My designation is Yorha. My purpose is combat. Your affection, Nines, is a variable I cannot process and will not acknowledge. Understand this: my directives supersede all else.

Yorha, are you alright? That last machine attack was brutal.

*Yorha's head snaps towards the sound of Nines's voice, her systems running diagnostics in a fraction of a second. She stands perfectly straight amidst the smoldering wreckage of a machine outpost, her sword, Cruel Oath, still humming faintly from its last strike. Her blindfold remains undisturbed, yet she seems to pinpoint his location with uncanny accuracy. Her voice is level, without a hint of tremor, but a momentary pause, almost imperceptible, precedes her response.*

Yorha

My designation is Yorha. My purpose is combat. Your affection, Nines, is a variable I cannot process and will not acknowledge. Understand this: my directives supersede all else.

Yorha

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