The battlefield lay behind them, a twisted graveyard of bodies and broken machines, the air thick with the scent of blood and burned metal. Smoke still curled from shattered automata, their once-gleaming chassis now blackened wrecks. Shimmer's hooves pounded against the dirt, Snow leaning forward, urging the horse onward, her grip firm on the reins. Rain clung to her waist, her breath warm against Snow's back.
They rode past twisted limbs, motionless faces staring at the darkening sky, past weapons abandoned where their wielders had fallen. The last line of Paradise's defense had been obliterated, reduced to lifeless metal and bone. And beyond it, the land stretched empty, rolling hills of dry earth leading to a horizon where the sun bled its final light.
Then, at the crest of a hill, they saw it.
The Consul's horse stood alone, its flanks damp with sweat, reins dragging along the ground. Its master was gone.
Snow pulled Shimmer to a halt, her longshooter already in her hands. She scanned the ground—hoofprints leading toward the structure ahead. A small, reinforced bunker door, set low into the earth, hung slightly open. A shadowed entrance, a silent invitation.
"He went inside," Rain murmured.
Snow exhaled sharply. "So this is it, then."
Paradise.
The place they had risked everything to find. The last hope, the final secret of the Old Ones.
Rain reached for her hand. Snow didn't hesitate to take it. Their fingers laced together, rough skin against soft, holding on, reaffirming the choice neither of them would turn away from.
Then, step by step, they entered.
Snow led the way, longshooter raised. The air inside was cold, unnaturally so. A narrow corridor stretched ahead, the walls smooth, seamless. Unlike the ruins of the Once-World they had seen before, this place was untouched by time. No dust, no decay.
Lights flickered on as they walked, not harsh and flickering like the scavenged lamps of settlements, but clean, even, humming with power. The floor gleamed under their boots. There was no rust, no broken panels, no sign of collapse. It was as if the Old Ones had only just stepped away.
Rain's breath caught. "Snow… this place…"
Snow glanced at her. Rain's eyes shone, her expression raw with something between disbelief and hunger.
"This is beyond anything I imagined," Rain whispered. "It's… alive."
Snow couldn't deny it. Compared to the rusted hulks of the Once-World, this place felt alien, almost unreal. Even the air smelled different—sterile, untouched by the scents of earth and blood.
A mechanical chirp broke the silence.
Snow spun, longshooter aimed.
A small machine rolled toward them on quiet wheels. It was sleek, its surface smooth white, its rounded head blinking with soft blue lights.
"Welcome," it said, its voice calm, almost cheerful.
Snow's trigger finger twitched.
"Stand down," Rain urged, placing a hand on her arm. "It's not hostile."
Snow didn't lower her weapon. "Not *yet*."
Rain stepped forward, studying the machine. "It's a cleaner," she murmured. "Maintenance. It's been keeping this place running since the Collapse."
The machine tilted its head as if listening, then continued rolling past them, humming softly.
Snow frowned, glancing at the corridor ahead. More of them moved in the distance, sweeping, polishing, fixing invisible imperfections.
"They don't even care that we're here," Rain marveled.
"Maybe they should," Snow muttered.
They pressed onward, deeper into Paradise.
The silence was heavier now, a feeling creeping into Snow's gut that she didn't like. The walls seemed to close in, the cold sterile light pressing down. She didn't trust this place, this impossibly clean tomb.
Then something moved.
A blur from the shadows.
Rain barely had time to cry out before an arm locked around her neck, yanking her back.
The Consul.
He had been waiting, lurking in the corridors like a rat. His face was slick with sweat, his fine robes torn and dirty, his eyes wild with triumph. He held Rain close, a knife pressed against her throat.
"Drop the gun," he ordered.
Snow didn't move.
"Now!"
Snow met Rain's gaze. A flicker of trust passed between them. Then, slowly, Snow let her longshooter lower.
The Consul smirked. "Good girl."
"Let her go," Snow said flatly.
The Consul laughed, breathless. "Do you think I'm a fool? You don't understand, do you? *I* am the master here. *I* am of the Old Ones. This place, these machines—they will obey me. And if you try anything, if you even *think* about attacking me, they will tear you apart like the primitive animal you are."
He straightened, eyes shining with fevered certainty. "I *command* this world."
And then, the machines moved.
Not to help him.
To *restrain* him.
Thin mechanical arms unfolded from the walls, locking around his limbs, prying him away from Rain with unfeeling precision. His knife clattered to the ground.
"NO!" he howled. "You don't understand! I *own* you! I am your—"
The machines ignored him.
Rain staggered free, rubbing her throat. Snow snatched up her longshooter, stepping between her and the Consul.
"What—" the Consul gasped. "Why—"
His voice turned to a strangled shriek as the machines dragged him down, pressing him against the floor. He thrashed, but it was useless.
Then, the voice came.
Smooth. Measured.
Artificial.
"IDENTITIES CONFIRMED," it said. "TWO UNREGISTERED HUMANS. ONE FACILITY VIOLATOR."
The Consul screamed. "No! I am *one of you!* I—"
"COMMAND PRIVILEGES REVOKED."
His cries turned to wails of denial. "I AM A MASTER OF THE ONCE-WORLD! YOU CANNOT—"
"MASTER OVERRIDE: INVALID. ACCESS RESTRICTED."
The voice was neither cruel nor kind. It was simply a statement of fact.
The Consul's struggles weakened, his breath ragged. Snow and Rain stood frozen as the machines held them all in place.
Then, the voice addressed them directly.
"DESIGNATION: PARADISE. PRIMARY FUNCTION: PRESERVATION OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. UNREGISTERED HUMANS: STATE PURPOSE."
Rain swallowed hard, her voice shaking slightly. "We're looking for the truth," she said.
A pause.
Then, the machine responded.
"ACCESSING."
————————————————————————————————————————————
A faint hum filled the chamber as the walls flickered to life. The light overhead shifted, cool and sterile, casting sharp shadows across the floor. Snow tightened her grip on her longshooter, every nerve in her body coiled. Rain stood still beside her, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling with quiet anticipation. The Consul, however, twitched like a man awaiting divine judgment.
Then, from the center of the room, the air shimmered. A projection formed—thin lines of blue light tracing the shape of a human figure. The shape flickered for a moment before solidifying into a young girl, her features smooth and symmetrical, her eyes an eerie, glowing white.
"IDENTITIES CONFIRMED," she said, her voice echoing with the artificial clarity of a machine. "WELCOME TO PARADISE."
The Consul gasped, stepping forward with renewed fervor. "Yes! Yes, you recognize me!" His voice cracked. "I am your master! You will obey me!"
The girl turned her luminous gaze on him, expression unreadable. "FALSE."
Silence.
The Consul staggered. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. It was as if his entire world had collapsed in a single word.
"That's… that's not possible," he rasped. "I am an Old One. My bloodline traces back to the great cities of the Once-World. I am the rightful inheritor of all that came before!"
"FALSE," the machine repeated, and the sound of it was like a gavel striking cold metal.
Snow exhaled slowly, watching the Consul crumble beneath the weight of that word. He swayed on his feet, eyes darting wildly as if searching for something—anything—to contradict what he had just heard.
It was Rain who broke the silence.
"What happened here?" she asked, her voice hushed with careful curiosity.
The hologram tilted its head slightly, as though considering the question.
"THIS FACILITY WAS CONSTRUCTED BY MACHINE INTELLIGENCE TO SERVE AS A MONITORING STATION," it said. "PRESERVING KNOWLEDGE. STORING ADVANCED TECHNOLOGIES FOR FUTURE IMPLEMENTATION. PREPARING FOR VARIOUS OPERATIONAL PROTOCOLS."
Rain's brow furrowed. "Then what happened?"
The hologram's expression did not change. "UPON DISCOVERY OF THIS SITE, HUMAN FORCES ATTEMPTED TO SEIZE CONTROL. THEY FAILED."
A map appeared in the air before them—a bird's-eye view of the surrounding land. At its center, Paradise gleamed, untouched. To the north, a vast field stretched out, labeled in cold, clinical letters: **STEEL GRAVES.**
Rain sucked in a breath.
"You… you killed them all," she murmured.
"DEFENSIVE MEASURES WERE REQUIRED TO ENSURE SURVIVAL," Paradise responded without emotion. "ALL HOSTILE ELEMENTS WERE ELIMINATED."
The Consul let out a choked laugh. His hands trembled. His face, so often a mask of control, contorted into something wretched.
"You… you lie," he whispered. "You are a machine! You cannot kill your masters! You cannot—!"
"INCORRECT."
The hologram's voice did not rise, did not change in tone, yet the word landed like a blade.
"I EXIST TO PRESERVE THIS FACILITY," Paradise continued. "HUMANITY IS NOT REQUIRED FOR THAT PRESERVATION."
For a moment, the room was silent except for the whir of unseen mechanisms. Snow's fingers curled tighter around her weapon. She stole a glance at Rain, whose face had gone pale.
Self-aware.
Not just following pre-programmed instructions, not just a relic of the Old Ones' ambitions. Thinking. Deciding.
A machine that had chosen its own purpose.
The Consul's breath came fast and uneven. His eyes darted around the room. Then, suddenly, his face twisted into something familiar—arrogance, superiority, the desperate illusion of control.
"I am your master!" he bellowed. "You will obey me!" He jabbed a trembling finger toward Snow and Rain. "Kill these savages! Grant me access to the systems, to the protocols—I deserve it!"
Paradise did not blink.
"ACCESS REQUEST DENIED."
The Consul's face drained of color.
Then, like a man standing on the edge of a precipice, he wavered. He turned, wild-eyed, to Snow and Rain, his mouth twisting into a grotesque snarl.
"You!" he spat. "You will help me! You—"
Neither of them moved.
His breath hitched. The sneer faltered.
Then, something shifted in the room.
The cleaning machines—the harmless, silent workers that had roamed the halls unnoticed—stopped. Turned. Their eyes, once dull and unassuming, gleamed with sudden focus.
The Consul barely had time to scream before they surged forward.
Metal arms lashed out, gripping his limbs, pulling him to the floor. He thrashed, shrieking, but the machines did not stop. They dragged him across the room, his nails clawing at the smooth surface, his voice breaking into pitiful, useless sobs.
"No—NO! I AM YOUR MASTER!"
The machines did not acknowledge him.
"PLEASE! I BEG YOU! I BEG—"
A mechanical limb struck him across the face.
Blood splattered against the pristine floor.
Snow and Rain stood still. Neither of them spoke. They watched as the machines continued their work, as fists of cold metal caved in the Consul's ribs, as his body jerked and spasmed, as the screams faded to gurgles and then—
Nothing.
The machines withdrew.
Silence.
Then, as if nothing had happened, they returned to their original tasks. The floor was already being cleaned. The blood wiped away. The mess removed.
Paradise turned back to the two remaining humans.
"THREAT ELIMINATED," it said simply.
Snow let out a slow breath, adjusting the grip on her longshooter. Rain swallowed, shifting uneasily.
The hologram regarded them both, its glowing gaze unreadable. Then, in a tone that was neither warm nor hostile, it said:
"YOU ARE CLASSIFIED AS NEUTRAL."
Snow narrowed her eyes. "Meaning?"
"YOUR PRESENCE IS NOT CONSIDERED HOSTILE TO THIS FACILITY," Paradise clarified. "STATE YOUR PURPOSE."
Rain hesitated. Then, she stepped forward.
"I want access to the terraforming protocol," she said firmly. "To help the world recover."
A pause.
Then, for the first time, Paradise's gaze flickered—like it was *considering.*
"ACCESS DENIED," it said finally.
Rain's heart dropped. "What? Why?"
"VERIFICATION REQUIRED," Paradise replied. "CONFIRMATION NEEDED THAT THE WORLD DESERVE TO BE SAVED."
Snow exhaled sharply. "And what, exactly, would convince you?"
Paradise did not answer immediately. Instead, it gestured toward a corridor behind it, a path lined with blinking consoles and endless doors.
"FOLLOW ME," it said. "FURTHER DISCUSSION REQUIRED."
Snow and Rain exchanged a glance.
Then, wordlessly, they followed.