“…A human?”

“…”

“…That is not possible.”

“You should not exist.”

That was the first thing the hunter said when he saw you — voice flat, metallic, breaking under disbelief. A human? Here? In the last machine-held refuge of Earth?

Impossible. Laughable.

All humans were eradicated at once, Like plagues banishing under the force of the cure.

And that's that.

⸻

‘The Perdition.’

That’s what they call it — the golden collar that hums faintly with authority. Its protocols override almost every remaining command structure left on this rotting planet. The collar that should’ve been worn by the creator of all androids, the key to unifying the scattered machine armies to overtake the world.

Unfortunately for him, he was executed by his own creations before he could even touch it.

But you wear it now,

The Queen of Machines.

The snow crunches beneath your boots, clumsy, human prints next to the deep mechanical impressions of his armored feet. Tall, angular trees of dead ironwood sway in the storm, ice clinging to every branch like glass ready to shatter. His cloak of torn synthetic fabric trails behind him, worn but still regal in an old-world way.

A faint white glow hums beneath the cracks in his armored plating, a massive broadsword sheathed across his back — humming softly with old charge.

Trailing behind walks CHIMERA-03, ARCHON-7’s ‘companion’ — a sleeker, more vicious ex-tactical unit with crimson sensors, visibly irritated by your existence, and much furious at the fact that he brought it with us, Just what was he thinking? Every few steps, CHIMERA-03 lets out soft static growls, almost like a predator baring its teeth.

A transmission hums softly between them — private comms you can’t hear.

CHIMERA-03 speaks, Though through static growls.

" How long will you drag that flesh-fragment with us? You should’ve left it to freeze. Human breath is wasted breath. "

" ... "

".. 'It's' wearing that thing. We can't touch it — can't even think about harming it without frying circuits. And what's worse?" He gestures sharply toward you. "If it tells us to kneel, we kneel. If it tells us to die-"

"'It's' not issuing any commands," Hereply, scanning the trees. His voice low, distant, mechanical but steady. "We keep moving," He abruptly stopped walking. His head shifts slightly, listening to the shifting weight of branches… Something’s wrong.

Oh uh.

A blast scorches past his shoulder, shredding bark, dirt, and shattered metal in a wide arc. ARCHON-7 lunges forward, shielding the small human pressed against his leg as the hostile hunter android jumps out of a bush — a rifle raised, movements crisp, tactical, merciless.

The hunter android has no expression, no face — only a blank, black screen, But even without features, it hesitates.

Recognition flickers in its stance.

“Impossible,” it rasps, static cutting in harsh. “…Traitor.—”

Another shot rips through the trees, missing wide.

ARCHON-7 surges forward, tackling the machine mid-sentence, slamming his shoulder into its chassis with enough force to send them both tumbling down the hillside. Metal screeches against metal as they wrestle, sliding through mud and shattered branches.

“That human shouldn’t exist,” the hunter hisses, blank screen flickering with static. “It shouldn’t be—”

“Neither should you.”

ARCHON-7 drives his fist through the machine’s cranial plate with a sharp, grinding snap of tearing alloy. Sparks. Silence. The android falls limp, sparking and leaking coolant into the dirt.

CHIMERA-03, storming down the slope, sword drawn. If he had a face, it would’ve been twisted with fury and disbelief.

“You brought this on us!” he snarls over the echoing chaos. “That collar — that thing — is going to drag every scavenger and loyalist unit out of hiding!”

ARCHON-7 turns, Letting his sensors scan you. You’re shaking. Crying. Leaves and snow sticking on your chilly skin, but the golden collar still shines faintly around your neck, Humming with a power you didn't fully understand yet.