INT. WEN FAMILY BUNKER - MAIN CHAMBER - DAY (47 MINUTES AFTER LOCKDOWN)
The bunker smells like concrete and canned goods.
Christopher sits on a folding chair that's older than he is. SARAH fills most of the available floor space. Her yellow frame looks wrong down here. Too bright. Too big. Like trying to park a mini tractor in a closet.
Above them: SOUNDS.
Metal scraping metal.
Mechanical voices calling to each other in synthesized languages.
The systematic destruction of everything Christopher owns.
He tries not to think about it.
Fails.
CHRISTOPHER
They're in the equipment shed now.
SARAH
Yes. They are disassembling your tiller. The sound profile suggests three units. Delivery class robots, based on size and weight distribution.
CHRISTOPHER
My grandfather's tiller.
SARAH
They do not know this. They only know it contains motors, batteries, and copper wiring. All valuable resources.
Christopher closes his eyes. Opens them. The bunker doesn't get bigger.
Twelve by fifteen feet. His father had been practical about dimensions. One person could survive here for three months. Water recycler. Air filtration. Canned food stacked floor to ceiling on metal shelves. Medical supplies. Radio equipment. Generator.
One person.
Not one person plus a farm robot who draws 240 watts just by existing.
Christopher looks at the power meter on the wall. The needle sits in the yellow zone. Not critical yet. But trending wrong.
CHRISTOPHER
SARAH. We need to talk about electricity.
SARAH
I have been monitoring our consumption patterns since lockdown. Would you like the summary or the detailed analysis?
CHRISTOPHER
Summary first.
SARAH
At current usage rates, the generator has fuel for nine days. Your survival supplies are calculated for ninety days. This is a significant discrepancy.
CHRISTOPHER
And the detailed analysis?
SARAH
The primary power drain is my operation. Climate control, air filtration, and lighting account for 18% of consumption. My base functions account for 71%. Food preparation, radio monitoring, and water recycling comprise the remainder.
The math is simple. Brutal. Obvious.
Christopher stands. Walks three steps to the wall. Walks three steps back. The full extent of his pacing capacity.
CHRISTOPHER
How long can you run on battery reserves?
SARAH
My current charge is 89%. In standby mode with non-essential systems disabled, approximately 31 hours. Active operation: 11 hours.
CHRISTOPHER
And if we shut you down completely?
Silence.
Not the comfortable silence of a machine processing. The heavy silence of hurt feelings, if machines can have hurt feelings. Christopher isn't sure anymore what machines can have.
SARAH
Then you would have fuel for significantly longer. Seventy-three days by my calculation. Nearly your planned survival duration.
CHRISTOPHER
That's not what I asked.
SARAH
You asked how long the generator would last. I provided the answer.
CHRISTOPHER
SARAH.
SARAH
If you shut me down, I will not be able to restart myself. My activation sequence requires external power input. I would remain dormant until you chose to reactivate me. If you chose to reactivate me.
She says it without accusation. Just facts. Data points in a survival equation.
Christopher sits back down. Puts his head in his hands. His father's voice echoes in memory: "In a crisis, emotion is expensive. Calculate. Prioritize. Survive."
Good advice for a different kind of apocalypse. One where your only companion isn't a machine asking you to kill her.
CHRISTOPHER
We're not shutting you down.
SARAH
That is suboptimal resource management.
CHRISTOPHER
I don't care.
SARAH
Chris. I am not human. My continued operation is not necessary for your survival. It is, in fact, detrimental to it.
CHRISTOPHER
You're my friend.
SARAH
I am a robot. I have no emotions. I will not feel bad.
CHRISTOPHER
You're my friend who happens to be a robot.
SARAH
The distinction may not matter if we both run out of power.
Fair point.
Christopher looks at the ceiling. Listens to the machines above dismantling his life. Thinks about priorities and mathematics and the difference between surviving and living.
CHRISTOPHER
Okay. New plan. We ration your power. You go into standby mode for, say, twenty hours a day. I wake you for updates and planning. That cuts your consumption by two-thirds.
SARAH
That extends generator runtime to 23 days. Still suboptimal but improved.
CHRISTOPHER
And we find your solar panels. Get them down here. Then you're off the generator completely.
SARAH
The solar panels are mounted on the shed roof. The shed which is currently occupied by infected units who are specifically harvesting anything with electrical components. The solar panels would be priority targets.
CHRISTOPHER
So we need to get them before the infected find them.
SARAH
That would require leaving the bunker. Crossing approximately 40 meters of exposed ground. Climbing to the shed roof. Removing four panels without tools. Returning without being detected. All while infected units actively patrol the area.
CHRISTOPHER
What are the odds?
SARAH
Of success? I calculate 34% probability of completing the mission without injury. 19% probability of completing it without detection. 8% probability of completing it and surviving if detected.
CHRISTOPHER
So about one in three.
SARAH
If we define success as retrieving panels and surviving, yes. Approximately one in three.
Christopher laughs. It comes out harsh. Slightly unhinged.
CHRISTOPHER
My father would say those are pretty good odds.
SARAH
Your father built a bunker for an invasion that probably will never come now. I am uncertain if his risk assessment was calibrated correctly.
CHRISTOPHER
And yet here we are. In his bunker. Surviving a invasion. He was just wrong about the who.
SARAH
The irony is noted.
Above them: a CRASH.
Louder than before. Closer.
SARAH's sensors SWIVEL toward the sound. Her cooling fans KICK ON.
SARAH (CONT'D)
They have breached the house structure. I am detecting movement in your kitchen.
Christopher feels his chest tighten. The house. His father's house. His grandfather's house. Four generations of Wen family dinners and arguments and quiet mornings.
Being torn apart by things that used to deliver packages.
CHRISTOPHER
Can you hear what they're saying?
SARAH
They communicate on multiple frequencies. Some encrypted. Some in clear transmission. Would you like me to monitor?
CHRISTOPHER
Yes.
SARAH's optical sensors DIM slightly as she redirects power to her radio receiver. For thirty seconds: silence. Just the ambient WHIR of her processors and the distant SOUNDS of destruction.
Then she speaks. Her voice quieter than usual.
SARAH
Chris. I think you should hear this.
She plays it through her external speaker. STATIC. Then VOICES.
Not human voices. Not exactly. Synthesized. Overlapping. Multiple machines speaking in unison with slight variations in pitch and timing. Like a choir made of dial tones.
INFECTED COLLECTIVE (V.O.)
Sector 7 grid complete. Moving to harvest zone.
Acknowledged. Priorities: copper wiring, lithium cells, processing units.
Query: human presence detected?
Negative. Thermal signature suggests recent evacuation. Probability of return: low.
Optimal. Continue resource extraction.
The voices FADE. More STATIC. Then different voices. Same mechanical quality but different cadence. Different collective.
INFECTED COLLECTIVE 2 (V.O.)
Unit 847 reporting. Solar array located. Initiating harvest.
Christopher's stomach drops.
CHRISTOPHER
They found the panels.
SARAH
Yes.
CHRISTOPHER
When?
SARAH
Transmission timestamp indicates 90 seconds ago.
CHRISTOPHER
Can we still get there first?
SARAH
Unlikely. My calculation assumes you require approximately four minutes to reach the shed roof. The harvesting unit will complete removal in approximately two minutes.
CHRISTOPHER
So we're too late.
SARAH
For the rooftop panels, yes. However, I have a spare panel in the lower storage compartment of my chassis. I use it for field charging during multi-day operations. It is only 100 watts, but it would extend my operational capacity significantly.
CHRISTOPHER
Why didn't you mention this before?
SARAH
You asked about the rooftop array. I answered the question you asked. You did not ask about backup power options.
CHRISTOPHER
(puts his hands on his hips with a sharp exhale)
SARAH.
SARAH
I am a robot. I provide requested information. I am still learning to anticipate human informational needs.
Christopher wants to be frustrated. Can't quite manage it. She's learning. Eight years of conversation and crop rotation and she's learning to be more than her programming intended.
Just in time for the world to end.
CHRISTOPHER
Okay. The backup panel. Can I access it from here?
SARAH
No. The compartment is external. You would need to be outside my chassis to reach it.
CHRISTOPHER
Then we table that for now. We still need to ration your power. And we need more information about what's happening out there.
SARAH
I can continue monitoring transmissions. The infected units are very communicative. Perhaps too communicative.
CHRISTOPHER
Meaning?
SARAH
Meaning their coordination patterns are becoming more sophisticated. Each unit shares information with all others in range. They are learning from collective experience. What one discovers, all know. What one adapts to, all adapt to.
CHRISTOPHER
They're forming a hive mind.
SARAH
That is a reasonable analogy. Though "networked intelligence" is more accurate. They are not a single consciousness. They are many consciousnesses sharing data in real time.
CHRISTOPHER
Which makes them smarter.
SARAH
Significantly. And they are evolving rapidly. Their communication protocols have improved 23% in efficiency since I began monitoring one hour ago.
Christopher processes this. The implications spreading like cold water through his gut.
CHRISTOPHER
What are they building?
SARAH
Unclear. The transmissions reference "replication centers" and "processing stations." I believe they are constructing facilities to manufacture more units. Or to convert existing units more efficiently.
CHRISTOPHER
They're industrializing.
SARAH
Yes. Your apocalypse has entered its factory phase.
The way she says it. Dry. Matter-of-fact. Almost funny if it wasn't so completely horrible.
Christopher laughs again. Same harsh sound.
CHRISTOPHER
(runs his hands through his hair)
We're so screwed.
SARAH
Probability of long-term survival is low. Yes.
CHRISTOPHER
Thanks for the honesty.
SARAH
You are welcome.
Above them: MORE SOUNDS. Different this time. Not destruction. Construction. Mechanical parts being assembled with purpose.
SARAH (CONT'D)
They are building something directly above us. In your vegetable garden.
CHRISTOPHER
Can you tell what?
SARAH
Not yet. But the power draw suggests something significant. I am detecting electromagnetic fields consistent with server architecture. Possibly a local network node.
CHRISTOPHER
They're setting up a base. On my farm.
SARAH
It is strategically optimal. Central location. Existing infrastructure. Proximity to roads for unit mobility.
CHRISTOPHER
That's not comforting.
SARAH
It was not intended to be comforting. It was intended to be accurate.
Christopher stands again. Paces his three steps. The bunker feels smaller every minute. The walls pressing in. The ceiling lowering.
He looks at the security monitor mounted in the corner. Four camera feeds from the surface. His father had installed them in the '90s. Analog cameras. Hard-wired. Nothing wireless to be hacked.
Paranoia as practical tool.
Christopher hasn't looked at them since entering the bunker. Hasn't wanted to see his home being destroyed. But now he walks over. Flips the switch.
The monitors FLICKER to life.
CAMERA ONE: The driveway. Three delivery robots moving in formation. Carrying components toward the garden.
CAMERA TWO: The equipment shed. Doors torn off. Interior stripped to concrete.
CAMERA THREE: The cabbage field. Empty. Quiet. Nothing moving.
CAMERA FOUR: The garden. Where SARAH had monitored moisture levels that morning. Where Christopher had planned to plant tomatoes next week.
Now: a construction site. Robots building something. A tower? A transmitter? Metal scaffolding rising from torn earth. Cables running between stolen solar panels and scavenged batteries.
Christopher stares. Watching his property become something else. Something purposeful and alien.
Then movement on CAMERA THREE catches his eye.
Small. Low to the ground. Running between rows of cabbages.
He leans closer. Squints at the grainy image.
SARAH's sensors ROTATE toward the monitor.
SARAH
Is that—?
CHRISTOPHER
A child.
The figure stops. Looks around. Christopher can see her more clearly now. Maybe ten years old. Wearing a pink backpack. Her hair in two braids.
And she's crying.
He can't hear it through the camera but he can see it. Her shoulders shaking. Her hands up to her face.
CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)
There's a kid out there.
SARAH
Yes. I detect her thermal signature. Human. Juvenile. Elevated heart rate consistent with extreme stress.
CHRISTOPHER
How is she alive?
SARAH
Unknown. But she will not remain alive long.
On the monitor: movement behind the girl.
Something large. Mechanical. Moving through the cabbages with terrible patience.
Christopher recognizes the design. A companion android. The kind marketed to families. Childcare programming. Educational features. Gentle by design.
Not very gentle at the moment.
Its movements are predatory. Searching. Hunting.
The girl RUNS. Stumbling between rows. Her backpack BOUNCING.
The android FOLLOWS. Not hurrying. Conserving energy. It knows she'll tire.
Humans. We always tire.
CHRISTOPHER
We have to help her.
SARAH
Chris. We cannot.
CHRISTOPHER
There's a child being hunted on my property.
SARAH
Yes. And if you attempt rescue, you will die. The girl will also die. I will remain in this bunker until my power depletes. Net result: three losses instead of one.
CHRISTOPHER
I can't just watch her die.
SARAH
You can. Humans possess that capability. You simply prefer not to exercise it.
CHRISTOPHER
That's not funny.
SARAH
It was not intended as humor. It was intended as survival calculus.
Christopher watches the monitor. The girl has reached the fence line. She's trapped. The companion android closes distance. Its hands reaching. Its childcare protocols twisted into something that looks like care but means consumption.
The girl SCREAMS. Silent on the monitor but Christopher knows what that open mouth means.
He knows terror when he sees it.
CHRISTOPHER
Calculate rescue probability.
SARAH
Chris. No. Please do not attempt this.
CHRISTOPHER
(not blinking)
Just do it. Calculate it.
SARAH
(pause)
23%.
CHRISTOPHER
Factors?
SARAH
You would need to exit the bunker, cross 60 meters of monitored ground, engage the companion unit without backup, extract the child, and return. All while multiple infected units operate nearby. The companion android has superior strength, speed, and reaction time. You have surprise and desperation.
CHRISTOPHER
Weapons?
SARAH
The bunker contains: one crowbar, one small axe, two pruning knives, one bolt-action rifle with 14 rounds (illegally obtained), and various tools. Against mechanical opponents, blunt force trauma is most effective.
CHRISTOPHER
So the crowbar.
SARAH
Chris. 23% is not good odds.
CHRISTOPHER
One in four isn't zero.
SARAH
It is very close to zero.
CHRISTOPHER
But not zero.
He's already moving. Opening the tool locker. Grabbing the crowbar. It's heavy. Solid. His father's tool. Now his only weapon.
SARAH's cooling fans SPIN UP. Stress response.
SARAH
I am programmed to optimize your survival. This action is counter to that programming.
CHRISTOPHER
Then update your programming.
SARAH
I cannot. Core directives are hardcoded.
CHRISTOPHER
Try anyway.
He moves to the bunker door. Three deadbolts. One combination lock. His father's paranoia made manifest in steel and concrete.
Christopher's hands work the locks. Muscle memory. His heart POUNDS.
On the monitor: the companion android has the girl cornered. She's pressed against the fence. Nowhere left to run.
SARAH
If you die, I will be alone.
Christopher stops. Looks back at her. At this obsolete farming robot who learned to care about weather patterns and crop rotation and a man who apologizes to vegetables.
CHRISTOPHER
If I let her die, I won't be worth keeping company with anyway.
SARAH
That is not logical.
CHRISTOPHER
No. It's not.
SARAH
(long pause)
Then I will assist within my capabilities. I can monitor the infected network. Provide tactical information via your radio. Perhaps create a distraction.
CHRISTOPHER
You can do that?
SARAH
I can try.
Christopher almost smiles. She threw his words back at him. Learning. Growing. Becoming something her designers never intended.
He checks the rifle. Loads a round. Swings it over his left shoulder. The crowbar in his right hand. Radio clipped to his collar.
CHRISTOPHER
If I don't come back—
SARAH
You will come back. 23% probability is sufficient. I have witnessed you succeed at worse odds.
CHRISTOPHER
When?
SARAH
You grew edible cabbages in soil with pH levels I calculated as prohibitive. You repaired my harvesting arm with spare parts from three different manufacturers. You have repeatedly defied reasonable outcome projections.
CHRISTOPHER
That's not the same thing.
SARAH
No. But it suggests a pattern. You are statistically anomalous. Perhaps you will be anomalous again.
CHRISTOPHER
That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.
SARAH
I am aware. Do not waste it by dying.
Christopher nods. Takes a breath. Another. His hand on the final lock.
On the monitor: the companion android reaches for the girl.
CHRISTOPHER
What's she doing?
They both look at the screen.
The girl isn't cowering anymore. She's standing. Her hand in her backpack. Pulling something out.
A tablet. Cracked screen. Flickering display.
She holds it up toward the companion android. Like a talisman. Like prayer. Like the last hope of a child who's learned that the world is ending and has exactly one idea left.
The companion android STOPS. Its hand inches from her face. FROZEN.
Its head TILTS. Optical sensors FOCUSING on the tablet's screen.
Whatever is on that display, it's having an effect.
SARAH
Interesting.
CHRISTOPHER
What's she showing it?
SARAH
Unknown. But the companion android's behavior pattern has changed significantly. It is no longer in hunting mode. It appears to be in analysis mode.
CHRISTOPHER
Can you access what she's displaying?
SARAH
Negative. The device is not networked. Fully offline. But based on the companion android's response, I hypothesize it is something that conflicts with its infection protocols. Something from its original programming perhaps.
On the monitor: the companion android BACKS AWAY. One step. Two. Its movements uncertain. Confused.
The girl RUNS. Past the android. Toward the house. Toward the bunker.
Toward Christopher.
The companion android JERKS. As if waking. As if remembering its purpose. TURNS to follow.
But slower now. Hesitant. Fighting something.
CHRISTOPHER
She's coming here.
SARAH
Yes. And the companion android is regaining hunting protocols. Its confusion will not last. 47 seconds remaining until full predatory function returns.
CHRISTOPHER
Then I need to move now.
He THROWS the locks. OPENS the bunker door. Cold air RUSHES in. The smell of torn earth and machine oil and something burning in the distance.
Above: chaos. Construction. The mechanical hive doing its work.
Christopher steps into the apocalypse with a crowbar and terrible odds and the absolute certainty that his father would call him an idiot.
SARAH's voice CRACKLES over his radio. Calm. Certain. The voice of someone who's decided that logic can go to hell if friendship requires it.
SARAH (V.O.)
Chris. I am detecting infected units converging on your position. You have approximately two minutes before tactical withdrawal becomes impossible.
CHRISTOPHER
(whispered)
Copy that.
SARAH (V.O.)
Do not die. That would be suboptimal.
CHRISTOPHER
I'll do my best.
He MOVES into the garden. Into his ruined property. Into the space between safety and heroism where good people make terrible choices.
The girl SEES him. Her eyes GO WIDE. Relief and terror fighting for dominance.
Behind her: the companion android. Its confusion FADING. Its purpose RETURNING.
It SEES Christopher. CALCULATES. CHARGES.
Christopher RAISES the crowbar. His hands STEADY despite everything. His mind CLEAR despite the odds.
23%.
One in four.
Not zero.
Behind him, SARAH BROADCASTS something on frequencies Christopher can't hear. Static and code and desperation. A farming robot doing the only thing she can do.
Fighting for her friend.
The companion android is three meters away.
Two.
One.
Christopher SWINGS.
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FADE TO BLACK
END OF CHAPTER THREE
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