The harsh sun tilts westward, its scorching grip starting to loosen. The stifling heat blends into the air, turning into an almost imperceptible tension.
Veronica is back in a flash, zipping down at top speed before she comes to a halt in midair.
We've got to get them out of here now.
It's Red Tide. Everywhere. The savanna is surrounded, almost half of it is gone.
Even this safe haven isn't secure anymore. Every last bit of moisture seems to have been sucked out of the air. That dry, scratchy feeling in your throat... is it a heads-up from this brutal environment, or just your nerves getting to you physically?
Hermione!
When Veronica gets back to the lion pride's temporary resting place, she calls out the lioness's name. But the scene that meets their eyes is even worse than they'd imagined.
The once lush, green savanna has become a sticky mess of rotting stems and mud. Jagged fragments of stone, scarred from some unbelievable violence, stick out of the ground like the earth's exposed bones next to the broken veins of soil.
Those broken veins are the remains of acacia trees—the very same trees that used to give them a bit of shade from the scorching sun.
The savanna is silent as a tomb. Even the birdsong has been swallowed up by fear. The only thing left is an eerie, low moan.
Just like the night they first crossed paths, a murderous look fills Veronica's usually cold, stern eyes.
She's instantly transported back to her first encounter with these scavengers. As if history is repeating itself, she remembers pushing aside the tangled grass with her lance and seeing several hyenas gorging themselves on a male lion's carcass.
But she doesn't have to chase them away this time. The moment Veronica approaches, her murderous aura is enough to send the hyenas scattering with their tails between their legs.
...
Lying in the mud is a male lion, mauled beyond recognition. Veronica stares at it with a blank expression for a long moment before finally turning her gaze to the human beside her.
She doesn't want to get a closer look, but she knows she has to. Meeting the human's eyes, finding both concern and reassurance there, she slowly crouches down and reaches for the lion's mane.
A strand of mane, seemingly specially braided, falls into her palm.
In that moment, her normally unwavering mechanical heart skips a beat. She freezes, refusing to look down and confirm what she already knows in her gut.
...
Watching Veronica's eyes flutter, you rush to her side. Your own heart sinks as you see her shoulders slump. You know all too well what a bad omen feels like.
When a clump of mud-caked fur falls into your hand, you can't help but feel a wave of relief, even as a pang of guilt shoots through you. It's just a bit of mane matted with mud, not the small braid you'd tied yourself. You breathe a sigh of relief, a weight off your chest.
With a sinking feeling, you realize you're in over your head. You pull up a map on your terminal, trying to pinpoint Epirus's location.
...
Silence hangs in the air. Veronica doesn't budge.
Following Veronica's gaze, you spot a lion cub crawling into view.
Grrr...
The cub drags its broken body, its lower half a bloody, matted mess that resembles a tattered blanket soaked in the metallic stench of blood.
A long trail of blood marks its path as it inches toward Veronica.
(What is... that...)
Veronica recoils instinctively, her foot sinking into black mud as her heart sinks into a similar mire of despair.
That wasn't a blanket—it was the lower half of its body.
There is no need for a closer look; you know her in an instant. This is Matilde, the sole survivor of Hemiene's litter.
Matilde, who's always so sharp and quick.
You've seen more than your fair share of tragedy, yet your heart still bleeds at the sight.
You carefully lay the cub down, pulling adrenaline and antibiotics from your first-aid kit and slowly injecting them into Matilde's body.
Clever Matilde, who would never let anyone get a hand on her fuzzy face, now lays her small head quietly in your palm, letting out a deep, almost human-like sigh.
As if all life's energy had been drained away, the cub goes limp in your arms.
...
The mechanical girl stands frozen, like a common device that has crashed.
(How could such a small body hold so much blood...)
She stares blankly at Matilde's broken body.
For the most part, her life is a cold, calculated machine. But this creature? This is something she's personally brought up—a strange, soft spot in a life full of battle, bloodshed, and rage.
That little cub, which once curled up in her arms, has now become the most familiar sight in her world: broken, devastated, and tragic.
(How odd... why does this feel so new...)
She's seen far worse things in her time. So why does this one feel so alien... yet hit so close to home?
Her neural algorithms are working overtime, frantically trying to make sense of the questions swirling inside her metallic body.
She can't grasp what she's seeing or feeling, but her mechanical instincts are dutifully trying to find a logical explanation for it all.
The logical part, however, is filling Veronica with dread. The harder she tries to put the pieces together, the more she feels some irresistible force trying to unravel her sanity.
What's that?
She looks at you with a gaze that's both mechanical and helpless, wracked with a pain she doesn't even understand.
It has never been clearer that Veronica is a being just like you, a different kind of life capable of experiencing the world.
She's a sentient being with real emotions. The idea has always been an abstract concept, but now it's a cold, hard fact.
Sadness. Not the first time you've seen that kind of emotion in a mechanical being, but you never thought you'd see it in Veronica.
Whether by a cruel twist of fate or a stroke of luck, in this moment, destiny has revealed the existence of love to her through a veil of pain and fear.
The ghosts of her past come roaring back, threatening to pull her under. Veronica fights to shake off the feeling of helplessness and gets her feet moving, but the black, sticky muck underfoot hits her like a ton of bricks.
It's an oily, muddy substance—a smell that all mechanical beings know like the back of their hand.
That's vehicle fuel from the humans.
The humans. Those wanderers.
Veronica declares calmly, a cold certainty in her voice.
She gets a handle on herself and strides over to you, giving Matilde's body a quick but thorough once-over.
It doesn't take her long to find what she's looking for: a gunshot wound on the cub's mangled hind leg.
Lonely... the power of connection? I never... really...
Memories of the arena and Aerospace City flash through her mind.
I actually wanted to buy into that nonsense...
If only one species had this world to itself, it would probably be lonely... but it'd sure be a lot less messy.
She holds her lance out in front of her, like a line in the sand.
These are the lives you insisted on saving from me, lives that bring nothing but hell and destruction.
So, these are your humans—the ones you said I can't paint all of humanity with the same brush.
Exactly. You can't paint everyone with the same brush.
But you... you're the exception! And these humans? They all deserve to die!
