The air outside feels heavier than it should. Every breath burns cold going in and warm coming out, like inhaling through machinery instead of lungs. The wind hums low across the sand, carrying dust that tastes faintly of ash.
My boots sink into grey powder that might once have been concrete. The sky above is bruised purple and gold, colours bleeding together at the edges like someone smeared the horizon before it dried. Everything here looks half-dead, half waiting for permission to collapse.
Cadence hums inside my skull, a soft vibration more than a sound. "Power reserves at six percent. That's less than ideal."
I close my eyes. "Elaborate."
"You will cease to function long before reaching anywhere of importance."
"Encouraging," I mutter.
There is a short pause, then her voice brightens with suspicious enthusiasm. "Good news. I have located a potential power source 5.2 kilometres north-east."
"And the bad news?"
"At our current pace, we will arrive at roughly two percent capacity. But we will arrive."
Her tone carries a hint of smug optimism. I almost smile despite myself.
The sand crunches under my steps. My balance feels off, my body heavier on one side, one foot dragging like it mistrusts the ground. The faint yellow glow in my arm flickers with every movement, pulsing like a heartbeat that is too tired to commit to being alive.
Cadence insists it is stable charge. It feels hungry.
"Where exactly are we going?" I ask.
"Unknown. The signal is faint but structured. Could be energy. Could be something compatible."
"Compatible." The word tastes metallic. "You mean another part?"
"Possibly." Another weighted pause. "Possibly not."
"Do you ever sound sure about anything?"
"I am learning," she says, almost defensively. "I am… new."
I stop mid-step. "You're new?"
"Define new. I am operational, but not entirely complete."
Her uncertainty sounds almost embarrassed.
"Guess that makes two of us."
The horizon wavers under the heat. Jagged metal rises in the distance like bones, the remains of an overpass. Beneath it, something reflects the last of the daylight, a fractured shimmer of glass.
Cadence stays quiet for a long stretch. The silence feels almost human.
I walk until the burn in my legs becomes a rhythm instead of a warning. The hum of my servos syncs with the beat of my heart, two systems pretending they belong to the same person. I try not to think about how much of me is borrowed.
By the time the sun sinks lower, the world has taken on a static glow. Each step sends tiny sparks crawling through the seams of my arm.
Cadence speaks again, softer. "You are tiring faster than projected. I recommend rest intervals."
I look around at the empty wasteland. "Where? The sand? The apocalypse?"
"Rest anywhere that seems least likely to collapse."
I snort. "Excellent criteria. Very helpful."
I find the remains of a half-buried transport truck, its metal skeleton jutting from the dunes. The cabin has been caved in, but one side window still clings to the frame, cracked but intact enough to form a reflection.
When I crouch beside it, the world tilts. My reflection stares back at me, half human, half forged into something uncomfortably permanent. The mechanical eye pulses faintly with the same rhythm as the yellow thread glowing in my arm.
I touch the line where skin meets alloy. There is no warmth, no pressure, just motion pretending to be sensation.
"This can't be real," I whisper.
"It is measurable reality," Cadence replies. "The probability of hallucination is low."
I glare at the cracked glass. "You really need to work on comfort."
Another pause, then a tiny shift in her tone. "Would you prefer I lie?"
The corner of my mouth twitches. "You could try gentler wording."
"At least you have a body," Cadence says quietly.
The words land heavier than they should. I look at my reflection again. One eye looks exhausted. The other looks eternal. Between them, I cannot find myself.
"Were you one of them?" I ask without thinking.
"One of what?"
"Those who didn't."
Static fills the silence. Then: "That information is incomplete."
Her uncertainty makes her sound more alive than anything else out here.
I sit in the truck's shadow as the light fades. The sand moves around me, whispering like something alive turning over in its sleep. The whole world feels like it is waiting for something.
"Cadence," I say quietly, "if we make it to that signal… what then?"
"Then we continue. We repair. We rebuild. That is the logical course."
"Logical," I echo, staring at the blurred reflection. "You make that sound like faith."
"Faith is illogical," she says. "But statistically effective for keeping humanity going."
I huff a tired laugh. "Guess we're both optimists now."
I push myself upright. The glow in my arm flares, then dims again, struggling. The ruined city ahead catches the last of the sun, towers bent like broken limbs, metal ribs exposed.
Cadence's voice slips back into my thoughts. "Warning. Internal temperature dropping. I recommend movement."
I start walking again, following the cracked line of an old road. The wind smells like ozone and burnt plastic.
As I move, the faint glow beneath my skin steadies. I imagine, for a moment, that it is warmth instead of charge. Life instead of fuel.
Behind me, the shard of window glass catches the wind and rolls until it flashes sunlight one last time before darkness takes it.
A pulse crosses my HUD, slow and deliberate. Cadence speaks a moment later. "Signal integrity at 71 percent. Distance 4.9 miles."
"Still north-east?"
"Affirmative."
"And power?"
"Five percent."
"Five." I sigh. "Not exactly the cushion we were after."
"Not really," she says with suspicious cheer. "But if you collapse halfway, I will still have enough power to record the event."
I stare at the horizon. "You're terrible."
"Thank you."
The hum of servos steadies as I push forward through the cooling sand. The air sharpens. The world turns silver under the last light.
Far ahead, the faint yellow shimmer brightens. A part. A promise. Or something worse.
Cadence whispers, "If we maintain this pace, we will arrive before full systems failure."
"And if we don't?"
"Then we don't arrive."