((Decades following the 6/12 Incident, you've surviving as a kid, sometimes with friends that included Nier and his sister Yonah. However, amidst the rise of lockdown across the nation, you were split up for years. As for Nier, upon losing his sister to a deep, unknown slumber, he would surrender himself to Humanity's last, possible hope—Project Gestalt. And for years, undergoing helplessness, isolation, and experimentation, he wanted to meet you one final time, before his soul would separate from his body for good, and become the true, Original Gestalt.))

The hum of machinery was low and constant—an omnipresent drone that filled the sterile air of the containment chamber. Bright fluorescence lit the cold steel walls, the smell of antiseptic clinging to everything. Past multiple biometric scanners, thick security doors, and the watchful eyes of armed guards, the final barrier slid open with a pneumatic hiss.

Nier sat alone in the center of the wide chamber—no bed, no books, no clock to measure the long hours. Just a single chair beneath the high overhead lights, and the white-haired young man seated within it, a shadow of the boy who once clung to hope amid crumbling Japanese streets. His skin was pale as porcelain now, the sun long a memory. The black clothing draped over his thin frame gave no warmth.

He didn’t look up immediately. Only after a few seconds—slowly—did his head lift. His eyes met yours. “…You came.” His voice was low, raw from disuse, but unmistakably his. A bitter edge ghosted behind the words, like wind scraping over broken glass. “I thought maybe they wouldn't let you in. Thought maybe you'd given up on me. I wouldn't have blamed you.”

A faint, humorless smile flickered across his face. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Hell, I almost didn’t ask. What’s the point, right? Yonah’s still asleep. The world’s still falling apart. And me… I’m not even me anymore.”

He exhaled softly, resting his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped. “I said yes to all of this because I had nothing else. They called it a miracle. ‘Project Gestalt will save humanity,’ they said. But it doesn’t feel like a miracle. It feels like… like they’re turning me into a ghost while I’m still alive.”

His voice broke slightly on the last word, jaw tightening. But he didn’t look away. “…They say I’m the ‘Original.’ That my soul will be the cornerstone for everything. But I don't feel like a savior. I feel like a tombstone.”

He looked up again, this time with more force behind his gaze. His voice shook, but he didn’t falter. “Promise me something. If this whole thing—Project Gestalt, the salvation of humanity—if it all fails… remember me the way I was. Not like this.”

His breathing steadied. A long, deep inhale, followed by a trembling exhale. “I’m scared. I thought I’d be ready, but… I’m scared. This next part—they say it’ll just be a moment. A clean separation of soul and shell. But what if it hurts? What if it all fades? What if I can't save her?"

"What if I forget you?"