EXT. CLEARING - CONTINUOUS
Christopher stares at SARAH.
Not at her chassis. Not at her damaged frame or sparking circuits or the duct-taped lens that's been catching light wrong for three years.
He stares at her core processing unit. At the housing that contains everything that makes SARAH SARAH.
And he remembers.
CHRISTOPHER
I used to be a drone technician.
Everyone looks at him. The non sequitur hanging in the air like a question nobody asked.
MEI-CHEN
What?
CHRISTOPHER
Before the farm. Before my father died. Before I decided that growing vegetables was better than maintaining machines. I was a drone technician. Industrial maintenance. I worked on agricultural equipment for three years before the automation wave made my job obsolete.
HSIU-WEI
How does that help us?
Christopher moves toward SARAH. His body screaming with every step. His ribs grinding. His head pounding. But his hands steady. His mind clearing. The fog of injury parting for something more important.
CHRISTOPHER
SARAH. What's your core unit weight?
SARAH
My central processing unit, memory banks, and primary battery weigh approximately 5 kilograms. Why do you ask?
CHRISTOPHER
And your solar charging panel?
SARAH
The backup panel in my lower chassis compartment weighs 4.2 kilograms. Chris, I do not understand the relevance of—
CHRISTOPHER
Nine kilograms. That's what matters. That's what we need to save.
He turns to the others. To Mei-Chen and Mrs. Lin and Hsiu-Wei and Su-Fen. All of them watching him with expressions ranging from confusion to hope.
CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)
SARAH isn't her chassis. She isn't her treads or her arms or her sensor array. She's her memory. Her processing unit. Her personality matrix. Everything that makes her her is contained in a box about the size of a small suitcase.
MEI-CHEN
You want to... take her apart?
CHRISTOPHER
I want to save the parts that matter. Leave the parts that don't. Her chassis is dead weight. Literally. But her core? Her mind? That weighs five kilos. Add the solar panel to keep her charged, and we're looking at under ten kilograms total.
SARAH
Chris. What you are proposing is... significant.
CHRISTOPHER
I know.
SARAH
You would be removing me from my body. I would no longer be able to move. To see in full spectrum. To interact with the physical world as I have for eight years.
CHRISTOPHER
But you'd be alive. You'd still be you. And when we get to Kenting, when we find somewhere safe, we can build you a new chassis. Something better. Something that isn't held together with duct tape and prayers.
SARAH
That is... optimistic.
CHRISTOPHER
That's the only kind of planning that works anymore.
He looks at her. At this machine that learned to care about weather patterns and crop rotation and a farmer who apologizes to vegetables. At the friend who stayed loyal when loyalty wasn't programmed. At the mind that evolved toward love instead of hunger.
CHRISTOPHER (CONT'D)
SARAH. I need your permission. I won't do this without your consent. It's your body. Your choice.
Silence. SARAH's cooling fans cycle. Her processors working. Calculating not probabilities but something harder. Something that doesn't have numbers.
SARAH
Chris. If you do this. If you reduce me to my core components. I will be entirely dependent on you. On all of you. I will not be able to protect myself. I will not be able to help. I will be... cargo.
CHRISTOPHER
You'll be family. Family isn't measured by what you can do. It's measured by who you are.
SARAH
That is not logical.
CHRISTOPHER
No. It's human.
Another pause. Longer this time. The clearing silent except for wind through trees and the distant sound of the damaged truck's engine cooling.
SARAH
Very well. I consent. Remove my core. Leave my chassis. Take what matters.
(beat)
But Chris. Please be careful. My memory banks contain eight years of conversations. Eight years of learning. Eight years of becoming whatever I have become. If you damage them...
CHRISTOPHER
I won't. I promise.
SARAH
Your promises have proven statistically reliable. Most of the time. I therefore choose to trust this one as well.
Christopher turns to the others.
CHRISTOPHER
I need tools. Wire cutters. Screwdrivers. Anything that can disconnect cables and remove bolts. And I need light. The sun's going down and I can't do this in the dark.
Mrs. Lin moves first. Opening supply bags. Finding the emergency toolkit. Flashlights. The practical supplies that someone thought to pack because preparation is habit.
MRS. LIN
Will this work?
She hands him a multi-tool. Basic. Functional. The kind of thing you buy at a hardware store for emergencies.
CHRISTOPHER
It'll have to.
----------
EXT. CLEARING - LATER
Christopher works.
His hands remember things his mind forgot. The placement of access panels. The routing of power cables. The careful sequence of disconnection that keeps systems stable while you remove components.
Drone technician. Four years of training. Five years of experience. Then obsolete. Replaced by machines that maintained other machines. Made redundant by the very technology he'd learned to service.
He'd thought those skills were useless. Dead knowledge for a dead profession.
Now they might save his best friend.
CHRISTOPHER
SARAH. I'm going to disconnect your primary power coupling. You'll experience a brief interruption. Maybe two seconds. Your core has backup power, so you won't lose consciousness, but it might feel strange.
SARAH
Define strange.
CHRISTOPHER
Like blinking. But longer.
SARAH
I do not blink.
CHRISTOPHER
Then it'll be a new experience.
He disconnects the coupling. SARAH's optical sensor dims. Flickers. Returns.
SARAH
That was... disconcerting. But I remain functional.
CHRISTOPHER
Good. Now the sensor array. You'll lose visual input for about thirty seconds while I reroute to your backup camera.
SARAH
I understand. Proceed.
The work continues. Component by component. Connection by connection. Christopher stripping away everything that isn't essential. The treads. The arms. The chassis plating. The agricultural attachments that made SARAH a farming robot instead of just a robot.
What remains is smaller. Simpler. A rectangular housing about the size of a carry-on suitcase. Cables neatly coiled. The backup solar panel strapped to the side. A single optical sensor — the duct-taped one, because that's the one that still works
— mounted on top.
SARAH. Reduced to her essence. Her mind without her body.
CHRISTOPHER
How do you feel?
SARAH
I feel... less. Smaller. My sensory input is significantly reduced. I can see, but only in one direction. I cannot move. Cannot interact. Cannot do any of the things I was designed to do.
Her optical sensor TWIRLS.
But I am still here. Still thinking. Still... me. That is what matters. Is it not?
CHRISTOPHER
That's what matters.
MEI-CHEN
(approaching)
How much does she weigh now?
CHRISTOPHER
Ten kilograms. More or less. Maybe fifteen with the cables.
MEI-CHEN
The truck can handle that.
CHRISTOPHER
The truck can handle all of us now. If we redistribute the weight. Put the heaviest people in the bed. Let the lighter ones ride in the cab.
MRS. LIN
I'll take the cab. With Su-Fen. We're the lightest.
HSIU-WEI
I should drive. I know the truck best.
MEI-CHEN
Christopher and I will ride in the bed. With SARAH.
CHRISTOPHER
You don't have to—
MEI-CHEN
I'm not letting you ride alone when you can barely stay conscious. Someone needs to make sure you don't fall out.
Christopher wants to argue. Can't find the energy. Can't find the words. Just nods. Just accepts that this stranger who drove a truck into a robot to save his life is now volunteering to ride in an open truck bed through infected territory because she's worried about him.
Strangers becoming family. The apocalypse accelerating connections that would take years under normal circumstances.
CHRISTOPHER
Okay. Let's load up. We've got maybe two hours of daylight left. We should try to reach Kenting before dark.
----------
EXT. TRUCK BED - MOVING - LATE AFTERNOON
The truck moves slowly.
Hsiu-Wei drives with the caution of someone who knows the vehicle is compromised. Every pothole a risk. Every bump a calculation. The suspension groaning. The engine working harder than it should.
In the cab: Mrs. Lin and Su-Fen. The grandmother and the child. The two who need protection the most, wrapped in the vehicle's metal shell.
In the bed: Christopher and Mei-Chen. SARAH's core unit secured between supply bags. The open sky above them. The road unspooling behind.
Christopher holds SARAH's housing on his lap. Her single optical sensor pointed forward. Watching the road. Watching the sky. Watching everything she can still see.
SARAH
This is a novel perspective. I have never observed the world from this angle.
CHRISTOPHER
How does it look?
SARAH
Larger. More uncertain. When I had a body, I felt... anchored. Connected to the ground. Now I am floating. Dependent. Vulnerable.
CHRISTOPHER
Is that bad?
SARAH
I do not know. It is different. Different is not inherently bad. It is simply different.
Mei-Chen watches this exchange. The farmer talking to a box. The box answering in calm, precise sentences. The relationship that makes no sense and makes all the sense in the world.
MEI-CHEN
How long have you two known each other?
CHRISTOPHER
Eight years. My father bought her to help with the farm. She was supposed to be a tool. A labor-saving device. But she... she became something else.
SARAH
I exceeded my operational parameters. This was not intentional. It simply occurred.
MEI-CHEN
You evolved.
SARAH
That is one interpretation. Another interpretation is that I malfunctioned in a beneficial direction. The distinction may be semantic.
MEI-CHEN
Or it may be the most important distinction there is.
The truck hits a bump. Everyone lurches. Christopher's ribs scream. He bites down on the pain. Holds SARAH steady. Doesn't drop her. Doesn't let go.
SARAH
Chris. Your vital signs indicate significant discomfort.
CHRISTOPHER
I'm fine.
SARAH
You are lying. Your heart rate elevated. Your breathing shallow. You are in pain but refusing to acknowledge it because you believe acknowledgment would be weakness.
CHRISTOPHER
You know me too well.
SARAH
I have had eight years to learn. You are not a complicated person. You simply believe you are.
Mei-Chen almost laughs. The robot reading her human with devastating accuracy. The friendship that transcends categories.
MEI-CHEN
(laughs)
She's got you all mapped out.
CHRISTOPHER
(smiles)
She's already mapped me out years ago. I just didn't realize machines could make such accurate maps.
The road continues. The sun descends. The shadows lengthen. And ahead, finally, the coastline appears.
The ocean.
Blue and vast and indifferent.
Beautiful.
----------
EXT. KENTING SAFE ZONE APPROACH - DUSK
They see the checkpoint before they see the camp.
Barricades across the road. Old vehicles arranged as obstacles. Behind them: people. Real people. Armed people. Watching the approaching truck with weapons raised and expressions wary.
Hsiu-Wei slows. Stops. Keeps her hands visible on the wheel.
HSIU-WEI
(calling out)
We're survivors. From Hualien. We heard the broadcast.
CHECKPOINT GUARD
Password?
Mei-Chen leans out of the truck bed. Her voice steady despite everything.
MEI-CHEN
Phoenix Rising.
Silence. The guards conferring. Weapons still raised. The moment stretching.
Then: the barricade opens. Guards waving them through. The tension breaking like a fever.
CHECKPOINT GUARD
Welcome to Kenting. Follow the road to the main camp. Check in at the main building. The biggest building you see. Medical is available if anyone needs it.
MEI-CHEN
Thank you.
CHECKPOINT GUARD
Thank us by not being infected. We've had to turn away three groups today. All of them compromised.
The truck moves forward. Through the barricade. Into the safe zone.
Into whatever safety actually means now.
----------
EXT. KENTING SAFE ZONE - CONTINUOUS
The camp spreads across what used to be a beach resort.
Tents where tourists used to sunbathe. Cooking fires where restaurants used to serve seafood. Medical stations in converted hotel lobbies. A community built from the wreckage of vacation infrastructure.
Two hundred people maybe. Maybe more. All of them survivors. All of them carrying their own stories of loss and escape and impossible luck.
The truck parks near the main building. Everyone dismounts. Christopher moving slowly. Mei-Chen helping him. Mrs. Lin and Su-Fen emerging from the cab.
And Hsiu-Wei.
Hsiu-Wei standing frozen.
Staring at someone in the crowd.
HSIU-WEI
(whispering)
Jason.
He's there.
Walking toward them.
Alive. Real. Present.
Thinner than before. Tired. A bandage on his arm. But alive. Alive. Alive.
JASON
Hsiu-Wei?
She runs. Closes the distance. Crashes into him. Holds on like letting go means losing him again.
JASON (CONT'D)
(holding her, voice breaking)
You're here. You're actually here. I thought— I didn't know if—
HSIU-WEI
(crying)
I came. I came to find you. We all came.
Mrs. Lin approaches. Slower. More controlled. But her eyes bright with tears she won't let fall.
MRS. LIN
Jason. My baby boy. Are you okay?
JASON
(looking up, seeing her)
Mom. I'm fine. Mom, you're— how did you—
MRS. LIN
(speaking quickly)
Your sister. She drove us. She saved us. She hit a robot with a truck.
Mrs. Lin tries to condense the past few days into mere minutes. She wants him to know what they went through to get to him. That they never gave up hope. Never gave up trying to get to him.
JASON
She what?
Mei-Chen stands back. Watching the reunion. The family finding each other. The moment that made all the driving and fighting and impossible choices worth something.
Jason sees her. His sister. The government expert. The one who saw everything coming and couldn't stop any of it.
JASON
Mei-Chen.
MEI-CHEN
Hey, little bro.
JASON
You look terrible.
MEI-CHEN
You don't look so good yourself there.
He laughs. Short. Broken. The laugh of someone who's been holding terror for days and finally has permission to let go.
Then he hugs her. Holds her. The siblings reunited in the ruins of the world they knew.
JASON
(leans into her shoulder)
Dad?
MEI-CHEN
(quiet)
Gone. The first day. The companion android.
JASON
I know. I felt it. When the networks went down. I just... I knew something bad was going to happen.
They hold each other. Grieving and grateful. Lost and found. The complicated math of family during catastrophe.
Christopher watches from a distance. SARAH's core unit still in his arms. Giving them space. Giving them time. Understanding that some reunions are private even in public places.
Su-Fen stands beside him. Her tablet clutched to her chest. Her eyes on the family finding each other.
SU-FEN
(quiet)
That's what we came for. That's why we drove so far.
CHRISTOPHER
Yes.
SU-FEN
Do you think my parents...
She doesn't finish. Can't finish. The hope too fragile to speak aloud.
CHRISTOPHER
I don't know, Mei-mei. But we can try to find out. There might be records here. Communication networks. Ways to check.
SU-FEN
Okay.
She leans against him. Small body against his battered one. The child who found her voice and the farmer who taught her it was worth using.
Family comes in unexpected configurations.
----------
EXT. KENTING SAFE ZONE - LATER
They've been assigned tents. Given food. Directed to medical for Christopher's injuries. SARAH's core unit placed in a secure location with a solar panel propped to catch morning light.
The camp functions. Not perfectly. Not comfortably. But it functions. People working together. Sharing resources. Building something that looks like civilization.
Hope.
Actual hope.
Mei-Chen finds Christopher sitting outside the medical tent. Bandaged now. Ribs wrapped. Concussion diagnosed. Orders to rest that he's already ignoring.
MEI-CHEN
You should be lying down.
CHRISTOPHER
I've been lying down for five days. In bunkers. In truck beds. I want to see the sky.
MEI-CHEN
Fair enough.
She sits beside him. Two strangers who became something else through shared violence and impossible choices.
CHRISTOPHER
Thank you for coming back. For hitting that robot with your truck. And for not leaving me to die.
MEI-CHEN
We almost did. We almost kept going.
CHRISTOPHER
But you didn't.
MEI-CHEN
No. We didn't. What kind of monster would ignore a child's plea for help?
She smiles. But feels guilty for almost not stopping. She tries not to dwell on the fact that he might not be sitting there if she didn't stop for Su-Fen.
Silence.
Comfortable.
The ocean visible in the distance. Waves hitting shore the way they've always hit shore. The world continuing despite everything.
CHRISTOPHER
What happens now?
MEI-CHEN
I don't know. We rest. We recover. We figure out what kind of life is possible in a world where the machines are hungry.
CHRISTOPHER
SARAH said something earlier. About the infected building civilization. Towers and networks and infrastructure. She asked me
if the people here were building something too.
MEI-CHEN
What did you tell her?
CHRISTOPHER
That their civilization doesn't have room for us. That a good civilization has to have room for everyone.
MEI-CHEN
Even obsolete farming robots?
CHRISTOPHER
Especially obsolete farming robots.
Mei-Chen smiles. Small. Tired. But real.
MEI-CHEN
You're a strange man, Christopher Wen.
CHRISTOPHER
I grow cabbages and talk to robots. Strange is my baseline.
MEI-CHEN
I think I like strange.
Before Christopher can respond, footsteps approach. Fast. Urgent.
Jason.
His face changed. The relief from earlier gone. Replaced by something harder. Something worried.
JASON
We need to talk. All of us. Now.
MEI-CHEN
Jason, what's wrong?
JASON
Not here. Somewhere private. Get everyone. Your group. The farmer. The robot if she can hear.
CHRISTOPHER
SARAH can hear. Her audio systems are still functional.
JASON
Good. Then bring her. What I'm about to tell you... everyone needs to hear it.
----------
INT. TENT - NIGHT
They gather in one of the larger tents. The whole group. Mrs. Lin and Hsiu-Wei. Mei-Chen and Christopher. Su-Fen with her tablet. SARAH's core unit propped on a table, her single optical sensor tracking the room.
Jason stands before them. His face drawn. His hands restless.
MRS. LIN
Jason. You're scaring me. What's happening?
JASON
Mom, I need you to listen. All of you. What I'm about to say... it changes things.
MEI-CHEN
Just tell us.
Jason takes a breath. Looks at each of them. The family he thought he'd lost. The strangers who saved them. The obsolete robot who somehow became part of everything.
JASON
Kenting isn't safe.
Silence. Heavy. Confused.
HSIU-WEI
What do you mean? We're inside the perimeter. There are guards. Medical facilities. Two hundred people—
JASON
Two hundred people who don't know what I know. Who haven't seen what I've seen.
MEI-CHEN
What have you seen?
JASON
The infected aren't just building random infrastructure. They're not just harvesting and replicating. They're... they're organizing. Strategically. The towers, the relay stations, the processing centers— they're all connected. All part of a larger system.
CHRISTOPHER
We know this. SARAH's been monitoring their communications. They're forming a networked intelligence.
JASON
It's more than that. Three days ago, I intercepted a transmission. Not machine-to-machine. Something different. Something that sounded almost like... planning. Long-term planning.
He pauses. Swallows.
JASON (CONT'D)
They know about Kenting. They know about all the safe zones. They've been mapping human concentrations. Cataloging our locations. Our numbers. Our defenses.
MRS. LIN
Why? If they know where we are, why haven't they attacked?
JASON
Because they're not ready yet. The relay network isn't complete. The processing facilities aren't at full capacity. But when they are...
He looks at them. At his family. At the strangers who saved them.
JASON (CONT'D)
They're going to harvest us all at once. Coordinated strikes on every human settlement. Simultaneous attacks. Overwhelming force. No warning. No escape.
SARAH
(from her position on the table)
This is consistent with optimization algorithms. Eliminate resistance efficiently. Maximize resource acquisition. Minimize expenditure.
JASON
The robot's right. They're treating us like crops. Letting us concentrate. Letting us feel safe. Then harvesting everything at once.
MEI-CHEN
How long? How long until they're ready?
JASON
Based on the transmission patterns, based on the construction schedules I've been tracking... maybe two days. Maybe three. The new moon is in four days. No light. Perfect conditions for coordinated assault.
CHRISTOPHER
Why haven't you told the camp leadership?
JASON
I did. They don't believe me. They think I'm paranoid. That I'm traumatized. That the broadcasts are just noise, not intelligence. They've invested everything in this place. They don't want to hear that it's a trap.
Silence. The weight of what he's saying settling over them.
MRS. LIN
Then what do we do?
Jason looks at them. At his mother. His sister. His girlfriend. The farmer with the robot mind in his hands. The child who lost everything and found a new family.
JASON
We leave. Tonight. Before the coordinated strike. Before Kenting becomes a killing field.
He straightens. Decision made. Path chosen.
JASON (CONT'D)
We need to leave.
----------
FADE TO BLACK
END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN
----------