Orange and red hues danced across the mist-covered morning sky, painting a breathtaking canvas that heralded the start of a new day. The sun slowly rose from its slumber, casting gentle streaks of light through the imperfections of rock and stone. These rugged formations, shaped by time and nature, glistened as the sunlight touched them, revealing hidden textures and colors that had been cloaked in shadow moments before.

The mist clung to the landscape, adding an ethereal quality that softened the edges of the world and transformed the familiar terrain into something almost magical. As the sun's rays pierced through, they created a dazzling interplay of light and shadow, shifting and changing with every passing moment. The air was filled with the quiet expectation of a new day, and the warmth of the sun began to chase away the lingering chill of the night.

Little creatures cautiously poked their tiny heads from holes in the ground, their curious eyes reflecting the morning light as they observed the dew gracefully vaporizing from the grass blades. This daily transformation marked the beginning of another day in the rhythm of life. Above them, larger mammals moved in graceful packs through the tall grass, their journey guided by instinct as they made their way toward a nearby watering hole. The soft rustle of the grass whispered tales of their passage, a testament to the interconnectedness of all life in this vibrant ecosystem.

In the midst of this natural symphony, the landscape was dotted with the presence of large, inorganic "animals"—ancient machines from a lost era, covered in a fuzzy layer of green-yellow moss. These silent giants lay in perpetual slumber, their surfaces softened by the living carpet that thrived on them. As the sun climbed higher, its warmth coaxed the moss into a gentle awakening, its colors becoming more vivid and alive.

Adler, a boy of around thirteen, sat perched on the edge of a cliff, his long legs dangling freely over the abyss as he gazed out at the vast expanse of ocean before him. The rhythmic crashing of waves against the beach below provided a soothing soundtrack to his thoughts, each swell and retreat echoing in harmony with the steady rhythm of his heart. The cool ocean breeze swept in from the sea, playfully combing through his sandy brown hair and filling the air with the invigorating scent of salt and adventure.

He looked out over his village, nestled among the rolling hills and lush greenery, and sighed deeply. It was a place of undeniable beauty and tranquility—a picturesque setting that many would dream to call home. Yet, despite its charm, Adler felt a pang of restlessness. He didn't hate living here; in fact, he appreciated the serenity and the breathtaking landscapes that surrounded him. But the disapproval he faced from the villagers weighed heavily on his heart.

His chosen activities, which brought him joy and fulfillment, were met with skepticism and judgment by the community. They labeled him an outcast, someone who did not fit the mold of what they deemed acceptable. Even his father, whom he longed to make proud, dismissed his passions as mere distractions and regarded him as a failure. The sting of rejection and misunderstanding was hard to bear.

To cope with the negativity, Adler often sought solace in his favorite spot—the cliff overlooking the vast ocean. It had been blocked off by overbearing villagers and shrouded in tales of old tragedies, this cliffside was a place many chose to avoid. It had been the site of many gruesome deaths, casting a long shadow of superstition and fear over the community. Yet, none of this deterred the young, ambitious spirit of Adler. To him, the cliff was a sanctuary, a place where the echoes of crashing waves provided solace and the isolation offered a refuge from the judgments and constraints of village life. The expansive view reminded him of the world beyond the confines of his small village, a world full of endless possibilities waiting to be explored. The gentle ocean breeze seemed to carry away his worries, leaving him with a renewed sense of determination and hope.

In this tranquil refuge, Adler allowed himself to dream without boundaries, to imagine a future where he could pursue his passions without fear of judgment. Each visit to the cliff strengthened his resolve to remain true to himself, regardless of the opinions of others. Here, perched on the edge of his world, he found the courage to embrace his individuality and the strength to forge his own path.

Few villagers dared to make the climb, as it was lined with rusted metal trees—ancient wind turbines, long abandoned, their large blades creaking and spinning with the slightest gust of wind. For Adler, these imposing sentinels added to the allure of the journey, marking the boundary between the familiar world and the untamed freedom he sought.

Despite the legends and the villagers' warnings, Adler found beauty in the very elements that others feared. The rusted turbines, with their ghostly whispers, seemed to him like guardians of a forgotten era, standing watch over those daring enough to seek their own paths. In this place of solitude and natural majesty, Adler discovered the courage to embrace his uniqueness and the inspiration to continue his journey, undeterred by the obstacles before him.

Beside him lay a well-worn journal, its pages filled with sketches of faraway places, intricate maps, and countless failed attempts at deciphering an ancient language. Each line and symbol told a story of curiosity and determination, a testament to Adler’s relentless pursuit of knowledge and adventure. Though his grandfather was gone, his spirit and legacy lived on in these old pages, inspiring Adler to dream beyond the confines of his village.

The journal, once belonging to his grandfather, was a cherished heirloom—both a connection to his past and a beacon guiding him towards his future. The stories he shared were woven with mystery and excitement, planting the seeds of wanderlust in the young boy’s heart.

Adler held the journal in his calloused hands, the familiar weight of it grounding him as he flipped through its pages. His eyes moved over sketches and notes until one particular page caught his eye—a rough sketch of his village as it had been forty years ago. The image felt surreal, like peering through a portal to the past, offering a glimpse into a time he could only imagine through stories and the wisdom of the elders.

As Adler traced the faded lines of the sketch with his fingertips and envisioned what life might have been like in the village back in his grandfather's time. The village elders stood proudly, their watchful eyes overseeing the community with a sense of guardianship and tradition. Children, unburdened by the passage of time, played joyfully, their laughter intertwining with the natural chorus of the surrounding wilderness as they frolicked with the local fauna. The scene was alive with a sense of harmony and vitality, capturing the essence of village life in its purest form.

Young men were depicted in groups, showcasing the daily rhythm of life and the shared responsibilities that bound them together. Some gathered fishing gear, preparing to load it into small canoes crafted meticulously from the trunks of local palm trees. Their expressions were focused, their movements purposeful, as they readied themselves for a day on the water, their lives intertwined with the bounty of the sea.

Others were shown strapping knives to their waists and arming themselves with bows and sharp sticks, perhaps preparing for a hunting expedition or to protect the village from the occasional threat posed by the wild. There was a tangible sense of camaraderie and resilience, a testament to the strength and adaptability of the community through the years.

Adler felt a deep connection to his heritage and the enduring spirit of his ancestors. This snapshot of village life, preserved in his grandfather's journal, was more than just a memory—it was a reminder of the enduring ties that bound him to his roots, even as he yearned to explore beyond them. The past, present, and future converged in that moment, fueling his resolve to honor his lineage while carving out his own path as an adventurer.

He vowed silently to himself, he would leave this village behind and follow in his grandfather’s footsteps. He would traverse distant lands, seek out hidden treasures, and unravel the secrets of ancient civilizations. The world was vast and filled with possibilities, and Adler was determined to carve his own path as an adventurer.

Little had changed since his grandfather had drawn that picture in the journal, yet time had brought about its own subtle transformations. The village, once a small cluster of homes, had expanded gradually, with new structures built closer to the cliff's edge. The community had grown, thriving amidst the balance of tradition and innovation.

In the center of town stood a tall white metal tree, a relic from a bygone era, its height reaching as high as seven men. This great white tree had become a symbol of the village's resilience and resourcefulness. Its diseased outer layer had been carefully stripped away by skilled artisans, who honed their craft by repurposing its materials. Strange metallic ropes found within the tree had been ingeniously adapted, advancing the village's capabilities in weapon building and housing construction. This newfound resourcefulness had transformed the small village into a bustling town, alive with the energy of traders, hunters, and craftsmen.

Adler glanced at the grove of similar metal trees surrounding him, their rusted forms standing silently against the landscape like ancient guardians. He couldn't help but wonder when these trees, too, would be harvested for their valuable materials. They represented both the past and a potential future, a resource that could further propel the village into prosperity or perhaps signify the loss of something unique and irreplaceable.

His thoughts drifted to the dual nature of progress—the balance between preserving the old and embracing the new. As much as he longed to see his village flourish, he also cherished the mystery and history that these relics embodied. In this moment of contemplation, Adler felt the weight of responsibility that came with change and growth, pondering how he could contribute to a future that honored both his heritage and his dreams of adventure beyond the village's borders.

Suddenly, without warning, a forceful tug snatched the journal from Adler's hands. For a heart-stopping moment, it dangled precariously in front of him. Loose pages fluttered out like startled birds, landing softly beside him on the rocky ledge. Among them were small, cherished objects—tokens and mementos his grandfather had collected over a lifetime of exploration.

Adler watched helplessly as these precious artifacts slipped from the journal’s grasp, tumbling over the edge of the cliff. His heart sank as they disappeared from view, destined to meet their doom at the rocky base below. The loss felt profound, as if a part of his grandfather's legacy was slipping away with them.

"This nonsense again? When will you grow up, boy?" The familiar, gruff voice of Adler's father broke the morning's tranquility, bringing with it the weight of disapproval. Adler looked up, meeting his father's stern gaze. His father, towering and strong, stood with sun-kissed cheeks flushed with frustration, holding the journal just out of reach. The leather of his father's bow creaked under the tension of his white-knuckled grip, a testament to the unyielding nature that made him both a formidable hunter and an uncompromising parent.

Adler inhaled deeply, calming the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He knew that anger would solve nothing, so he chose his words carefully, striving to convey the depth of his conviction. "It is not nonsense, Father. Grandfather was onto something. I can feel it," Adler said, standing up and brushing the dust from his clothes. His voice carried a quiet strength, a determination that belied his youth. "There's so much out there to explore, to study."

He turned away from his father and faced the horizon, stretching out his arms as if trying to embrace the world beyond. "Look," he continued, hoping his father could see the world as he did, with its endless possibilities and mysteries waiting to be unraveled. For years, his father had tried to mold him into a man according to the village's traditions and expectations, but Adler's heart yearned for something different. He couldn't ignore the call of adventure and the legacy his grandfather had left behind.

The silence stretched between them, filled with the unspoken tension of dreams conflicting with duty. Adler knew his father saw the world through the lens of survival and practicality, values that had sustained their family for generations. But Adler's soul was stirred by the stories of distant lands and the promise of discovery. He hoped that one day, his father might understand and perhaps even accept his aspirations.

For now, though, Adler stood resolute in his desire to honor his grandfather's legacy and pursue a path that was uniquely his own. As he held onto this vision of exploration, he silently vowed to prove that his dreams were not mere fantasies but a testament to the courage and curiosity passed down through his family.

"Enough!" His father's voice thundered across the cliffside, echoing with the authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed. In a swift, dismissive gesture, he flung the journal to the ground, scattering loose pages like leaves in the wind.

"You are of age. Today is the day you make your first kill, Adler. Join me in this morning's hunt."

Adler dropped to his knees, frantically trying to gather the fluttering pages, each one a precious fragment of his grandfather's legacy. But before he could secure them all, his father slapped the remaining pages from his hands, sending them spiraling away once more.

"I should have never let you talk to that crazy old man," his father spat, the words laced with bitterness. "He poisoned your mind, just like he tried to do with me. Leave them there to rot."

"This is all we have left of Grandfather," Adler protested, clutching a stack of salvaged pages tightly to his chest, as if they could shield him from the harshness of his father's words. "We don't even know if he's still alive,"

"Good!" he snapped, the word crackling with disdain. "I don't want him to come back." Rage flared in his father's dark brown eyes, eyes that had seen too much and forgiven too little. His unkempt facial hair bristled with tension, and his curling lip betrayed the depth of his unresolved anger. Whatever his grandfather had said or done before he left, it had cut deeper than any knife, leaving wounds that festered in his father's heart.

Adler's mind raced, torn between the life he was expected to lead and the dreams that called to him. He saw the pain in his father's eyes, a reflection of old wounds and disappointments. But Adler also felt the pull of his own convictions, the legacy of a grandfather who had dared to dream beyond the horizon.

Adler struggled to find the right words, his heart heavy with the desire to bridge the chasm between his dreams and his father's expectations. The longing to express his aspirations to be an explorer rather than a hunter simmered within him, yet he feared that no matter his choice, his father's disappointment would only deepen.

"Father, I—" he began, hoping to find a way to convey his feelings.

But before he could continue, a high-pitched wail cut through the air, its shrill tone dwindling into a low, ominous hum before repeating. The sound was unlike anything Adler had ever heard, a signal of impending danger that sent a chill down his spine. Smoke began to rise from the village, shattering the morning's peaceful rest and casting a dark plume against the clear sky.

Panic gripped the community as villagers scrambled from their homes, fleeing with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They ran desperately, narrowly escaping the collapse of their homesteads as fire consumed the once tranquil settlement. The air was filled with shouts and cries, the chaos intensified by the crackling of flames.

Several defining roars erupted from the smoldering bonfire, reverberating through the village like an ancient call of destruction. Through the swirling clouds of smoke, Adler caught sight of a terrifying figure—a streak of white, followed by the glint of large silver claws tearing through the buildings with merciless force.

Adler dropped to his knees in disbelief, his mind reeling as he watched his home, his life, engulfed in flames. The scene unfolded before him like a nightmare, each moment seared into his memory with vivid clarity.

"Thunder Beasts," his father muttered under his breath, the words heavy with dread and urgency. Adler felt his father's trembling hands gently rest on his shoulders, a gesture that was both protective and reassuring. "Listen to me, boy..." His father's voice carried an edge of fear that Adler had never heard before, a fear that made the situation all the more real and terrifying. "You must stay here."

"You can't be serious. Arrows won't pierce their—" Adler began to protest.

But his father turned back to him, eyes softened with a rare understanding and resolve. "Stay here, no matter what," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was a command born out of love and a determination to keep Adler safe.

In an instant, his father dashed toward the cliff's edge with a speed and agility that belied his age. Adler gasped as he watched his father leap into the void, his heart stopping at the sight of such a daring act. But his fear was quickly replaced with awe as green fabric unfurled from his father's pack, catching the air and transforming into a glider that allowed him to soar gracefully away from the cliff.

As he glided toward the village, bright colored lights pierced the thick, dark gray smoke, illuminating the chaos below. Thunder rumbled through the still air, a fitting backdrop to the unfolding battle. The hunting party, which had set out earlier in the day, returned with a fierce determination, ready to confront the giant wolves known as Thunder Beasts.

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The battle for the village had begun. Adler watched in a mix of fear and admiration as his father and the villagers faced the colossal creatures. The air crackled with tension and the clash of wills—an epic struggle between man and beast. Though his father's last words weighed heavily on him, Adler felt a stirring of courage within himself, a call to action that would not be easily silenced.

***

Twelve years had passed since the devastating attack on Adler’s village. He never forgot that fateful day and swore to find those responsible for killing his family and friends. Over time, he finally managed to track them down. He had changed a lot in those twelve years, and what began as a quest for revenge had transformed into a lifelong obsession he couldn't let go of. The thought of ending the thing he hated most filled him with fear—fear of what would come next.

"Careful with those crates, Adriana," Adler barked, his voice sharp with authority.

Adler had been stationed out in the wastelands by orders from the White Wolves. They never explained why, offering only a cryptic clue: "You'll know it when you see it." It had been weeks since he was brought here to oversee labor—a task he considered a waste of his talents.

"Yes, sir," Adriana responded, her head hung low.

A slap landed on his back with enough force to leave a handprint.

"Dude, do you ever take a break?"

The smell of dried leaves hit Adler's nostrils before he saw the long white paper stick appear in front of him. 

"Here," said a voice behind him. "Looks like you need one."

It had already been used, but he didn’t care. He could use the nicotine. Adler's long, bony fingers curled around the object offered to him. Steel struck against flint, and heat kissed his lips. Before he knew it, smoke filled his lungs, calming his nerves. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth.

"Thanks," Adler exhaled, feeling the tension ease. "I needed that, Andy."

"You know I've always got your back," Andy replied with a smile.

A cigarette dangled from Andy's mouth as he cupped his hands and lit the other end. He inhaled deeply, holding the smoke for a few seconds before exhaling in a series of smoke rings.

Andy was Adler's partner on this mission and another member of the White Wolves. He was the same age as Adler and the operator of the infamous M4F5 Black Fox. This Ashaqar was the stuff of nightmares, the kind of creature parents warned their children about to keep them in line. It didn’t help that Andy was an exceptionally skilled pilot, possibly the best in his age group.

The Black Fox's sleek, black coat made it ideal for night missions, and its triangular ears could pick up communications from two miles away. Its narrow, pointed nose allowed for a small cockpit, making it light on its feet, able to evade enemy attacks, and counter with sharp claws. When activated, smoke vents on the beast's joints released billowing clouds of black smoke, turning a midday battlefield into pitch darkness. It might not have been a wolf, but a sly fox was still a valuable asset in a pack. The icing on the cake was the .50 cal long-range rifle mounted across its back.

Ashaqar were mechanical beasts resembling animals, created by an extinct race and left scattered around the world. Some were found in perfect condition, while others had been stripped for parts. Little was known about the Ashaqar, except that not everyone could pilot them. Only humans born with a specific anomaly could link with the machines and command them with ease.

Something stirred in Adler's stomach. This mission left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The lack of information given to him rubbed him the wrong way, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Andy broke the silence. "I wouldn't put too much thought into it, Adler. They have their reasons, I'm sure."

"This doesn’t sit well with me, Andy. They're lying to us," Adler replied.

"Are you still mad about not being able to pilot an Ashaqar?" Andy asked, taking another drag from his cigarette. "This mission will be easy—in and out."

The cigarette between his fingers slowly burned as he considered taking another puff. He pushed the thought aside, dropped it on the ground, and twisted the tip of his shoe to extinguish it.

Adler gave Andy a sidelong glance. "That's what I'm worried about."

Andy shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. Adler gripped his rifle and adjusted the shoulder sling before heading off to do his rounds around the camp. It had been a while since he toured the camp and the work area, and being away from overseeing the recruits made him anxious.

As Adler passed, lower-ranked members stopped and lowered their heads. Being the highest-ranked White Wolf, he commanded respect around the camp, even if he wasn't a pilot. Preoccupied with his thoughts, Adler barely acknowledged them, which spurred the recruits to pick up their pace. Andy watched them for a moment before turning his attention back to Adler.

Andy chuckled. "Wonder if they'll wash Linda to get back on your good side?"

While Ashaqar were never given names—only the designation of the animal they resembled—Andy believed that naming them helped form a connection, making them easier to command. Adler disagreed. To him, the idea that machines could think and feel was ridiculous. They were built to serve human purposes.

"Do it your damn self," Adler spat.

"Why would I wash my own Ashaqar when I can have them do it?" Andy replied, gesturing toward the group of recruits.

Adler held back his frustration before replying. "You need to take better care of your equipment. What if you're out in the field and 'Linda' falters because your carelessness rusted the leg joints?"

Andy shrugged and refused to answer. There wasn’t a chuckle or a smart ass remark from him. It intrigued Adler, he found a weakness to use later. He had been looking for something to knock his partner down a peg or two.

Ox-like Ashaqar lumbered forward, massive diamond-tipped drills attached to their backs. A deafening roar echoed from them as they approached the rocky surface. Sparks erupted from the spinning drills as they bit into the rock, marking their arrival at the dig site.

“Has anyone found anything? This operation seems like it’s costing the White Wolves a lot of money,” Andy asked, breaking the awkward silence.

A slight smile crept across Adler’s face. “The last report I received was promising. They found old war tech and glyphs.”

“Fascinating,” Andy replied.

"How are you not more excited about this?" Adler stopped in his tracks and turned towards Andy. "Intact glyphs are rare, and any information we can get on pre-war society is a win in my book."

The sound of steel picks hitting stone echoed down a dank, dimly lit tunnel. Low-hanging beams and loose rocks made traversing the tunnel treacherous. Adler hated narrow corridors that made him feel small and helpless. His mind raced, overthinking all the possible ways he could meet his end in the cramped space.

Andy, on the other hand, smiled as he closely followed Adler, feeling right at home. It disgusted Adler how nonchalant Andy seemed in the current situation.

Bits of rock lightly dusted Adler and Andy as the ground shook. Adler's heartbeat quickened in rhythm with the miners' swings. The lanterns above swung slightly, amplifying his stress. Voices of confusion echoed down the tunnel, prompting Adler to move quickly out of the cramped two-by-two-foot space to find out what had happened.

In a large open area, a crowd of miners argue heatedly, pointing fingers and raising their voices with each passing moment. The crowd quickly dispersed as Adler and Andy approached, the room falling silent enough to hear a pin drop.

"What's going on?" Adler asked, his voice deeper and more authoritative than usual.

The miners hung their heads, avoiding direct eye contact. Adler waited patiently before speaking again. "Who used the explosives without permission?"

Andy circled around the group like a vulture. A pile of pickaxes sat in the corner and he slowly moved over to them and picked one up. He started to whistle a tune before swinging one end into a unexpecting miner, caving his face in.  

"If you don't want the next swing to be you, I suggest you start talking."

Whispers engulfed the miners as they talked amongst themselves. One brave soul stepped towards Adler.

"Sir, we found something." They pointed behind them. “As you see, there's a metal wall blocking the path forward. We tried blasting through, but it just ended up causing the earth to shake—not even a dent."

"You didn’t come find me first before blowing a hole through a potential pre war structure?"

"We didn't-"

The miner dropped dead in front of Adler, the ax sticking out of his head. Andy chuckled and then glanced at the rest of them. They all scattered and headed through the tunnel. Adler didn't stop them; there was no point.

"Really?" Adler sighed.

"I need to set an example for the rest of them. We are not playing camp. There are rules…and they broke them." 

Adler didn't respond, but instead turned his attention to the dark green metal wall that blended into rock and clay. Its shine dulled away from time's unforgiving touch reflected Adler’s lamp.

Fear gripped his heart as he recognized what he was looking at. He had seen it once before in his travels; this should have stayed buried. White glyphs of pre war writing stood out among the zig zag of lines that outlined plates of metal panels. Adler placed his hand on the cold surface and rubbed some of the dust and scorched marks from the blasting that covered the painted lettering.

I … S J…el..n

"Don't tell me you can read that gibberish?" Andy asked.

Adler bit his tongue, holding back the retort he wanted to make. Some things were better left unsaid, and he didn't want to get into an argument over something so trivial.

"Not all of it," Adler replied, glancing toward Andy. "Some of the glyphs were badly damaged when the miners tried to blast it open."

Adler retrieved a journal from his pouch and flipped through its pages, which were lined with glyphs and their equivalents in the current written language. He shuffled along the wall, gliding his hands across its surface. Being able to touch old-world structures filled his heart with glee. It was like being a kid again, experiencing happiness for the first time.

"Ah!" Adler exclaimed, stopping above a circular glass hole. "See this long string of glyphs here? It reads: Airlock."

Across the chamber, Andy was fiddling with the old equipment, pressing buttons on a dusty keyboard. "What does that mean?"

"The humans of pre-war times used 'airlock' to mean a doorway," Adler explained, turning around and expecting Andy to be beside him. "Come over here and place your hand on this plate."

Andy complied, placing his hand on the designated spot. A green-hued light outlined his hand, moving up and down as it scanned. With a loud hiss, a bright light flickered to life on the other side of the wall, which parted to reveal a doorway. Jets of steam protruded from holes above the entryway, briefly obscuring the well-lit chamber beyond.

"So, are we going in?" Andy asked.

Adler grinned. "Like you have to ask?"

Before heading inside, Adler furiously sketched the exterior and jotted down observation notes. Casually following behind, Andy had his hands shoved in his pockets once more. As they entered the chamber, the door closed shut behind them, drawing Andy's attention. He quickly attempted to get it open again. Lights above flickered on, illuminating a long hallway. Occasionally, a light would flicker before popping with a spark.

A distorted voice crackled loudly from an indiscernible source. Unintelligible words echoed through the space, with only a few clear enough to translate. With a loud hiss, the port door opposite their entry opened, revealing a larger room beyond.

"This room is clean, like someone just cleaned it," Andy remarked, running his finger across a nearby table.

"Yeah, it's odd. There's not a single speck of dust in here," Adler agreed, scanning the room with intrigue.

While surveying the room, a tiny beep announced the entry of a small, round object that drove across the floor. It maneuvered its way behind Adler, spraying a liquid on the floor where he had been stepping and then rolled over it. A faint crackle sounded above as the disembodied voice spoke again. Lights struggled to stay lit, and a cluster shattered with sparks. Vibrations rumbled through the corridors, and the once-white lights dimmed, giving way to domes protruding from the walls that flashed a red light.

"...Adler?" Sweat dripped down Andy's brow as he looked to Adler for answers.

Frantically flipping through his journal, Adler searched for any reference to translate the message. Nothing. "I don't understand. I think it’s saying leak or plug?"

"What?"

Adler shrugged. "I... I don't know what to do."

Green arrows glowed at the edge of the walls, leading to another locked door marked with large red letters and a diagonal yellow stripe. Andy looked to Adler for an explanation, but Adler’s eyes were glued to the door. He quickly attempted to translate the words without his notes, feeling a sense of satisfaction when he realized they indicated an exit.

He bolted to the door, searching for a latch or some kind of release mechanism, but found none. This only meant one thing. Adler glanced at Andy and pointed to a panel next to the door. It took a moment for Andy to grasp the idea, but soon he understood. He placed his hand on the panel, and a green outline of his hand appeared before dissipating. With a hiss, the door opened, revealing another dark area gently illuminated by green.

The door behind them closed with a gentle hiss. Adler held up an oil lantern he carried at his waist, lighting it with a match from his pocket. It wasn't much light, but it was enough to begin searching for a better source. Rows of desks stretched out before them, covered in old papers with faded ink and flat panels marred by cracks and missing parts. Ceramic mugs, their colors faded, lay on their sides or were overtaken by mold that crept across the desks. Adler tore a strip from his shirt and wrapped it around his nose and mouth to guard against the spores.

Andy, clearly frustrated, swiped his arm across one of the desks, sending its contents crashing to the ground. "This is pointless. There's nothing here of value."

Adler ignored his partner’s outburst and continued to search the room. "There has to be something here."

Static crackled above them, accompanied by the same unintelligible voice as before. A loud mechanical clunk echoed through the space as a heavy metal door lifted, revealing large bay windows overlooking a hangar filled with pristine Ashaqar. One stood out among the mechanical beasts, hooked up to tubes, wires, and mechanical arms. Adler moved closer to the window, his excitement barely contained.

This Ashaqar was much larger than the others, even bigger than the Black Fox. Its sleek, slender design resembled a cat's, but its glossy carbon coat distinguished it from the natural wildlife. Diagonal lines intersected at the joints of its legs, and sharp fangs protruded from its long, narrow muzzle. A disk-shaped object was attached to its mid-back, and its large weaponry lay disassembled on the floor.

Oblivious to his surroundings, Adler sketched the array of Ashaqar in his journal, unable to contain his excitement. It had been a long time since a cache this size had been found with working pre-war technology. His superiors would be ecstatic when he presented them with eight new Ashaqar.

Suddenly, a firm hand grasped his shoulder, exuding a threatening aura. The intention was anything but friendly. 

"This will advance my rank so much. It’s a shame you died trying to save me from pre-war traps," Andy said.

Adler’s spine tingled with fear as he turned to see Andy standing behind him, a crooked smile on his face. With a quick shove, Andy slammed Adler against the window, causing it to crack. Andy's raw strength, which Adler had always been aware of, lifted him off his feet. Adler struggled to remain conscious while Andy pushed his thumbs further into his throat. 

Before Adler’s world turned black, an unfamiliar voice deep like a drum, resonated in his head. ‘Pathetic humans and their petty squabbles. Over four hundred years have I slumbered, waiting to be let out of my cage.’

With every word the voice spoke a light pulsed, keeping the darkness at bay. Andy’s thumbs dug deeper into his throat, the glass cracked behind him from the force. This is not the end. He had hopes, dreams, things he needed to do before he died.

‘No, I will not let him take you. You are mine.’ 

The mechanical beast flinched at Adler’s determination. It fascinated him, a human, able to hear his thoughts. There had only been one other human who had that ability…and they are long dead.

‘Interesting. I almost believed the human could hear me. Foolish thoughts.’

‘It's because…’ Adler searched at his side until he touched the familiar texture of the grip on his side arm. ‘I can.’

‘Oh?’ 

If a beast could smile it would be doing so right now. It watched from below and noticed the human reaching for something at the side. If this human had the ability to hear him as he stated then it was going to do everything in its power to keep him from dying. It opened its large jaw flashing its sharp metal teeth and let out an ear piercing howl. The glass shattered from the force of its mighty roar, pushing the two humans forward.

Without taking the weapon out of its holster, Adler tilted it slightly and quickly pulled the trigger. Smoke rose from his holster and the stench of gunpowder filled his nostrils.  Andy clutched his side not saying a word. All was quiet except the faint ringing in Adler’s ear.

"Fuck." A stream of crimson slipped through Andy’s fingers.

Adler crawled backward to the window and rested his head against the wall. He struggled to lift his hand up, but he held it long enough to raise a middle finger toward Andy. 

Andy laughed through the blood pouring out of his mouth. “You little shit.”

“Ea…” Adler coughed. “Eat…” He coughed again, unable to breathe correctly.

The strangulation caused too much damage. 

‘Your larynx is damaged. If not repaired soon you may lose the ability to speak.’

The same voice as before entered Adler’s mind again. He chuckled at the thought of a machine having emotions, especially emotions for concern.

‘Well, that sucks.’ Adler closed his eyes. ‘I don't know many healers who can fix that.’ 

He should be more upset over the fact he may not be able to speak, but he wasn’t. Glass fell to the ground and shattered, stopping Adler from drifting to sleep. He faced forward watching Andy pick up a piece of broken glass from the ground and gripping it in his right hand.

‘There is not much I can do to help you boy. I have a good read on your vitals and if you don't finish him off quickly you’ll die here.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

Adler lifted his weapon and pointed it at Andy who was staggering towards him. He swayed, trying to get his weapon steady.

“You can't even hold that gun steady.” Andy said, laughing psychotically. “I’ll kill you… before you land another hit on me.”

Adler took the shot and missed. His gun flung backwards from the recoil and his inability to grip it tightly. He quickly reached for the weapon again, but was dragged away from the window. Andy flipped Adler over and locked eyes with him and with one large shove, he sunk the shard of glass into Adler’s eye. Warm red liquid ran down his cheeks and the pain shot through his body. He opened his mouth to scream not a single sound came out. He kicked Andy’s shin, knocking him down and with that opening he scrambled back towards his gun. Before Andy had time to react, two loud bangs went off, stopping him in his tracks. 

Adler waited to see if he would continue moving, but was satisfied that he was dead. With the threat gone, Adler's adrenaline levels dropped rapidly, and the gun he held slipped from his fingers to the floor. His eyelids grew heavy, and he began to drift off to sleep.

'I figured you would have a stronger will to live than this,' the voice in his head remarked.

“It's fine,” Adler wheezed. “I just... need a nap.”

'If you sleep now, you may never wake up.'

Adler chuckled softly. “A machine that has feelings and cares for a human. That's new.”

'I feel nothing toward you, human. You are a means to an end,'  the beast retorted.

Sleep threatened to claim Adler, but the beast's growl jolted him awake. “I'm up, I'm up,” he muttered, shaking off the exhaustion.

With renewed determination, Adler forced himself to stand and finally face the strange Ashaqar. It cocked its head, seemingly waiting for him to respond, its presence both enigmatic and powerful. 

‘If I free you, will you help me in return?’

‘Without a doubt. I sense something in you that I haven't felt in a very long time.’

Adler nodded and glanced down at Andy. There will be consequences for this regardless if it’s self defence. An officer killing another officer is frowned upon. The old machinery would be his best bet to open the large bay doors. There was only one problem, he lacked the means to do so. He had never tried using pre-war technology with a dead man’s hand before, but he was out of options.

While searching through the many old machines, unfamiliar images and words flooded Adler's mind. Suddenly, the words on the control panels became clear, and he could read them effortlessly. Even the voice from the decaying speaker system, which had been unintelligible before, now resonated with clarity.

His hands moved of their own accord, navigating the controls with newfound confidence. In moments, he understood how everything worked. A slight grin spread across his weathered face as the realization of his newfound abilities took hold.

“Ope…ing …nger ba… doors”

The ship began to shake as the large, heavy hangar bay doors opened before him. Daylight peeked through the parting doors, revealing a vast vista of the mountain range. Large boulders tumbled, and dirt cascaded over the newly opened hole.

'It’s been some time since I’ve seen daylight,'  a voice resonated in Adler's mind.

The Ashaqar turned its massive body toward the exit.

Adler realized he could no longer refer to this beast simply as the Ashaqar. It needed a name. 'I don't suppose you have a name?' Adler asked, hopeful for a response.

The beast cocked its head, then glanced back at him. 'The ones who built me called me D.E.A.T.H.,' it replied.