaking. “Buffer overflow—! I—I can’t process—! Sensory inputexceeding safe thresholds—!”

 

No.2 (A2) groaned, a deep, guttural sound of satisfaction, and began to move. Her hips snapped forward in a fierce, punishing rhythm, fucking No.21 (S21) against the wall. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room—Whap! Smack! Whap!—a wet, slapping, obscene counterpoint to No.21’s desperate, choking moans.

 

No.16 (G16) watched, enraptured, her fingers moving faster between her legs,her other hand now pinching and twisting her own nipple through the fabric of her dress.

 

“That’s it…” No.16 (G16) panted, her voice hoarse. “Fuck her raw, vice-captain… Show her what happens when youplay observer… Make her scream your name… fuck her brains out…”

 

No.2 (A2) grinned, her hips moving faster, her cock swelling inside No.21’s clutching heat.

 

“You like that, No.21?” she growled into the Scanner’s ear. “You like being my personal database? My fucktoy?”

 

No.21 (S21) whimpered, her body trembling, her pussy clenching rhythmically around the invading length.

 

“Y-Yes—!” No.21 (S21) sobbed, her voice breaking. “I—I’m your port! Your slut! Harder—! Overwrite me! Corrupt my root directories”

 

“She’s loving it!” No.16 (G16) cried out, her own climax building as she watched, her fingers a blur between her legs. “Look at her! She’s fucking coming just from getting used! Oh god, No.2… don’t stop… I’m so close watching you ruin her…”

 

No.2’s thrusts became frenzied, animalistic. She could feel No.21’s climax building, could feel her own coiling tight.

 

“Take it!” No.2 (A2) snarled. “Take all my data!”

 

With a final, thunderous roar, No.2 (A2) buried herself as deep as she could go and unleashed. A torrent of synthetic seed, laced with the specific protocols of the Burning Desire operational module, flooded into No.21’s core.

 

No.21 (S21) screamed, her body convulsing violently as her own orgasm ripped through her, a cascade of pleasure and submission that overwrote her last vestiges of analytical distance. Her fluids joined No.2’s, splattering the wall and floor beneath them in thick, pearlescent ropes.

 

No.21 (S21) whimpered as No.2 (A2) pulled out of her dripping cunt with a wet *schlick*, her cock still half-hard, glistening with cum and No.21’s fluids. The Scanner Type slumped against the wall, her embroidered black dress hiked up around her waist, her white gloves now stained and ruined. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her pussy throbbing, cum oozing from her in thick, slow pulses.

 

But No.2 (A2) wasn’t done.

 

She grabbed No.21 (S21) by the hips, her fingers digging into the soft synth-skin beneath the ruined fabric of her dress. No.21’s eyes widened behind her visor, her lips parting in a silent gasp as No.2 flipped her around, pressing her face-first against the wall.

 

“W-Wait—!” No.21 (S21) stammered, her voice shaking. “The test is over—! The validation sequence is complete—””

 

A2 chuckled, a dark, amused sound. “This isn’t a test,” she growled, her breath hot against No.21’s ear. “This is a medical lesson.”

 

No.21’s ass was still slick from the earlier fucking, her hole glistening with a mixture of cum and lubricant. No.2 (A2) didn’t hesitate. She spat into her palm, the sound loud in the quiet room, and slicked her cock before pressing the thick head against No.21’s tight, untouched asshole.

 

No.21 (S21) gasped, her body tensing.

 

“N-No—! Not there—! The anal sphincter is not designed for—for that caliber of intrusion—!”

 

No.2 (A2) didn’t listen.

 

She pushed forward, the head of her cock breaching No.21’s resistance with a wet *pop*. No.21 (S21) screamed, her fingers scrambling against the cold metal wall, her boots squeaking against the floor as she tried to escape.

 

But No.2 (A2) held her firm, her hips snapping forward in a brutal, relentless thrust that buried her to the hilt inside No.21’s tight ass.

 

“F-FUCK—!” No.21 (S21) shrieked, her voice breaking. “It’s too big—! It hurts—! Tissue integrity compromised—!”

 

No.2 (A2) groaned, her cock swelling inside No.21’s clenching heat.

 

“Good,” No.2 (A2) growled. “It’s supposed to hurt.”

 

She pulled back, her cock glistening with cum and No.21’s natural lubricant, then slammed forward again, fucking her with deep, punishing strokes. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room—wet, meaty *thwaps* that echoed off the sterile walls.

 

No.21 (S21) whimpered, her body trembling, her asshole burning as No.2 stretched her open.

 

“P-Please—!” No.21 (S21) begged, her voice raw. “I—I can’t—! The pain receptors are overloading—!”

 

No.2 (A2) ignored her.

 

Instead, she hoisted No.21 (S21) up, her strong arms wrapping around the Scanner’s thighs, lifting her off the ground. No.21 (S21) squealed, her back pressing against No.2’s chest, her legs spreading wide as No.2 adjusted her grip.

 

“W-What are you—?!” No.21 (S21) choked out, her eyes wide with terror.

 

No.2 (A2) grinned, her teeth bared in a feral snarl.

 

“Piledriver,” No.2 (A2) growled.

 

And then she dropped her.

 

No.21 (S21) screamed as she fell, No.2’s cock impaling her ass in one brutal, gravity-assisted thrust. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through No.21’s body, her eyes rolling back, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

 

No.2 (A2) didn’t give her time to recover.

 

She lifted No.21 (S21) again, slamming her back down onto her cock with a wet *schplort*. No.21 (S21) screamed, her body convulsing, her asshole clenching around A2’s thick shaft.

 

“F-FUCK—! FUCK—! FUCK—!” No.21 (S21) chanted, her voice breaking with each brutal thrust.

 

No.2 groaned, her hips snapping upward in time with each drop, fucking No.21’s ass with ruthless efficiency. The sound was obscene—wet, slapping, the *thud* of No.21’s body hitting No.2’s thighs with each piledriver.

 

No.16 (G16), still sprawled on the table, watched with glazed, lust-filled eyes, her fingers working furiously between her own legs. Her other hand was now desperately fisting her own breast, her nails digging into the synth-flesh through the fabric. Her breathing was ragged, her face flushed.

 

 

“F-Fuck…” No.16 (G16) panted, her voice hoarse. “That’s so hot… Look at her take it… Look at her ass swallowing that monster cock… Oh god… I can’t…”

 

No.16’s fingers moved faster, rubbing frantic circles on her swollen clit. Her other hand plunged back into her own sore, dripping pussy, three fingers now, stretching herself, mimicking the brutal penetration she was witnessing. “Yes… fuck… ruin her… make her your bitch… just like you did to me…” Her words were slurred, her eyes unfocused, fixed on the sight of No.2 (A2) brutally pistoning into No.21’s ass. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come… just from watching…”

 

No.21’s asshole was being ruined.

 

No.2’s cock stretched her wide, the head pressing deep into her bowels with each brutal thrust. Cum seeped from the tight seal of their bodies, dripping down No.21’s thighs in thick, white ropes.

 

“I—I can’t—!” No.21 (S21) screamed, her body trembling, her asshole burning. “I’m gonna—! System crash imminent—!”

 

“Come on my cock,” No.2 (A2) growled, her voice a dark command. “Let me feel that tight ass milk me dry.”

 

No.21 (S21) obeyed.

 

With a final, broken scream, her body convulsed, her asshole clenching around No.2’s cock as she came, her cum splattering the floor beneath her.

 

No.2 (A2) groaned, her own orgasm hitting like a tsunami. She slammed No.21 (S21) down one last time, burying herself to the hilt as she came, flooding No.21’s ass with thick, hot pulses of cum.

 

No.21 (S21) whimpered, her body going limp in No.2’s arms, her asshole gaping, cum dripping from it in slow, thick pulses.

 

No.2 (A2) let her drop to the floor, where she collapsed in a trembling heap, her dress ruined, her asshole raw and used.

 

As No.21 (S21) convulsed on the floor, her body wracked by the brutal anal climax, No.16 (G16) finally tipped over the edge.

 

With a guttural cry that was half sob, half scream, No.16’s back arched violently off the table. Her fingers jammed deep inside her own cunt, her other hand pinching her nipple so hard it bruised the synth-flesh beneath. Her thighs clenched, her entire body rigid as a wave of intense, shuddering pleasure tore through her.

 

*Splurt-squelch-slap!*

 

Her own fluids—a mix of synthetic lubricant and a fresh gush of arousal—splattered across her stomach and the table beneath her. Her pussy clenched around her fingers in rapid, involuntary spasms. Her breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, her eyes rolling back. For a long moment, she simply lay there, trembling, her mind blank except for the aftershocks of her orgasm and the vivid image of No.2 (A2) ruining No.21 (S21) burned into her processor.

 

 

“Hah… hahh… fuck…” No.16 (G16) panted, her voice a wrecked whisper. A lazy, sated grin spread across her face. “Worth it… watching you break her… so fucking worth it…”

 

The room smelled of sex, sweat, and synthetic fluids—a thick, musky scent that clung to the back of the throat. The sterile lights flickered slightly, casting long, shifting shadows over the three ruined androids.

 

No.16 (G16) was the first to move.

 

She pushed herself up on shaky arms, her glossy black dress hiked up around her waist, her thigh-high stockings ripped and sagging. Her blindfold was gone, her blue eyes glazed, her lips parted in a soft, breathless pant.

 

But it was her holes that told the real story.

 

No.16’s Ruined Ports

 

Her pussy was a wreck—swollen, red, and gaping, the lips puffy and parted, still fluttering weakly as if unable to close after the brutal pounding it had endured. A thick, pearlescent mixture—her own lubricant and No.2’s synthetic seed—glistened across the stretched entrance, dripping onto the table beneath her in a slow, rhythmic *plip… plip… plip*. The synth-skin around it bore the faint, purpled imprints of No.2’s gripping fingers, each mark a testament to the force that had claimed her.

 

No.16 asshole was worse.

 

Freshly and violently claimed, it was raw, gaping, and ruined. The tight ring of muscle had been stretched beyond recognition, its edges puffy and reddened, glistening wetly with a thicker, creamier trail of No.2’s cum. The fluid oozed from her in slow, thick pulses, dribbing down the cleft of her ass before pooling on the table below. The skin around it was irritated, slightly abraded, the friction of No.2’s cock leaving its mark in raw, tender flesh. The scent of used, stretched skin hung heavy in the air—musky, metallic, inescapable. Even the cool air of the room made it burn, every slight shift sending a dull, throbbing ache through her, followed by a fresh, involuntary trickle of cum.

 

No.16 (G16) whimpered, her fingers brushing against her sore, gaping holes, but there was no regret in her touch—only hunger.

 

“I need more…” No.16 (G16) whispered, her voice hoarse. Her fingertips traced the swollen, tender rim of her asshole, sending a sharp, pleasurable jolt through her spent body.

 

“Fuck… it’s still so sensitive…”

 

No.21 (S21) lay in a trembling heap on the floor, her embroidered black dress hiked up around her waist, her white gloves now stained and ruined. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasms.

 

Her pussy was red, swollen, and dripping, the lips puffy and parted, cum oozing from her in thick, slow pulses. The entrance was stretched, still fluttering slightly, as if unable to close after the relentless fucking it had taken.

 

But No.21’s asshole was the true masterpiece of destruction.

 

No.21’s asshole was raw, gaping, and ruined, the tight ring of muscle now completely slack, unable to close. Cum seeped from it in thick, steady pulses, dripping down her thighs in sticky ropes. The skin around it was irritated, slightly torn, the scent of used, violated flesh overpowering. The cool air of the room made it burn, every slight movement sending a jolt of pain through her.

 

No.21 (S21) whimpered, her fingers brushing against her sore, used holes. She gasped, her body trembling, but there was no shame in her eyes—only awe.

 

“I—I never knew…” No.21 (S21) whispered, her voice broken. “Data transfer could be… this efficient. The synaptic feedback… the neural entrainment… it’s… optimal.”

 

No.2 (A2) stood over them, her cock still half-hard, glistening with cum. Her black-and-white uniform was ruined—stained with sweat, cum, and smears of lubricant, the fabric clinging to her skin in damp patches. Her visor was fogged from exertion, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

 

No.2 (A2) stroked her cock slowly, her eyes dark with satisfaction.

 

“Round four?” she asked, her voice a dark promise.

 

No.16 (G16) and No.21 (S21) groaned in unison, their bodies too spent to respond. No.16 (G16) managed a weak, shaky nod, her fingers still lazily circling her clit. No.21 (S21) simply trembled, her gaze fixed on No.2’s cock with a mixture of terror and desperate need.

 

No.2 (A2) chuckled, then turned to the camera, her expression smug.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

The camera blinked.

 

And somewhere, in the depths of the Bunker, a server recorded every second.

 

 

Time Skip

 

 

After every YoRHa-type android’s operation was completed and each received their new cyberware, the squadron was summoned once more to the Command Center. Their Commander had an announcement that promised to alter the rhythm of the unit.

 

“Attention,” Commander White declared, steady and commanding. “I am going to introduce the latest member of the YoRHa Squadron. She will participate in your training and missions alongside you.”

 

A murmur rippled through the ranks, voices overlapping in confusion.

 

“New member? Why bring her in so late, after our training is nearly complete?” one android muttered.

 

“Who is she? What type is she? I want to know,” another pressed.

 

“We’re fine with our current members. Why add a newcomer now?” a girl complained, her tone sharp.

 

The tide of questions rose, echoing through the chamber. Commander White lifted her hand, and silence fell like a blade. Her gaze swept across the squadron, sharp and unyielding.

 

“I know this is sudden,” White continued, her voice cutting through the tension. “But her participation will be a boon to the YoRHa Squadron and the coming Pearl Harbor Descent Operation. Our latest member is a Netrunner—a Legend of the Old World. She carries experience and capabilities you have never seen before. You will learn more about her soon. Please welcome our newest member—No.77.”

 

The Command Center doors slid open with a hiss, and the chamber’s sterile light spilled across the polished floor. Every YoRHa unit turned instinctively, their formation rigid, their breath caught in the silence.

 

No.77 stepped forward. Slim, deliberate, her stride carried the weight of someone who had walked through chaos and survived. Neon-red streaks in her hair glowed faintly beneath the lights, a defiant flare against the regimented black-and-white of YoRHa. Her blindfold visor concealed her eyes, but the tension in the room made it clear—everyone felt her gaze regardless.

 

Her gothic uniform shimmered with silver filigree embroidery, lace ruffs, and corset reinforcement. White gloves gleamed against the black fabric, and her stiletto-heeled boots struck the floor in sharp rhythm, each step echoing like a challenge.

 

No.77 paused, her voice calm but edged with defiance.

 

“Call me V. Just V. I prefer my old name.”

 

A ripple of unease spread through the YoRHa Squadron.

 

No.2 (A2) leaned toward No.4 (A4), whispering nervously, her voice barely audible over the murmurs of the crowd.

 

“She looks… different. Neon hair? That’s not like us. Why would Command choose her?”

 

No.4 (A4) smirked, her single visible eye gleaming with mischief.

 

“I think she’s cool. Maybe I should dye my hair like hers—stand out a little. Wouldn’t that shake things up?”

 

No.2’s brow furrowed, anxiety tightening her features.

 

“Don’t joke about that. You’d draw too much attention. Command doesn’t like… differences.”

 

No.4 (A4) shrugged, her tone light but defiant, the hint of a grin tugging at her lips.

 

“Maybe. But sometimes being different is exactly what makes you shine.”

 

No.16 (G16) folded her arms, her tone analytical.She stood a little stiffly, the memory of the medical room still fresh in her systems.

 

“If she’s truly a Legend of the Old World, then she could be useful. But integrating her this late could disrupt our coordination.”

 

No.21’s voice was flat, emotionless, carrying across the crowd. She stood with perfect posture, but her gloved hands were clasped a little too tightly behind her back.

 

“Command has decided. That is all that matters. Whether she fits or not, we will adapt. Our operational parameters remain unchanged.”

 

The chamber sank into uneasy silence. Every gaze locked on V—an outsider draped in YoRHa’s uniform, yet radiating the raw aura of rebellion, paranoia, and independence. Beneath the Command Center’s sterile lights she stood like a fracture in the order, a spark of chaos veiled in ceremonial elegance, daring the hierarchy to contain her.

 

 

Author’s Note

 

[20260530]

 

I want to extend my thanks to Umbrelloid for writing “9S Bangs His Colleagues.” Although the story has since disappeared from AO3, it provided the initial spark that inspired me to attempt this crossover and pick up where his unfinished work left off. At first, my plan was simple: to write a continuation, a new chapter that followed directly in his footsteps. But as I worked, I realized I could push further—so I set my “Chapter 001: New Girl (NSFW) (A2/G16/S21)” before YoRHa Stage Play and YoRHa: Pearl Harbor Descent Record, weaving it into the larger tapestry of NieR lore.

 

What began as a straightforward harem story quickly grew into something bigger. Once I saw the potential, I decided to link the narrative to Cyberpunk 2077. In this crossover, V is drawn—against her will—into the war between androids and machine lifeforms in NieR: Automata. She will fight side by side with A2 (No.2), a pairing that carries a fascinating meta-layer: Female V in the English version of Cyberpunk 2077 and A2 in NieR: Automata are both voiced by the same actress, Cherami Leigh. That coincidence felt too perfect not to explore.

 

I can only hope this crossover between NieR: Automata and Cyberpunk 2077 resonate, because it has already snowballed into something far larger than I first imagined.

 

[20260701]

 

Things aren’t lining up properly, and honestly, I’m too wiped out to fix them at the moment.