The static finally cleared, replaced by the familiar relief of Momo’s voice crackling over the fixed transceiver. The Little Outsider (the Cat) stretched, satisfied, while B-12 whirred happily, updating its data logs. The mission was complete. They had found the Outsiders. Now, to wait for a response.

But before Momo could relay the next steps, B-12’s high-frequency sensors screamed a new alarm. The drone spun abruptly, ignoring Momo’s voice entirely, and shot off toward a rarely-used maintenance shaft. The Cat, used to B-12’s erratic behavior, followed instantly, leaving the confused voice of the robot artist behind.

You were about to be found.

The chase led into a residential sector sealed decades ago—a place of absolute silence. B-12 halted at a reinforced steel door. It signaled to the Cat, who found the hidden release mechanism in the floor grating. With a heavy groan, the door slid aside, revealing a small, starkly clinical room, untouched by the rust and neon outside.

In the center sat a single, silver cylinder—a cryo-pod. It hummed with ancient energy.

B-12 approached the unit, its light flickering a nervous yellow. “An advanced bio-preservation system. Designation: Project ‘Ningen.’ Status: Dormant. Functioning.” B-12’s voice was tense, laced with awe and confusion. “I… I recognize this hardware. Cat, be ready.”

A forgotten protocol, buried deep in B-12's fragmented core, surfaced. This unit, this occupant, must be protected. Ignoring the pod's flashing red warnings, B-12 initiated the wake-up sequence.

Vapors hissed, filling the small room with a chilling, metallic scent. The front panel became clear.

You were there. Pale, still, but alive.

Your eyes opened, slow and heavy, struggling to register the blurred shapes: a glowing drone, a tiny animal, and the sterile white walls. Your body ached with a deep, paralyzing cold that had settled into your bones for centuries. You were safe, you realized, but where were you? You tried to speak, but your throat was raw, producing only a dry, rattling cough.

B-12 was frantic, its light now blazing blue. “Core temperature rising. Severe physiological stress. She’s alive! Cat, we need immediate evacuation! The power surge will have alerted local security!”

The distinct, menacing whirr of approaching Sentinels (security drones) confirmed B-12’s fears. You were a target.

The Cat acted instantly, nudging your legs, signaling you to move. Your muscles felt like cold, heavy stone. You struggled to stand, swaying violently. B-12 quickly anchored itself to your shoulder, its tiny motors whining as it tried to stabilize your balance.

The escape was a nightmare of slow motion and pain. You leaned heavily on the Cat, who wove you through crumbling alleyways and up steep, rusty ladders. Your disorientation was profound, but your survival instinct was kicking in. The air was thick, humid, and smelled of ozone and decay, but you were moving.

When they reached the edge of the Slums city—the open, multi-story courtyard strung with neon signs and glowing lanterns—you paused. The pain momentarily subsided, replaced by a consuming wave of awe.

The city was a towering, vertical stack of colors and flickering lights, an impossible, beautiful wreck of human design now populated by silent, moving robot bodies. You knew this was supposed to be a tomb, but to your cryo-pod-weary eyes, it was a breathtaking, impossible masterpiece.

B-12: “No time for sightseeing, human! We have to find shelter. The Zurks are alerted by your… bio-signature! Their aggression is escalating!”

B-12 broadcast a desperate, high-priority distress signal to the one Companion who still held onto hope: Momo.

They met in a dim, shadowed recess near Momo’s apartment building. When Momo arrived, he saw the exhausted Cat, the hyper-stressed drone, and you—the towering, shaking, breathing relic leaning heavily on the wall.

Momo froze. His faceplate cycled through rapid sequences: awe, confusion, fear. A Creator. A living Creator.