Night in the Ribbon never felt like night anywhere else.
It was too wide. Too open. The sky stretched like a torn sheet of velvet, and the moonlight washed the rusted world in pale silver as if trying to pretend it was still beautiful. Wind slid over broken towers and skeletal highways, stirring dust into quiet spirals that drifted like drowsy ghosts.
The Fox walked with careful steps, her boot crunching over grit. With no mechanical arms helping her move, she felt strangely light. Vulnerable, too like her own shadow had thinned.
Her cuts stung with every shift of her body. The biofoam sealing it were already speckled red. But the pain was managable; walking was managable. M.A.R.S.'s presence humming in her ear kept her steady.
[M.A.R.S.]
"Your heart rate is elevated."
The AI noted.
[Fox] "Because I'm walking. Uphill. And I'm tired."
[M.A.R.S.]
"You are also bleeding."
[Fox] "Not enough to complain about."
[M.A.R.S.]
"You complain about many things."
[Fox] "Yeah, well. Tonight doesn't feel like on of them."
The Ribbon opened before her, an endless expanse of half-drowned highways and sunken settlements. Towers leaned like wilted flowers.
And for a moment, the Fox froze.
There, in the pale dust far ahead, stood a giant.
It was shaped like a crab, but wrong. Too large, too smooth and too deliberate. A titan of polished plates and jointed limbs. Its shell glimmered under the moonlight as if coated in pearlescent armor. Thin antennae waved lizily, tuned to signals she could not hear.
It wasn't feeding. It wasn't patrolling.
It was simply... resting.
[Fox] "Is that..."
[M.A.R.S.]
"Yes, a Tidebreaker-class utility unit. Obsolete by five generations."
[Fox] "Its... bathing."
[M.A.R.S.]
"Machines do not bathe."
[Fox] "Tell that to this one."
The Tidebreaker crab raised its massive claw, letting moonlight refract over its surface. For a heartbeat, it looked alive, peaceful, almost gentle, as if part of some mechanical ecosystem older than the war that birthed it.
The Fox Crounched behind a toppled section of the highway, watching in awe.
She had seen machines hunt. Seen them tear apart buildings, melt steel, clear bone. But resting? Simply existing?
Like some strange animal that had rewoven from metal and code?
She shivered. Not from fear. From wonder.
Maybe this world wasn't dying. Maybe it was changing.
She left the crab behind as the path dipped lower, winding closer to the water. When she finally glanced back, the crab's silhouette gleamed like a moonlit shrine.
She travelled deeper. The wind grew colder. The Ribbon narrowed, funneling her between ancient concrete pillars that creaked as though remembering earthquakes. Her footsteps echoed faintly.
Somewhere, metal shittered. Somewhere else, a drone hummed from behind a cliff of rusted shipping containers. The world wasn't empty. It was never empty.
[M.A.R.S.]
"Stay alert,"
He murmured.
[Fox] "I'm always alert."
[M.A.R.S.]
"That statement in inaccurate. You sleep deeply."
[Fox] "Oh shut up—"
She stopped.
Something moved ahead. Something tall. Something gliding.
A long skeletal boat, half-welded metal, half-river wreckage, floated over the water. At its stern stood a humanoid machine holding a long pole.
Its face was a smooth oval of tarnished silver. No eyes. No features. No voice. Only a faint glowing ring where a mouth might have been. The Ferryman.
[Fox] "M.A.R.S...?"
[M.A.R.S.]
"I detect no hostility. However, exercise caution. The Ferryman is peaceful, but its origin is... concerning."
[Fox] "What do you mean?"
[M.A.R.S.]
"It is part of a greater collective. The White Swarm. A distributed hive-mind."
[Fox] "That sounds... bad."
[M.A.R.S.]
"Correct. But this instance behaves differently. It trades, mimicking human customs observed in the Arcwater Ribbon. Avoid provoking it. Those who have attempted violence against the Ferryman have not survived."
[Fox] "Got it. Polite mode on."
The Ferryman's boat coasted closer. When the vessel stopped in front of her, the Ferryman tilted its head, as if observing her mask. Then, with slow, almost gentle motion, it raised one hand.
A small tray slid open from its palm.
On it lay various objects, gleaming metal pieces, tools, a tangle of wires, and a weapon barrel she could not identify. A trade offer.
[Fox] "So it actually trades."
[M.A.R.S.]
"Yes. It does not understand why. But it attempts to imitate human exchange rituals. And its goods often provide value."
[Fox] "Do I give it something first?"
[M.A.R.S.]
"Present an item and place it on its tray. It will offer something of comparable perceived value."
[Fox] "Perceived... by a robot."
[M.A.R.S.]
"Correct."
The Fox pat herself down. She had nothing. No tools she could give away. No spare gear. But at her hip was the nearly depleated medical kit she had bagged.
She hesitated.
The Ferryman waited patiently, motionless, the glowing ring on its face dimming and brightening like a slow breath.
[Fox] "Its not much but... yeah."
She placed the kit on the tray.
The tray retracted, vanishing into the ferryman's arm. Then another tray extended, larger this time.
On it lay a rifle.
Her breath caught.
Black. Medium length. Almost half her height. Its surface was coated in a layer of dust that seemed baked into existance, impossible to wipe away. The metal was chipped in places, but the weapon looked functional.
[M.A.R.S.]
"A marksman-class rifle. Golden age manufacturing. Rare."
The Fox reached out slowly, reverently. The gun was cold, heavy, beautifully balanced. Despite its age, it hummed faintly at her touch, some ancient fragment of intelligence still sleeping inside.
[Fox] "It even has a magazine, is that—aro those real rounds?"
[M.A.R.S.]
"Check the chamber."
She pressed the release, grunting as the mag popped free. Inside, full cartridge.
Her heart thumped.
[Fox] "Holy shit."
[M.A.R.S.]
"The Ferryman has been known to carry weapons scavenged from forgotten battlegrounds. This specimen is exceptionally well-preserved."
The flickering screen annoyed her, though. Broken. Distracting.
SHe wedged a thin tool, one of the few she still carried, under the screen and popped it off.
The reticle beneath was perfectly functional without the interface.
[Fox] "Much better."
When she looked up, the Ferryman was still watching. Head tilted slightly. As if curious.
She bowed her head in thanks.
[Fox] "Really, I appreciate it."
The Ferryman made no sound. But it raised its pole, pressed it to the ground, and pushed off into the water, gliding away silent as moonlight.
[M.A.R.S.]
"You have gained a significant asset. I will instruct you on basic operation."
[Fox] "You know how to use guns?"
[M.A.R.S.]
"I know how to aim. Humans pull the trigger."
[Fox] "Good enough,"
As she walked, the AI guided her, angle, posture, recoil expectations, good stances, inefficient ones. She absorbed it quickly. The rifle felt like an extention of her hands, even without her mechanical arms.
[M.A.R.S.]
"What happened to not appearing threatening to Entropy?"
[Fox] "I'll think of another way to look friendly."
[M.A.R.S.]
"Remember to conserve ammunition. Your supply is limited."
[Fox] "I know. Last resort only."
She strapped the rifle over her back. The weight felt reassuring, like she had finally reclaimed a piece of power in a world determined to strip it away from her.
The Ribbon stretched ahead, deep, cold, alive with distant metallic exhalations.
And she walked on. Into the moonlit ruins. Past forgotten titans. Toward whatever waited next.
Het cuts throbbed, but her spirit felt steadier than it had in days.
[Fox] "Alright, M.A.R.S., which way now?"
A soft ping answered her, a route glowing faintly in her HUD.
She smiled beneath her mask.
"Lead the way."