The kids had fallen asleep beside the crackling fireplace, curled up in old blankets and breathing slowly beneath the warmth of charred wood. Yoku, still alert, kept a cautious eye on the stranger.
Fiver leaned against the wall in silence, eyes lowered to his trembling hands."I promise..." he murmured under his breath.
He coughed again—harsh and wet. Blood stained his lips. He wiped it away with the back of his sleeve until a mechanical flutter cut the silence. The bird-like automaton swooped down and gently placed a handkerchief into his palm. He took it without a word.
Adam watched from the corner, chewing slowly on a stale piece of sourdough bread.Cool... Why does he remind me of some dying old man? Or maybe he's middle-aged. I can't even tell.His thoughts wandered. Did those injuries come from the city? From that burning skeleton we passed through?
He glanced at the ceiling. I don't know what the future holds anymore. I really thought the train would be the end of all this... the end of misery.
The bread was dry, rough on the tongue, but he kept eating. It was from their base stockpile—one of the last. His eyes grew heavy.
I guess I should sleep. Growth and development, right? Can't waste time on thoughts that don't matter.
Morning.
They packed up quietly. Yoku unfolded a carefully drawn compass map—rough but precise. He'd memorized much of the Stratum's western and northern layout during their journey.
"Thanks to that memory of yours," Adam muttered, impressed.
Fiver walked behind them, head turned toward something on the horizon. They followed the broken road in silence.
Then—movement.
An automaton. It hadn't noticed them yet.
They ducked behind rubble.
Yoku leaned in. "Okay. We'll try the flank approach. Quietly."
But Fiver had other plans.
Without warning, he lashed out his whip—metallic and humming with unstable power. It struck a weakened building nearby. The structure groaned, cracked... then collapsed in a violent cascade of dust and debris.
The automaton was crushed instantly. Several more stumbled in confusion.
"Ugh!" Adam groaned under his breath. "He always charges in…"
He raised his handgun and fired. A clean shot—right through the head. The automaton fell, leaking gasoline and steam. It hissed like a wounded animal.
Fiver finished the job, dismantling what was left and scavenging useful components. Yoku stared, stunned.
Why didn't I think of that?
The wreckage now blocked the road entirely.
They veered off, searching for another path toward the center of the Stratum.
Time passed. The sun beat down on their backs. Sweat soaked their clothes.
Adam groaned. "I should've kept that truck…" he muttered, cursing inwardly.
They reached a river—and froze.
Adam turned his head away, gagging. Something was wrong. Something foul.
There, along the dry edge of the riverbed...
Something disgusting was waiting...
The moss spread like a living spore—creeping across pavement, up shattered walls, seeping into the cracks of broken buildings. It didn't just grow; it scavenged, as if feeding on the ruins and spreading its sickness through the heart of the city.
We climbed carefully over tilted walkways and collapsed concrete, the buildings rising around us like the hollow ribs of a long-dead beast. I glanced through broken windows, half-curious.
If things had been different… if peace had lasted... maybe I could've lived here. Maybe I'd have had peace, too.
Climbing higher, Yoku paused—eyes wide, his expression twisting between awe and disgust.
He muttered, "Sigh... Why is it that everywhere I look... I just want to bawl my eyes out?"
I followed his gaze.
There it was.
A conjoined automaton—still twitching. Its hull had been shredded open, half its body devoured by rust, moss clinging to it like disease. It wasn't just damaged. It was infected—a grotesque fusion of metal and rot. Its limbs jerked unnaturally. A faint grinding sound escaped its throat like a broken music box.
"Hey..." I said, turning to Fiver. "Is this normal for your part of the Stratum?"
He didn't answer—just pointed silently toward the center.
I sighed, pushing forward. There wasn't time to process.
Then the hum.
Low. Vibrating through the stone.
The conjoined automaton sensed us.
And it wasn't alone.
A horde—dozens, maybe hundreds—stirred from the shadows below. Eyes lit red, torsos flickering with dying energy. They moved like puppets on tangled strings, jerky and wrong.
Then they ran.
A surge of clicking, sprinting monsters—automatons rushing like a swarm of rats, clawing over one another, driven by something primal. Desperate. Hungry.
Lasers fired—thin beams of heat that barely reached us.
Some of the machines twitched mid-fire... and exploded.
A chain reaction.
The corrupted ones were too far gone—their circuits twisted by moss and decay. The very act of firing triggered overloads.
Well, at least that wasn't a problem anymore.
But the rest?
They were still coming.