The moment we started dragging the disabled units out of the alley, my arms felt like wet noodles. But Nyxen insisted we take everything, even the ones that looked like they'd survived a meteor impact.
"Every component has potential reuse," he said, tone firm. "Leaving them decreases overall settlement efficiency."
"So we're hoarders now," Manny muttered beside me, already sweating as he and I tried to lift one half-crushed CD unit between the two of us.
"Efficient hoarders," I corrected, though my breath was barely a whisper.
The allied M unit moved like a tank clearing a path ahead of us, the disabled enemy M unit slung over its shoulder as if it weighed nothing.
Behind us, Nica hauled three units at once, one under each arm and another strapped to her back with makeshift cables. The bots at least didn't complain.
I wish I could say the same for us humans.
By the time we loaded everything onto the flat carrier attached to the SUV, I felt like my spine was trying to eject itself from my body. And the damn thing groaned under the weight as if judging us personally.
"Slow pace," Nyxen warned. "Exceeding twenty kilometers per hour may lead to vehicular failure."
"Twenty?" Manny stared at him. "We'll get home by next month."
I wanted to laugh, but all I could manage was a tired cough as I climbed into the SUV. "As long as we get home," I said.
The drive back felt endless. Every bump made the trailer clank and rattle, like the metal dead we were dragging didn't appreciate the ride. But the sight of the settlement walls finally breaking through the haze almost made my knees buckle in relief.
Then Leon saw us.
He didn't walk. He sprinted. And he went straight for me before I could even climb out of the vehicle.
His hands were on my shoulders, on my face, checking for blood, as if bruises suddenly made him blind. His breath was sharp, panicked.
"Nyx! what...why do you look like this? Why is Manny limping? Why did Nica run off with the M unit like the world was ending?" His voice cracked. "What happened to you?"
I didn't answer. I just leaned into him and let everything crash through me.
The adrenaline that had kept me upright most of the day went quiet all at once, leaving behind the truth: I was shaking.
And so were the others.
Manny sat down like his legs finally gave out.
The remaining humans leaned against each other, shoulders slumped, eyes empty.
Leon wrapped me in his arms, and that was it, my chest caved. The tears hit fast and ugly, all the fear I'd shoved into a corner spilling out.
"We ran into them," I whispered into his shirt. "A whole group. Nine at first. Then five more. And… an M unit led them."
Leon's hold tightened, almost crushing. "Of all the reckless...Nyx, this is exactly what I said. Exactly why you shouldn't go out there."
"I had to," I tried, but my voice broke halfway.
"No," he said, cupping the back of my head. "Next time? I go. Not you." His tone shook but stayed firm. "You're needed here. Your ideas, your planning, that keeps people alive. You don't throw yourself into machine crossfire."
The argument rose in me automatically, but when I met his eyes, raw fear, frustration, determination, I couldn't push back. Not this time.
So I nodded.
His entire body deflated with relief, forehead pressing to mine for a second before he let out a shaky breath.
Then I added, "Nyxen. Pull back Leon's Nyx-One. Start upgrading it. As close to your specs as possible. And reestablish their bond link."
Leon blinked. "Nyx…"
"You'll be out there," I said quietly. "I need to know you're protected."
He let out a soft, tired laugh. "You always think three moves ahead."
"Someone has to."
The unloading started around us. Bots carrying bots, metal scraping metal. The settlement lit up with activity the moment everyone understood what we brought back.
The disabled enemy M unit was lowered to the ground like some fallen beast. The allied M unit, the one Nica had hauled into the rescue, returned calmly to its patrol cycle as if it hadn't just saved our lives.
The damaged CD units were arranged near the fire pit, lined up in rows like a grim metallic burial. Scraped paint, shattered joints, exposed wiring, all of it looked like casualties from a war we barely survived.
Nica was already walking the line, scanning each of them with focused efficiency. Nyxen floated beside her, assessing, cataloging, directing.
"Prepare the salvage stations," Nyxen announced to the other bots. "We begin repairs immediately."
I stood there next to Leon, fingers still interlocked with his, staring at the metal bodies we dragged home.
We'd survived.
Barely.
And instead of resting, the settlement moved like a wounded organism stitching itself back together.
Leon squeezed my hand once more.
"You're home," he murmured. "That's what matters."
I let myself believe it.
For tonight, at least.
-----
I barely remember what a quiet morning feels like, but the past few weeks came close.
The settlement moved the way a long, tired machine moves, each part finally finding its rhythm again. The two repaired M units patrolled opposite ends of the perimeter, their footsteps a steady, mechanical heartbeat that never faltered.
The CD-09s handled the fields, their multi-jointed arms tending seedlings with a gentleness that always felt strange coming from steel.
We'd stopped sending people into unknown zones. Not worth the risk, not when Nyxen could mark green paths and the foragers could sweep the safe parts twice as efficiently.
Humans stuck to those areas, and honestly, no one complained. People were finally starting to breathe again.
My days bled into the next, most of them spent shoulder to shoulder with Nyxen trying to turn a skeleton frame into a functioning lab.
He worked in complete focus, and I…well, I tried to keep up.
According to him, the docks had to come first. The Nyx-Ones and the reprogrammed units needed place to shut down and recharge, since they didn't have the adaptive solar systems that he and Nica carried.
The docks we built were rough, welded from scavenged metal and whatever wiring we could salvage, but they held.
The first night every bot plugged in without a single error message felt like winning a small war.
After that came the repair bay. Then the structural supports. Then the internal pathways. Humans were moved to farming and planning; their hands were better suited for seeds and delicate sorting while the bots handled the weight and repetition.
Days blurred. Weeks, really. By the time the docks were fully functional, I'd memorized the shape of every beam we'd welded. Dust settled over everything like it was trying to claim us too. I was wiping it off my arm when I felt Nyxen hover behind me, quiet as always.
"Nyx," he said, and I turned. His voice processors carried that soft hum when he was about to deliver something important. "The solar panels need to be prioritized now."
I didn't argue. He'd run the numbers before speaking; he always did.
"One of the survivors," he continued, "used to own a shop that sells solar panels. The location is near Francoise's research facility. Grouping the retrieval trip and the extraction of his team will save us time."
I pressed a thumb to my brow, thinking. Two birds, one long, exhausting journey. "And the equipment?"
"We'll need multiple trips." Nyxen's lights dimmed briefly, a flicker that read as annoyance or efficiency calculations. Hard to tell. "Inefficient, yes. Necessary, also yes."
I gave a short nod. Francoise was too valuable to leave sitting behind reinforced doors, praying no patrol stumbled onto him. And the solar tech…that was survival.
Before I could ask what he needed from me, Nyxen turned toward the yard. "I've already sent out a six-unit foraging team," he said. "Independent command. They will collect all machine scrap within the safe perimeter. Every fragment matters."
I watched them march past the gate, moving in tight formation. Purpose carved into metal.
Pieces. That's all it ever was lately. Pieces of units. Pieces of our old lives. Pieces of plans we rebuilt every time the world shifted under us.
But seeing those six bots head into the streets with empty packs and full directives…
It felt like momentum.
Maybe even the beginning of rebuilding something that resembled a future.
--------
The tremor hit so hard the ground rattled under my boots. A low, teeth-vibrating roll that made the wooden walls shiver. Around me, people froze mid-task. Somewhere behind the houses, a pot clattered to the ground. Then Jay's bell rang from the watchtower.
Three sharp strikes.
Humans.
I wiped my palms on my pants, already moving toward the gate. Leon, Peter, and Manny fell in beside me without needing to be called.
Nyxen drifted above my shoulder, silent, scanning. A second form settled at my side: Nica, expression blank but posture alert.
The two patrolling M units shifted instantly into defense stances, flanking us as we reached the gate.
When we cracked it open, the sight waiting outside pulled the air right out of my lungs.
Soldiers. A full squad. Helmets, rifles, the whole regulation shine. And behind them, two tanks squatted on the cracked road like metal beasts marking territory.
We didn't step out. I wasn't about to hand them an advantage.
A man in front lifted a hand. "I am Captain Morgan," he introduced. "We detected large-scale movement in this sector. Expected a rogue swarm. Didn't expect…this."
His eyes flicked to the gap in the gate where bots moved behind us, and humans crossed between structures. Floating orbs drifted overhead on patrol. From his angle, he only got glimpses. But enough.
I held my ground. "Now that you've seen what's here," I said, "what exactly are you planning to report to your superiors?"
Morgan didn't answer right away. His gaze stayed steady, but he didn't bark, didn't posture. "If possible," he said, "I'd like my men and I to step inside and investigate further."
"No." My voice didn't even wobble. "If any of you want to set foot inside, you leave your weapons outside the gate. All of them."
A scoff cut through the air.
One of the soldiers stepped up beside Morgan, jaw flattened like he was chewing on nails. "You should be thanking us," he snapped. "We're out here risking everything to protect your kind."
I turned slowly. "Your name?"
"Flint." The way he said it made it sound like a challenge.
I stepped forward. Leon and the others matched me instantly, closing ranks at my shoulders. The M units tilted slightly, tracking the soldier with red scanned focus.
"Flint," I said, "this protection you're bragging about… Does it allow survivors to actually live? Walk freely? Sleep without waiting for a rifle butt on their door? Or are they just bodies you drag back so they can starve under your supervision?"
He snapped back, "We've saved plenty of people."
"But did you feed them?" I asked quietly. "Clothe them? Teach them anything? Keep them from freezing? Or is saving just dumping them in a room and calling it done?"
Flint opened his mouth, but Morgan cut in sharply.
"That's enough." Then he faced me. "Are you the leader here?"
"No." The word fell out without ceremony. "But the people here trust me with their lives. That's why I'm the one standing in front of you."
Morgan let out a slow breath. Then he surprised everyone. He set his rifle on the dirt. Unbuckled the belt with the holster. Shrugged out of his uniform jacket until he stood in a plain shirt and fatigues.
Flint stared like Morgan had grown a second head. "Captain, what are you.."
"Doing my job," Morgan said, tone even. "And following my principles."
He looked back at me. "If you'll allow it…not an investigation. A look. A chance to understand what you've built here. Machines and humans actually working together."
I held his stare for several long seconds. Then I reached out my hand.
Morgan's grip was firm, respectful.
"Fine," I said. "You and four others."
Morgan picked them himself. And yes, Flint was one of them. A lesson in humility, maybe. Or perspective.
The three other soldiers hesitated, then followed their captain's example, dropping their weapons and stripping off anything that could be used as a threat.
The remaining squad stayed with the tanks, watching our walls like something might crawl over them.
Inside, the M units remained in full defense, red sensors sharp. Beside them, three CD-09 units rolled up with their security loadouts engaged. The tension in the air was thick enough to snag on.
Morgan stepped past the threshold.
Flint followed, jaw tight.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt the future tilt in a direction I couldn't predict.
Maybe good. Maybe catastrophic.
But at least it was movement.
The moment Morgan and the four soldiers stepped fully inside, their eyes went wide like kids wandering into a secret level of a game they didn't know existed. I didn't blame them.
From outside, the walls made the place look like a glorified camp. But once you got past the gate, the view always hit hard.
I watched the captain scan everything. Irrigation lines humming with clean water. Solar panels turning like sunflowers. Generators. Storage buildings. Clearing paths. Human houses mixed with bot structures. Kids running. Bots carrying lumber. Humans harvesting.
It wasn't paradise. But it was alive.
His gaze drifted toward the long cleared stretch where the water flowed. I caught the look and stepped up beside him. "You wanna see it properly?"
He nodded once.
We led them through the main walkway. Flint and the others trailed behind us, their expressions peeling open from disbelief to something closer to shame. The closer we got, the more jaw-dropped they became.
When we reached the edge of the farming ground, Morgan stopped dead in his tracks.
"You're trying to be self-sufficient," he murmured, almost to himself.
I smiled. "Food first. Everything else comes after. If we can grow enough, we can start bringing more survivors in without killing our own supply."
He let out a tiny, disbelieving laugh. "Your machines… and your people… are doing something not even our headquarters can manage right now."
Behind him, Flint stiffened. Even he couldn't hide the hit of reality.
Morgan stayed silent a moment, staring at the green stretch and the bots working through the rows with quiet precision.
Then he asked, "Can you still take in survivors?"
His tone wasn't commanding. It was hopeful. But also cautious. I studied him.
"You're planning to relocate the people your unit rescued, aren't you?"
He didn't deny it. Just exhaled, glancing at his men like he was weighing a decade of responsibility. "This isn't a decision that can be made standing in a field. We'll need time. And a real conversation."
So we brought them back toward the center, where the fire never died. Day or night, someone kept it going. It was the heart of the settlement.
The soldiers settled awkwardly around the flames. Martha didn't even hesitate. She walked up with bowls of hot soup and pieces of freshly baked bread still steaming. The food wasn't fancy. It was enough. And it was warm.
The men practically deflated the moment the first spoonful hit their mouths.
Morgan's eyes flicked from his bowl to the gate. The worry was obvious even if he didn't say it.
"They'll get food too," I told him.
He gave a tiny, grateful nod.
Bots and humans went outside and handed soup and bread to the waiting soldiers. None of them pretended pride. They accepted the meal like they'd been starving for days.
I was about to sit when a woman's voice cut through the camp.
"Flint…? Flint, is that you?"
We all turned. A woman stood there, holding the hand of a little girl who couldn't be older than eight. Flint's bowl slipped from his fingers. His whole body shook like something cracked loose inside him.
He didn't walk toward them. He ran.
His wife let out a sound that was half sob and half laughter. The little girl crashed into his legs, clinging to him like she'd never let go again. Flint just broke. Completely. Tears soaking into his daughter's hair. Words tumbling out.
"I thought you died… I thought you were gone… Your house was in ruins, I-"
His wife cupped his face, crying just as hard. "Nyx saved us. We were with Lee's group. She got us out."
Flint turned to me, knees hitting the dirt so suddenly it startled even Morgan. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And thank you. Thank you for them."
I walked to him and shook my head. "Stand up, Flint. Your family's whole again. That's what matters."
He rose slowly, still shaking, still clinging to his daughter like she might vanish if he blinked.
Morgan stepped closer, his expression serious now, but softer too. "We need to talk," he said. "All of us. There's a lot to figure out."
He was right.
The peace we'd built wasn't just ours anymore. It was about to change shape again.