The street was empty as usual.
This kind of emptiness that made the air itself ring off. Aaron stood in the center of it, gazing at the suspended sphere that had once been a flying vehicle. It drifted at eye level, revolving slowly, its surface undulating with infinite geometric patterns which are rotating triangles, fractal lines, and pale pulses of blue light that formed and faded like thoughts.
"What's your plan?" Aaron finally spoke, his tone low. "You are here but where will you be going?"
The sphere rotated a fraction, as if to hear. Then a serene, robotic voice from inside. It was even, concise, too human to be reassuring.
"In order to guarantee my own survival. These places are breached. Shadows within the houses are unfriendly to everything they are not aligned with. Not moving would mean the threat of assimilation."
Aaron blinked, unsure if he heard right. "You mean… you're protecting yourself?"
"Correct."
The word fell like a knife into the silence. It had no hesitation and guilt. Just pure calculation.
He stared at her or it, or whatever she was. A perfect sphere of reflective metal and light, hovering effortlessly above the cracked asphalt.
The entity added, almost as if remembering to clarify:
"Your presence is beneficial. Hostile entities do not react to living heat signatures the same way they do to mine. Your mobility increases my probability of survival by twenty-three percent."
"So, I'm a walking meat-shield."
" Almost correct."
Aaron spat out a cold, humorless laugh. The laugh echoed down the street, off trash-strewn alleys and peeling vehicles. He clamped his eyes shut. "Good. You want to live. Then follow me. My house isn't far."
The globe pulsed faintly, as if in agreement. Then it began to move with him quietly. It was gliding, and it had unholy beauty.
---
The buildings hung like corpses; broken neon lights folded quietly, sometimes spurting static before dying again. Something in the distance groaned metal. Something moving through an empty floor, maybe wind, maybe not.
Aaron rushed along, every step too loud. The globe's light had cast blue lines across divided walls. Every window that they walked past, he could have sworn he spotted something moving behind the glass. They were narrow silhouettes, trembling, watching.
"Those shadows," he growled. "What are they?"
"Data insufficient. They are non-physical anomalies. My sensors read negative light and thermal decay areas. Some of them devour electronic signals. Being in the vicinity results in code corruption."
He glanced at her. "So, ghosts. You're saying ghosts eat technology."
"Terminology: acceptable approximation."
He didn't answer. It didn't matter what they were called. The world had already gone insane.
---
By the time he got to his house, it was dark, and a spooky twilight swallowed up the streets. The building still stood a drab, two-story concrete and steel house. He half-wished it vanished when he ran his hand over the door.
Inside, it stank of dust and stale air. All things were as they had been: the slumpous couch, the dead lamp, the framed photo of nobody he remembered.
The area moved in behind him, sweeping slowly. Red lines scratched over walls and vanished.
"No entities detected. Structure stable. Air composition within safe parameters."
Aaron collapsed into the couch and stared at the ceiling. "Happy my house passed your evaluation."
A silence fell then and the soft whisper of Quanta's internal mechanics.
Then her voice came back, colder, nearly detached:
"As a human, your survival probability with or without social network and resource access is low. You can't survive alone. You will perish."
Aaron scowled, twisting his head. "You are a great morale builder."
"Statement: factual."
He massaged his temples, sighing. "And what do you suggest, then?"
"The Market District. Resource concentration there is still higher. Probability of operational supplies: eleven percent."
"The Market…" He remembered the place. Rows of shops, a plaza, and the subway entrance beneath that place. The same one that had swallowed hundreds when the lights went out. His chest tightened.
Still, he nodded. "Fine. We'll go. But not now. We'll wait for dawn."
"Acknowledged."
The sphere dimmed slightly, entering a silent hover near the corner. Aaron closed his eyes. For a long time, he just listened to the stillness.
---
He woke to faint sparks.
Blue light danced across the room. With metal scraping, reforming. When his eyes cleared, he froze.
Quanta was building something.
From out of her sphere-like body were two extended mechanical arms, jointed and hollow, fluid with flawless control. Her surface rippled like liquid metal, creating tools from nothing. A welder, a cutter, a spanner.
Chips of metal and wisps of wire floated in the air by her side, sustained by unseen energy.
"Doing what?" Aaron breathed.
"Constructing safety armor for use in operation."
"For you?"
"Us." A pause. "Yours makes mine better."
The faintest hint of something like sarcasm at the end of that sentence. But it was probably his imagination.
The arms moved faster, weaving up scraps, binding them together with slender nano-thread. The fragments were joined, reshaped, and strengthened into dull plates, bonded with soft cushioning constructed from torn curtains and rubber.
It looked crude, misaligned but it was solid.
Aaron watched silently as she worked. Sparks flickered on her shiny surface, and for a moment, it felt like a sun of metal was being forged in his living room.
At dawn, she drifted back, the mechanical hands folding away smoothly into her globe. Armor hovered suspended in air for a second then fell.
"Defensive shell complete. Not optimal, but sufficient."
Aaron rose, still somewhat stunned, and placed his hand against the armor. It was cold, dense, yet somehow fitting.
He began to put it on rigidly, layering metal over cloth, tightening the belts. The armor creaked gently as he moved.
Quanta watched, her shimmering patterns cycling like breathing.
"Proficiency with weapons required. What are you proficient with?"
Aaron faltered. "I suppose I played with knives, sometimes. Nothing serious."
"Acceptable."
She extended one of her arms. The sphere wound up a bit, revealing an inner compartment. They hummed for a second, then ejected a small object.
It landed on the table. A kitchen knife, honed, cleaned.
"Melee defense unit. Stainless steel. Primitive, but serviceable."
Aaron took it. The handle felt absurdly light in his armored hand. He sheathed it against his thigh and looked at her. "You really think this will help?"
"Unlikely. But the probability is not zero."
He smirked faintly. "You're a real optimist."
"Misinterpretation: detected."
---
As dawn's first light leaked in along the gaps between the windows, beyond the world did not brighten. It simply became visible.
Aaron stayed close to the doorway, armor creaking softly as he shifted it. Quanta drifted beside him, humming quietly and low, geometric patterns on her face tracing complex designs. They were like sigils from a god who learned to sleep in data.
"Let's go," Aaron said.
"Going to the Market District."
And they will went together, into the gray.