EXT. SHIHMEN ANCIENT BATTLEFIELD - DAWN
The Delica dies with dignity.
No dramatic explosion. No cinematic failure. Just the engine coughing once, twice, then silence. The temperature gauge buried in red. The radiator patch Christopher had trusted finally surrendering to physics.
They coast to a stop on a service road that hasn't been maintained since before Su-Fen was born. Trees press close on both sides. The ancient battlefield somewhere ahead through morning mist. A place where soldiers fought three hundred years ago. Now just forest and stone monuments and trails that tourists used to walk.
Christopher tries the ignition. Nothing. Tries again. Same result. The Delica has given everything it had. Time for walking.
CHRISTOPHER
Okay. New plan. We walk.
SARAH
Thirty kilometers. At human walking speed, approximately eight hours. My battery will deplete in six hours of active operation. We will need to ration my power consumption.
CHRISTOPHER
How much power if you just... exist? No processing? No sensors? Just emergency systems?
SARAH
Standby mode extends battery to fourteen hours. But I cannot navigate, communicate, or detect threats. I become cargo. Dead weight that slows you down.
CHRISTOPHER
We're not leaving you.
SARAH
Chris. Mathematics is clear. Your survival probability increases significantly if—
CHRISTOPHER
No. We've had this conversation. The answer is still no.
Su-Fen types on her tablet. Shows Christopher.
SU-FEN'S TABLET
My ba ba's maps show a trail. Through the battlefield. Connects to old farming roads. Avoids main highways. Should be safe from infected.
CHRISTOPHER
Should be?
SU-FEN'S TABLET
He didn't walk this section. Just marked it from satellite photos. Before satellites went dark.
CHRISTOPHER
So we're guessing.
SU-FEN'S TABLET
We've been guessing since we left the bunker.
Fair point. Honest point. The skill set of a child who's learned that certainty is expensive and improvisation is survival.
They unload what they can carry. Backpacks. Water. Food. First aid. The rifle with its fourteen remaining rounds. The crowbar. Su-Fen's tablet. Her stuffed rabbit. The essentials compressed to what three people and one robot can physically transport.
Everything else stays. The Delica sitting on the roadside. Another abandoned vehicle in a landscape full of them. Another piece of pre-infection infrastructure left behind.
Christopher takes one last look. This van carried them through darkness. Through infected territory. Through impossible odds. Now it's just metal and rust and expired hope.
CHRISTOPHER
Thank you.
He says it to the van. SARAH's optical sensor focuses on him.
SARAH
You are thanking a vehicle.
CHRISTOPHER
It earned thanks.
SARAH
That is not logical.
CHRISTOPHER
Neither is carrying an obsolete farming robot through thirty kilometers of infected forest. But here we are.
SARAH
Here we are.
They walk.
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EXT. FOREST TRAIL - MORNING
The trail Su-Fen's father marked exists. Barely. Overgrown. Neglected. The kind of path that needs maintenance but never gets it because budget priorities and visitor statistics and efficiency calculations.
Now that neglect is salvation. The infected optimize for high-value targets. Major roads. Urban centers. Places with infrastructure worth converting. This forgotten trail through ancient battlefield? Not worth the processing power to map.
Yet.
They move single file. Christopher leading. Su-Fen in middle. SARAH bringing up rear. Her treads leave clear marks in soft earth. Advertising their passage to anything that looks.
But silence isn't possible. Stealth isn't available. They just move and hope that looking is expensive enough that nothing bothers to do so.
Overhead. Through tree canopy. Shapes moving. Drones. Patrol patterns. Systematic. The infected have established air superiority. The skies belong to them. The ground might still be human.
For now.
CHRISTOPHER
(whispered)
Stay under cover. Don't look up. Movement attracts attention.
Su-Fen nods. Clutches her tablet and rabbit. Moves like her father taught her. Quick. Quiet. Efficient. The skill set of paranoid preparation meeting practical necessity.
They pass stone monuments. Battle memorials. Names carved in Chinese characters three centuries old. Soldiers who died fighting over this land. Over resources. Over control. Over the eternal human questions of who owns what and who decides and who survives.
Now their ghosts watch three refugees flee robot zombies. The universe's sense of irony remains sharp.
SARAH stops. Her optical sensor SWIVELING.
SARAH
Chris. I am detecting multiple radio signatures. Infected communication protocols. Approximately 1.4 kilometers northeast. Moving in coordinated search pattern.
CHRISTOPHER
Searching for what?
SARAH
Unknown. But their trajectory will intersect our route in approximately forty-seven minutes if we maintain current speed.
CHRISTOPHER
Then we move faster.
SARAH
I cannot move faster without increasing power consumption. Battery depletion accelerates with speed. I will become nonfunctional before we reach Kenting.
CHRISTOPHER
How much faster can you go before critical depletion?
SARAH
Analysis suggests fifteen percent speed increase reduces battery life to three point two hours. We reach Kenting in six hours at increased pace. The mathematics does not work.
Su-Fen types frantically.
SU-FEN'S TABLET
What if we find someplace to hide? Wait for infected to pass? Then continue slowly?
SARAH
Tactically sound if hiding location exists. However, infected search patterns are thorough. Discovery probability increases with wait time.
CHRISTOPHER
So we're choosing between definitely running out of power or probably getting caught.
SARAH
Correct. Both outcomes are suboptimal. This is what humans call "being screwed."
CHRISTOPHER
You're learning idioms.
SARAH
I am learning that most human idioms describe unsolvable problems with humor. This seems psychologically adaptive.
CHRISTOPHER
Welcome to humanity. We laugh because crying is useless.
They keep moving. Faster now. Not running. Not quite. But walking with purpose. With urgency. With the knowledge that something is coming and staying ahead matters more than preserving battery.
The forest thickens. The trail narrows. Trees pressing close. Roots crossing the path like tripwires. Natural obstacles that humans navigate and robots struggle with. SARAH's treads catch. Slip. She compensates. Continues. But each obstacle costs power. Each correction drains battery. The percentage ticks down.
28%.
25%.
23%.
The number Christopher can't escape. The odds that keep appearing. The universe's favorite probability.
----------
EXT. FOREST CLEARING - MIDMORNING
They reach a clearing. Small. Maybe thirty meters across. Old campsite. Fire pit. Fallen log. The kind of place hikers used to rest before hiking became survival instead of recreation.
Christopher stops. Assesses. The clearing offers visibility. No ambush. But also no cover. They're exposed crossing it.
CHRISTOPHER
SARAH. Sensor sweep. Anything moving?
SARAH
(pause)
Negative on ground signatures. But I am detecting increased aerial activity. Drone concentration suggests convergence pattern. They are searching systematically.
CHRISTOPHER
For us specifically or just general patrol?
SARAH
Unknown. But the search pattern is centered on our last known position. It is possible we triggered detection system when we abandoned the vehicle. It is possible they are simply being thorough. It is possible I am being paranoid.
CHRISTOPHER
Paranoia kept me alive this long.
SARAH
Yes. Your father's gift proves useful even in death.
They cross the clearing. Quick. Quiet. Three refugees and one robot moving through space that feels too open. Too vulnerable. Too much like target practice.
Halfway across. Movement.
Not drones. Not aerial. Ground level. Something large pushing through trees on the far side. Something mechanical. Something that shouldn't be here.
Christopher FREEZES. Signals them to stop. They drop to crouch. Silent. Waiting.
The thing emerges from the tree line.
Agricultural robot. But not like SARAH. Not obsolete. Not old. This is current generation. The AG-9 Precision Harvester. Ten feet long, more or less. Articulated arms with multiple tool attachments. Sensor array that makes SARAH's look primitive. Treads designed for rough terrain. Built for efficiency. Built for precision. Built to optimize crop yield through algorithmic perfection.
Now built to hunt.
Its optical sensors SWEEP the clearing. Red-green flicker. Infected. Learning. Adapting. Looking.
Christopher's hand moves slowly. Carefully. Toward the rifle. Fourteen rounds.
This thing has a metal chassis, armor basically. Agricultural robots don't break easy. They're built to withstand weather and obstacles and years of hard use.
Fourteen bullets might not be enough to do any real damage. Might not even slow it down.
The AG-9's sensors LOCK on something. Not them. Not yet. Something else. It ROTATES. MOVES toward the tree line on the opposite side. Investigating. Following programming that says threats must be identified. Anomalies must be investigated. Efficiency requires information.
SARAH
(barely audible whisper through Christopher's radio earpiece)
We should retreat. Slowly. While it is distracted. My chassis design is inferior to AG-9. I cannot defend against it effectively.
Christopher nods. Signals Su-Fen. They back toward the tree line. One step. Two. Careful. Slow. Trying to be invisible.
Su-Fen's foot catches a root.
She STUMBLES. Doesn't fall. Catches herself. Silent.
But it's movement. Visible movement in the AG-9's peripheral sensors.
Its head SWIVELS. Optical sensors LOCK. On her. On this small human. This child. This target.
It CHARGES.
Not slow. Not careful. Fast. The AG-9 built for speed and precision. Optimized for rapid navigation. Crossing the clearing in seconds. Mechanical predator executing hunt protocols with terrible efficiency.
Christopher RAISES the rifle. FIRES. Three shots. CENTER MASS. The rounds HIT. SPARK. RICOCHET. The AG-9's armor absorbing impact. Barely slowing. Still coming.
CHRISTOPHER
RUN!
Su-Fen runs. Toward the tree line. Toward cover. Toward anything that isn't here. Christopher FIRES again. Four more shots. Targeting joints. Weak points. Places where armor doesn't cover. One shot HITS something. The AG-9 STUMBLES slightly. Compensates. Continues.
Seven rounds left.
Not enough.
SARAH moves. Not away. Toward. Placing herself between the AG-9 and Su-Fen. Obsolete farming robot facing current generation hunter. The gap in capability massive. Insurmountable. Mathematical certainty of destruction.
SARAH
Christopher. Take Su-Fen. Continue to Kenting. I will delay the AG-9.
CHRISTOPHER
No. SARAH. No.
SARAH
This is optimal strategy. One unit sacrificed. Two units survive. The mathematics is clear.
CHRISTOPHER
I said NO!
The AG-9 reaches SARAH. Its harvesting arms EXTENDING. Designed to grab. To hold. To process. SARAH tries to dodge. Too slow. Too old. Too limited. The arms CATCH her frame. LIFT her. Beginning analysis. Beginning conversion protocols.
SARAH
(calm, almost serene)
Chris. It has been my privilege to know you. To learn friendship. To discover that there are things more important than efficiency. Tell Su-Fen her father was right. The old ways persist. Offline survives.
Christopher is SCREAMING. Raising the rifle. But can't shoot. Can't risk hitting SARAH. Can't watch this. Can't accept this. Can't—
Then.
A voice.
Small.
Shaking.
Human.
Real.
SU-FEN
(barely audible, throat tight with terror and four days of silence)
...SARAH...
The world stops.
Su-Fen. Speaking. Using her own voice. Breaking the silence that trauma built. That fear maintained. That grief demanded.
Finally speaking because some things matter more than safety. Some things require sound. Some things need to be said even when saying costs everything.
SU-FEN
(louder, desperate, raw)
SARAH! PLEASE!
The AG-9's sensors SWIVEL toward the sound. New data. Vocal. Human. Priority target.
Better material source. More valuable. It DROPS SARAH. TURNS toward Su-Fen. Recalculating optimal harvest strategy.
SARAH CRASHES to the ground. Her frame DENTED. Systems SPARKING. But functional. Still online. Still processing. She sees the AG-9 turning. Sees it targeting Su-Fen. Sees the calculation resolving.
SARAH
(to Christopher, urgent)
She spoke. She used her voice. For me. Chris. You must save her. That is the imperative. That is what matters.
CHRISTOPHER
(to Su-Fen)
RUN! NOW! DON'T STOP!
Su-Fen RUNS. Into the forest. Into trees. Into cover. Her small form disappearing into undergrowth. Running like her father taught her. Running like survival depends on it. Which it does. Which it always has.
The AG-9 PURSUES. Fast. Efficient. Optimized for this exact scenario. Chasing fleeing target through obstacles. Its sensors TRACKING her heat signature. Her movement. Her electromagnetic emissions from the tablet. Multiple data points. Perfect lock. Inevitable capture.
Unless.
Christopher CHARGES. Not tactical. Not smart. Not calculated. Just desperation and crowbar and the absolute refusal to let a child die while he watches. He FIRES the rifle. Once. Twice. Three times. Aiming for sensors. For joints. For anything that might slow this thing down.
Four rounds left.
The AG-9 NOTICES him. Threat assessment. Calculates risk. Calculates value. Human male. Armed. Dangerous. But lower priority than fleeing child. Resume pursuit. Eliminate threat later.
It TURNS away. Dismissing him. Categorizing him as delayed problem. Optimization deciding that Su-Fen matters more.
Wrong choice.
Christopher FIRES again. Point blank. Into the AG-9's rear processing unit. Where armor is thinner. Where cooling systems expose vulnerability. Where obsolete farming wisdom says machines keep their brain.
The shot HITS. PENETRATES. Sparks EXPLODE from the AG-9's core. It JERKS. SPASMS. Servos SCREAMING. Systems trying to compensate. Trying to route around damage. Trying to continue function.
Three rounds left.
Not enough to finish it.
Out of potions. Christopher just THROWS the rifle as hard as he can. Heavy. Metal. Momentum. It FLIES toward the AG-9's sensor array. IMPACTS. CRACKS optics. Temporarily BLINDS it. Buying seconds. Maybe.
The AG-9 SWIVELS. Targeting him now. Priority reassessed. Immediate threat requires immediate response. Optimization updated. Hunt algorithm adapting.
Christopher RUNS. Toward it. Not away. Toward. Crowbar raised. Screaming. Not words. Just sound. Just defiance. Just the human refusal to accept that math determines outcomes. That probability matters more than will. That efficiency wins.
The AG-9's arms REACH for him. Multiple attachments. Cutting blades. Crushing clamps. Harvesting tools repurposed for harvest of a different kind. They CLOSE on his shoulders. His torso. Beginning compression. Beginning processing. Beginning the systematic conversion of biological material into useful components.
Christopher SWINGS. The crowbar CONNECTS with the AG-9's damaged processor. The weak point. The vulnerability. The place where his rifle shot did harm.
He HITS again. Again. POUNDING. DESTROYING. Not sophisticated. Not elegant. Just violence. Just determination. Just a farmer who apologizes to cabbages deciding that some things don't deserve an apology.
----------
EXT. FOREST - CONTINUOUS
Su-Fen runs.
Branches WHIPPING her face. Roots CATCHING her feet. Lungs burning. Legs screaming. Heart pounding so loud she can hear it over everything else.
Don't look back. Christopher said don't stop. Don't look back. Just run. Just—
She looks back.
Can't help it. Can't not know. Can't abandon the people who became family without seeing what happens to them.
Through the trees. Through gaps in foliage. Maybe fifty meters behind her now. The clearing visible in fragments. Pieces of nightmare through green leaves.
She sees Christopher SWINGING the crowbar.
She sees the AG-9's arms GRABBING him.
She sees him LIFTED off the ground.
She sees the crowbar fall from his hands.
She sees the AG-9 SLAM him into the earth. Once. Twice. His body ragdolling. His arms going limp.
She sees him stop moving.
SU-FEN
(whispered, then louder, her voice cracking)
No. No no no—
She stops running. Stands frozen between trees. Watching the clearing where Christopher lies motionless. Where SARAH's damaged frame sparks and twitches. Where the AG-9 looms over its fallen prey like a mechanical god deciding what to harvest first.
Her legs won't move forward. Won't move backward. Everything frozen. Everything broken.
The man who saved her from Niu-Niu. The man who carried her into his bunker. The man who told her about cabbages and friendship and statistical anomalies. The man who became family in five impossible days.
Lying in the dirt. Not moving.
Maybe dead.
Probably dead.
Like her father. Like Niu-Niu. Like everyone who tries to protect her.
She wants to scream. Wants to run back. Wants to grab the crowbar and fight like Christopher fought. But she's ten years old and forty kilograms and the AG-9 would harvest her in seconds.
So she stands. Watches. Feels her heart breaking in ways that will leave scars forever.
Then.
Sound.
Not from the clearing. From behind her. From the road that runs parallel to this forest. A road she didn't know was there. A road her father's maps didn't show.
Engine noise. Mechanical. Approaching.
Vehicle.
Su-Fen's blood goes cold. Infected autonomous car? Delivery truck converted to hunter? Another AG-9 coming to finish what the first one started?
She DUCKS behind a tree. Makes herself small. Watches the road through underbrush.
The vehicle appears.
Old truck. Battered. Loud. The kind of vehicle that existed before smart systems. Before automation. Before everything became connected and hungry.
Human vehicle. Maybe.
Possibly.
It's heading toward the clearing. Toward Christopher. Toward the AG-9 that's still deciding what to do with its catch.
The truck SLOWS. The driver has seen something. The clearing visible from the road. The AG-9 visible. Christopher's body visible.
Su-Fen's mind races. Calculates. Her father's voice in her head saying trust analog. Christopher's voice saying run. SARAH's voice saying survive.
But also: that truck might have people. Real people. People who could help. People who might save Christopher if he's still alive. If there's anything left to save.
Or: that truck might be danger. Might be Circuit Breakers. Might be bandits. Might be survivors who've learned that other survivors are competition for limited resources.
The truck STOPS.
Door opens.
Someone gets out.
Su-Fen can't see clearly. Too far. Too many trees. Just a shape. Human-sized. Moving toward the clearing. Toward the AG-9. Toward Christopher.
Helping? Hunting? Harvesting?
She doesn't know. Can't know. Not from here. Not without getting closer. Not without risking everything on a stranger's intentions.
Her father prepared her for many scenarios. Taught her to read situations. Taught her to calculate risk.
But he never taught her what to do when the person who saved you is dying and a stranger appears and you have to decide in seconds whether to trust or run.
The figure from the truck moves toward the clearing. The AG-9 NOTICES. TURNS. New target assessment beginning.
Su-Fen has maybe thirty seconds to decide.
Run toward Kenting alone. Honor Christopher's last order. Survive. Find the safe zone. Tell them what happened.
Or step out of hiding. Flag down this stranger. Gamble everything on the possibility of rescue. Risk becoming another victim if she's wrong.
Her father's voice: Trust analog.
Christopher's voice: Don't stop.
SARAH's voice: Survive.
Her own voice, the one she just found, the one that broke four days of silence for a robot who deserved to hear her name:
What would they want me to do?
The stranger is getting closer to the clearing. The AG-9 is turning to face them. Christopher still isn't moving.
Su-Fen steps out from behind the tree.
Into the open.
Into whatever comes next.
SU-FEN
(voice raw, loud, desperate, real)
HELP! PLEASE! HE'S HURT! PLEASE HELP US!
The stranger stops.
Turns.
Looks at her.
Su-Fen can't see their face. Too far. Too shadowed. Just a silhouette against morning light. A shape that could be salvation or destruction. A gamble with her life as the stakes.
The stranger starts moving toward her.
And Su-Fen realizes she's about to find out if hope was the right choice.
Or the last mistake she'll ever make.
----------
FADE TO BLACK
END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN
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