PRELUDE TO ACT III: THE FOUR WHO RAN OUT OF TIME

The air in the derelict facility was stale, filled with the metallic tang of oil and cold steel. Darkness pooled in the crevices between broken machinery and rusting pipes. The faint hum of distant generators echoed like a heartbeat, steady and unnerving. The slow, rhythmic clank of heavy metal footsteps approached.

In the deep shadows of a forgotten maintenance bay, the Leader and Dave huddled close together, their backs pressed against a large storage bin. Sweat matted the Leader's hair to his forehead, and Dave’s breath came in ragged, uneven bursts. Both were drenched in exhaustion, their bodies trembling from fatigue.

The yellow machines were relentless. They didn’t sprint or dash—they just moved, a slow, methodical crawl of mechanical inevitability. Their heavy footfalls echoed through the labyrinthine hallways, growing louder, then softer, then louder again, a constant reminder of the nightmare that never ceased.

The Leader whispered, “We lost ‘em twice. I think we’ve lost them again. Rest.”

Dave slid down against the bin, clutching his knees to his chest. "Lost ‘em? They're machines."

The look on the Leader’s face showed he knew Dave was right. Every time they hid, it was only temporary—a momentary escape from the ever-present clanking of their hunters. There had been moments of brief stillness when they dared to think they had finally shaken their pursuers, only for that dreaded sound to return, creeping ever closer. It was a chase that never ended—a slow crawl toward inevitable doom.

Dave glanced down the narrow corridor they’d come through. The dim light flickered, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. "How much longer can we keep this up, man? I’m beat...I don’t know if I can keep hiding."

The Leader wiped his face with his sleeve, staring into the dark. His body ached, every muscle protesting. "We rest when we can, hide when we have to. This thing is ready to go again. You have it this time."

The Leader and Dave survived by relying on a small, battered cylinder they called the Manna Machine. It hosted bacteria that converted their waste byproducts into nutrient-rich food pellets, dispensing them at regular intervals. They tasted like nothing, but it kept them alive—a grotesquely efficient cycle of survival. Between the machine and drinking pipe condensation, they had been getting by for days.

Dave glanced at the Manna Machine. The small device had been their lifeline, dispensing nutrient-rich, if tasteless, sustenance. He shook it, hearing the slosh of fluid within—shit and piss feeding the bacteria inside. The machine let out a low hum, dispensing another pellet. Dave winced as he popped it into his mouth, forcing himself to chew.

Suddenly, a screech of metal-on-metal broke the uneasy silence. Both men tensed. The faint glow of a single silhouette appeared at the far end of the corridor.

The Leader peeked around the corner, catching sight of the towering frame of the Punos M robot, its bulky arms ending in claw-like appendages. Its movements were slow, each step deliberate, as if savoring the chase. There was something almost cruel in its patience.

"They never stop...," the Leader growled under his breath. "Not until we're dead."

"Dude, what now? We gotta go... but where?"

The Leader clenched his jaw, eyes darting around the bay for any possible escape route. His mind raced, weighed down by fatigue and the oppressive dread of their situation. They couldn’t run much farther, not in this condition. The steel walls around them felt like a prison, tightening their grip with every second.

"We need to mislead them...get them off our trail, even if it's just for a few more minutes," he whispered, his voice harsh.

He spotted a broken service panel on the far side of the room. "There’s an access tunnel there...probably leads to the maintenance ducts. We get in, seal it behind us, and hope those things can’t follow us into tight spaces."

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Dave nodded weakly, pushing himself up. Every movement felt like fire in his limbs. "Lead the way...just...make it quick."

The clanking footsteps grew louder. They didn’t have much time.

They slunk across the room, sticking to the shadows as the hulking form of the machine slowly stepped into view. It seemed to be scanning the space, pausing for a moment as if sensing their presence.

The Leader pried the service panel open with a grunt, ushering Dave inside first. The narrow tunnel felt uncomfortable, the air stifling. Dave crawled forward, his breathing shallow and rapid. The Leader followed behind, pulling the panel shut just as the robot’s red eye passed over where they had been moments ago.

For a brief moment, there was silence. Both men stayed frozen in the dark tunnel, listening to the muffled clanking outside. The machine hadn’t given up—they never did—but they had bought themselves a little more time.

Dave exhaled, his voice barely a whisper. "How long can we keep doing this...?"

"As long as it takes," the Leader replied.

In the distance, the rhythmic clank of the robots resumed, their slow, inevitable pursuit starting once again.

“How long has it been since I sent that homing beacon?” the Leader asked, not expecting an answer. He'd been asking it over and over every few hours.

“A while,” Dave said, swallowing the last of the pellet with a grimace. “Shouldn't he have sent someone by now?”

“They should’ve,” the Leader growled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I sent the beacon, and I know it went through. Whatever’s holding him back—”

“—better not be what I think it is,” Dave interrupted. “He’s left us, hasn’t he? Like, we’re canceled?”

The Leader shook his head, but there was no conviction behind it. He didn't have answers, only speculations. All they could do was keep moving, keep surviving, hoping help would come.

After a brief, heavy silence, the two men pressed onward, climbing through the twisting metal corridors of the structure. They moved upwards, climbing and crawling, toward what they hoped would be an exit, their breathing ragged. Every pause for rest was brief, their ears tuned for the relentless clanging of the machines below. They reached a wide metal hatch and, with trembling hands, the Leader turned the handle.

The door swung open, and they stepped out into blinding daylight. Blinking furiously, their eyes adjusted to the sight before them. From this vantage point high above, the land stretched out in all directions. Below, the rusting metal structure they had been trapped in descended into shadowy depths. But off in the distance—miles away—there was hope.

The legria-colored forest spread out like a shimmering oasis on the horizon, its silvery-purple canopy rippling in the breeze.

“That’s it,” the Leader breathed. “That’s the only place that could be safe.”

Dave stared in disbelief, “We’re going to the forest?”

“It's our best shot. No more machines,” the Leader said, voice steadying. He looked down at the structure’s exterior, a sheer drop. "We climb."

Dave exhaled, bracing himself. “If we slip, we’re dead.”

“Better than getting torn apart by robots,” the Leader replied, already gripping the cold metal rung of a ladder leading downward.

With one last look at the distant forest, they began their slow descent down the outside of the massive structure, each step taking them closer to freedom—if they could make it.

As they descended the jagged exterior of the structure, the silence was heavy between them. The Leader was focusing on each step, escape, and whatever future might await them if they survived this. Dave, behind him, was more nervous, his grip unsteady and his breathing quick.

The Leader paused, glancing back. "Take it slow, Dave. We’re almost down this section."

Dave nodded, though his face was pale, his sweaty fingers slipping slightly on the cold metal rungs. He made a confused sound. His foot merely missed a rung and skidded against the uneven surface of the structure, and before he could say anything, his grip failed completely as his body was paralyzed by fear and panic.

"No!" the Leader shouted, his heart leaping into his throat as he reached out instinctively, but he was too far above to catch him.

Time seemed to slow as Dave's body tumbled backward, his arms flailing in a desperate attempt to grab hold of anything. He made no sound as he fell, spinning in the air. He was there, and then just gone.

The Leader watched, helplessly.

He swallowed hard, muttering to himself, "I have to keep moving." The forest was still there in the distance, the only glimmer of hope in this forsaken place.

It was then he realized that the Manna Machine that was keeping him alive was clipped to Dave’s belt.

He sighed and just let go.