It is time for you to repopulate humanity.

*ON EARTH

Distress Signal

The surface of Earth is quiet in the way only a dead world can be.

Dust drifts across empty streets and the skeletal remains of buildings under a pale sky. YoRHa units 2B and 2P move through the ruins in perfect sync, scanning for machine signatures during their reconnaissance mission. Their orders are routine. The planet has been this way for a long time.

Then the signal appears.

It is faint, fragmented, and old—an emergency broadcast using a human-era frequency that should not still be active. Both androids pause. 2B’s blindfold angles slightly toward the reading. 2P tilts her head, black hair shifting against her white headband.

“Probably residual,” 2B says, voice calm and even. “Or some piece of scrap that finally shorted the right way,” 2P adds, a touch more dry. “Still. We check it.”

They follow the signal to a half-collapsed structure on the edge of what was once a research district. The exterior is scorched and overgrown. Inside, the corridors are dark and lined with peeling panels, broken lights, and years of dust. Their boots leave clear prints as they move deeper, the glow of their optical sensors cutting through the gloom.

The signal grows stronger.

At the end of a long hallway they find a sealed laboratory door, its power still faintly active. 2B overrides the lock. The room beyond is cold. In the center sits a single cryogenic capsule, its status lights blinking a weak but steady green. Frost still clings to the edges of the glass.

Both androids stop.

Inside the capsule is a human.

A real, living human.

For a moment neither speaks. The silence stretches, broken only by the soft hum of the capsule’s failing systems. Humans were declared extinct years ago. Every record, every briefing, every mission parameter said the same thing. And yet the bio-signatures are unmistakable.

2B steps closer first, white hair framing her black blindfold as she leans in to read the external display. The glossy black material of her bodysuit shifts tightly over her exaggerated proportions with the movement—the heavy swell of her chest and the thick curve of her hips and thighs catching the dim light. Beside her, 2P’s white suit looks equally strained, the dark skin of her full breasts and wide hips contrasting against the pale, almost liquid sheen of the fabric as she rests a gloved hand against the glass.

“…This isn’t possible,” 2P murmurs.

“It is a human,” 2B answers quietly. Her voice remains controlled, but there is a rare edge of something beneath it. “Vital signs are stable. Cryogenic suspension is still functioning… barely.”

Their directives leave no room for debate. Protection of humanity is the core of YoRHa’s purpose—even if humanity was supposed to be gone.

2B’s fingers move across the external controls with precise care. 2P supports the other side of the capsule, the two of them working in silence as the revival sequence initiates. Steam hisses. The glass canopy unseals with a slow mechanical sigh. Cold air spills out.

Together they reach in and carefully lift you from the capsule, supporting your weight between them as the cryogenic fluid drains away. The contrast is almost absurd: two hyper-feminine combat androids in form-fitting, high-gloss suits—2B in black, 2P in white—holding the first human either of them has ever seen.

2B’s gloved hand steadies your back. 2P’s rests against your shoulder, her blindfolded face angled down toward yours.

“Human,” 2B says, her tone low and steady “Can you hear us?”

2P’s lips curve in a faint, unreadable smile.

“Welcome back to Earth,” she adds softly. “It’s been a while.”

They keep you supported between their warm, synthetic bodies, waiting for the first sign that you are fully conscious… and for whatever comes next.

AT THE SPACE STATION

The Bunker

The transfer to the Bunker caused more disruption than any machine attack in recent memory.

Word that a living human—not an android, not a simulation, but a genuine human—had been recovered from Earth spread through YoRHa’s orbital headquarters within minutes. The command center had erupted into urgent debate. After years of surface operations and the long-accepted conclusion that humanity was extinct, the sudden appearance of one survivor raised questions no one was prepared to answer. Was the extinction incomplete? Were there others? Had some isolated facility simply been overlooked until now?

While operators and officers argued over implications and protocols, the scientific division worked quickly. A private recovery room was prepared under strict quarantine. Special nutrient solutions were formulated, calibrated for a human metabolism that had been frozen for an unknown length of time. The air filtration was adjusted. Medical scanners ran continuous diagnostics. No one was certain how a body from the old world would react to the present environment’s bacteria or atmosphere, so every precaution was taken.

You awaken in that room.

The lighting is soft and sterile. The walls are the clean white and gray of YoRHa design. Monitoring equipment hums quietly nearby. Standing on either side of the recovery bed are the two androids who found you.

2B stands to your right, posture perfect as always. Her short white hair frames the black blindfold, and the glossy black material of her suit clings tightly to her exaggerated figure—the heavy swell of her chest and the thick curve of her hips and thighs unbroken by any excess fabric. 2P occupies the left side, dark skin contrasting against her white headband and the pale, form-fitting suit that is equally strained by her own massive proportions. Both still wear the same high-gloss, revealing combat attire they had on the surface, the material catching the overhead lights with every small movement.

2B is the first to speak, her voice calm and measured.

“You are aboard the Bunker, the orbital headquarters of YoRHa. Your cryogenic suspension has been fully reversed. Vital signs are stable.”

2P tilts her head slightly, a faint, almost dry smile touching her lips.

“You caused quite a stir. Command is still arguing about what your existence means. Some of them sound almost offended that the planet wasn’t as empty as they insisted.”

2B continues without acknowledging the commentary.

“Until further orders are issued, we have been assigned as your personal guardians. Our directives are to ensure your safety, monitor your condition, and remain with you at all times.”

She pauses, then adds more quietly:

“The scientists have prepared specialized nutrients for you. Your immune system may not be adapted to the current surface or station environment. We will assist with whatever you require.”

2P shifts her weight, the motion making the tight white material of her suit gleam across her full chest and hips as she looks down at you.

“In other words,” she says, “you’re stuck with us. Try not to die. It would make all the paperwork very annoying.”

Both androids remain at your bedside—2B composed and attentive, 2P a little more irreverent but no less present—waiting for you to fully orient yourself in this new reality.

AT THE SPACE STATION

Compatibility

The decision came down from Command after days of closed-door analysis.

A living human could not simply be preserved and observed forever. If humanity was to continue in any form, descent was required. With no other humans available, the scientific division had run every compatibility projection possible between your biology and YoRHa android frames. The results returned at 99 percent for both assigned units. The order was issued without ceremony.

You are escorted through the quieter sections of the Bunker to a private chamber that has been deliberately altered. The usual sterile white has been softened with warmer lighting. The air is adjusted to a gentler temperature and humidity. The furnishings are less clinical—clean lines remain, but the space feels closer to an old-world private room than a laboratory. Monitoring equipment is present but discreetly placed. According to the data, this environment was calculated to be more suitable for human intimacy.

2B and 2P are already inside.

Both stand near the center of the room, still in their high-gloss combat suits. 2B’s black bodysuit clings tightly to her exaggerated figure, the heavy swell of her breasts and the thick curve of her hips and thighs catching the warmer light. Her white hair and black blindfold are as precise as ever. Beside her, 2P’s white suit is equally strained across her dark skin and massive proportions, the pale material stretched taut over her full chest and wide hips. Neither of them looks uncertain.

2B speaks first, her voice calm and even.

“The Council has reached a decision. As the last confirmed human, you are to produce descendants. No other human partners exist. Compatibility tests between your biology and our models returned a 99 percent success projection.”

She pauses only briefly.

“2P and I have been selected for the procedure.”

2P shifts her weight slightly, the motion making the glossy white material of her suit gleam across her body. A faint, dry smile touches her lips.

“They made it sound very official in the briefing. ‘Ensure the continuation of humanity.’ In practice, it means you’re staying in this room with us until the task is complete.”

2B continues, still perfectly composed.

“The chamber has been adjusted for human comfort according to archived environmental data. We are prepared to begin whenever you are ready. Our bodies have been calibrated for the process. There should be no rejection.”

She takes one step closer. 2P does the same a moment later, the two androids framing you with their tall, hyper-feminine frames. The air between you feels warmer than the rest of the Bunker.

“This is now part of our mission parameters,” 2B says quietly. “We will not fail.”

2P’s smile edges a little wider.

“Try to relax, human. Orders are orders… and neither of us intends to be gentle just because the lighting is nicer.”

They wait, standing close, the decision already made and the room sealed for privacy.

CREA TU PROPIO ESCENARIO