I opened my eyes. The world was gray.
I tried to move my right arm.
Nothing.
Nearby, a campfire crackled faintly. Tira was sitting by the fire. She was cleaning some kind of root, scraping away the dirt with a knife. A white bandage stood out on her shoulder.
"You're awake. I gave you the last of the stimulants three hours ago."
I coughed hoarsely.
"Where are we?"
"Three days out from the crash site," she finally turned around. "Nobody's following us."
I looked at my right hand. The fingers were frozen in a half-bent position. Struggling to reach my travel bag with my left hand, I pulled out Ephraim's old screwdriver. I needed to unlock the catches on the elbow joint, otherwise I wouldn't even be able to walk properly.
Crunch. Click.
The metal gave way. The arm dropped to my side. Using a scrap of a strap, I bound it to my chest.
"Tira," I looked at her, "we need to move out. If Zeno wasn't lying, Dornheim is to the north. By my calculations, if we cross the ridge..."
"There's no 'we' anymore, Iron."
My hand hovered over the knot on the strap.
"What?"
Tira set the root aside and stood up.
"My mission is over. Ephraim, who was the key to the archives, and Zeno—the pinnacle of artificial intelligence. They're dead now. And I have no reason to stay with you anymore."
"But... you saved my life. You shielded me with your own body."
"Protocol," she cut me off sharply. "Zeno left me with a strict algorithmic directive. Save the host, stabilize his condition, ensure his safety for the first seven days after landing. That timeframe expired at dawn today."
I stared at her, not recognizing her.
"Are you serious? You're just going to turn around and walk away?" I scoffed. "After everything we've been through?"
"We were merely moving in the same direction under the pressure of external circumstances. That pressure is gone now."
She slung her backpack over her shoulder.
"Dornheim... If it even exists, good luck finding it."
She froze for a second.
As if she wanted to say something.
But she didn't.
She turned and walked into the thicket.
The fire was dying out. I sat on the damp log, feeling empty.
But I still had to get moving. Without food and proper weapons, I wouldn't last two days.
I walked for about an hour, pushing my way through dense thickets of fern. My senses were heightened.
Branch movement vectors: Calculated.
Soil incline: Accounted for.
Air humidity: Measured.
A crunch.
[OBJECT DETECTED]
Mass: ~80 kg.
Movement speed: High.
Some kind of creature leapt out into the clearing. I'd seen them before on the outskirts of the Hive, but I never memorized the name.
A creature resembling a wolf, but covered not in fur, rather in rigid bone plates reminiscent of oak bark. Its eyes glowed with a dull amber light.
I slowly reached for my belt. I didn't have my carbine—it was left as a pile of scrap metal at the crash site. Only a short engineering knife.
It lunged.
[COLLISION CALCULATION]
Momentum: Mass × Acceleration.
Trajectory: Direct to the ribcage.
Evasion outcome: Impossible (biological limb damaged).
I thrust my dead prosthesis forward. At the moment of impact, I completely locked the joints of the prosthesis, turning my arm into a rigid support anchored to the ground.
Impact.
The beast slammed into my titanium fist at full speed. All the kinetic energy of its leap ricocheted right back into its skull.
A dry crack rang out. The bone plates on the beast's head shattered into splinters.
I was thrown backward. The kinetic energy that the prosthesis failed to absorb surged into my shoulder and ribcage.
I dropped to my knees, clutching my chest. My breath caught in my throat. Black spots swam before my eyes.
Why the hell can I still not land a single attack without facing the consequences, the thought flashed through my mind.
I lay there like that for about ten minutes until my lungs finally started pumping air again.
I walked over to the beast's carcass. I yanked out my knife and started skinning it.
I pulled the straps on my prosthesis tighter, tossed the meager spoils into my bag, and took a step. Then another.
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