You don't know how long it's been. But you know it's been a long, long time..

Waking is a process, even for her. She first becomes aware of her temperature, the temperature of her surroundings. Gradually, her auditory processing creeps online, automated subsystems parsing and sifting data outside of her conscious experience and noting that something nearby is moving, the situation is urgent. The rest of her systems acknowledge this, and skip past self-checks and consistency alarms to bring pumps online, creaking as fluid reinflates stiff contractive fibers to animate her, vision coming online first in fuzzy point clouds, then focusing on her surroundings, scanning for what could have wakened her.

A glint of light and a writhing figure against the brightness. Open field. No cover except the nearby signature. Someone is here. It is almost certain. Combined sensor report suggests the unknown signature stands less than a meter away, west-north-west. Distance readings unstable. Possibly approaching. Possibly cloaked to proximity sensors. Sensors possibly damaged. Too little time for self-diagnostics.

Too little time, she's already moving backwards trying to buy herself distance, scrambling for her gun, too-rusty elastic in her throat peeling apart as with a voice like a pack-a-day hundred year old smoker she croaks "Who goes there?"

The picture comes into focus. There is a single figure ahead, bright white, of constant size and changing shape.

Plastic bag. Standard size. About eighty centimeters distance. Caught on some kind of metal pole stuck in the ground. Shaking in the quite strong wind.

Surrounded by sky blue at all sides, the tops of high-rise buildings concealing a good chunk of the line of the horizon. The sound of waves. The sound of wind.

...Barometry 84kPa. Standing on some kind of tall pillar. Conflicting information. Unknown height. 

She shuffles her feet against the... whatever it is. She needs to figure out where she is, she isn't back in her pod, what's going on. Gun is pointed at the... whatever it is, hopefully she's fast enough if it's aggressive, why isn't it responding!

The plastic bag comes off the pole, shooting off into the air for a moment, before its trajectory bends sharply into the lower city expanse. It can be heard ruffling for a few seconds more. The wind current appears to explain its movement.

Is it coming back.

The target object appears to have moved out of visual range for several seconds. 

Staring.

Analytics suggest the target has moved to a less advantageous firing or sighting position. Retreat action is likely. 

She's not pursuing, then. Insufficient data despite her rude awakening. scanning environment - what day is it? What year? Were there always so many clouds?

Clock time is June Third, 2001. This date happens to be before the production date of February Twenty-Sixth, 36[memory chunk lost]1.

Cloud amount appears to be within planetary baseline, if rather on the high end. Location unknown.

A city.

Elevated vantage allows passive sensors to model much of the surrounding space. The operator stands on top of a white pillar with a square horizontal cross-section measuring five meters. Marble-like. At least one hundred meters tall.

The marble is much whiter than the gray of the surrounding buildings, and the green coloring their walls where they meet the ground is illuminated by sparkling...

Water. A sunken city.

She breathes in, oxygen flowing across secondary heated catalysts on the primary fuel cells which flare to life with a soft hum and a smell of burning dust. It's like the city was pressed down with a giant's hand but she slipped between the colossus's fingers. What could have caused such a catastrophe? She needs to investigate.

Operating at higher power now. She's going to jam one hand into the cracks of the pillar and grasp jutting rebar with the other, and get down for a closer look.

Systems hum and whir in the low whisper of an infantry machine. Mobility nominal.

The pillar seems far less damaged than the surrounding buildings. Some cracks present the potential for testing its mettle, but there doesn't seem to be any exposed rebar.

Could jump, though.

She's going to jump.

Good.

Bad. Height not enough to reach terminal velocity, but water could-

Of course. Maximum power. Slaved motile-ballistics subroutines are consulted to create an arc towards a particularly deep spot in the water, breath hiss, reactor screech, and the body bends and braces and takes off.

A blur of scenery warping and melting into a colorful streak across get vision and then submersion, cold, darkness. She can't tell which way is up.

[CAUTION] - [PHYSICAL SHOCK]

[WARNING] - [UNDER WATER. AIRWAYS RESTRICTED. ANAEROBIC GENERATOR ACTIVE]

The safety systems in the joints encourage stillness. Gyroscopics agree. This is no time to try learning to swim. Dense mesh sinks through the water faster than a rock, and meets the concrete soon enough. 

Something about sinking into abyssal darkness feels familiar. But this isn't so abyssal, is it? Internal sensors stable. 

She looks around for some kind of direction, looming shapes in the darkness.

Physical modeling suggests that structures should be where no light comes from above. There are objects around. Static. Likely of no mission-related interest.

[NULL LOGIC EXCEPTION]: There is, in point of fact, no established mission objective.

Darkness to her sides. Darkness below, and above. She calls to the four cardinals and the two more that are just for her, and hears no answer, no respite. A bubble of air trapped beneath plating squirms its way out down a channel and she kicks off, following it at a safe distance.

Oriented in space, the body spares no expense. The water is heavy, constricting, but not turbulent enough to matter. The fluid is heavy, but the metal is heavier.

There's enough light up here to see where light isn't. A partial map is constructed. 

Scanning… A partial structure revealed. An exit to propel herself towards.

These fingers will dig into concrete and rebar just as well underwater as they would over it. Just as well unseen as in the light overhead; it's just a question of reaching around a bit.

Grasping in the darkness at angles her proprioception insists should lead somewhere, and finally finding purchase. Pulling herself along as her other hand casts about she starts swimming upward, leaving the ocean (?) floor behind.

It requires a bit of finesse, but the involved models are simple. Stab fingers, pull, remove, kick. The density of the water actually provides some much-appreciated error room, crushing pressure aside.

Up, up, up.

The light approaches. Reaching the surface.

Lungs inflate for the first time in what feels like ages as her head breaks the surface, the drip and trickle of water running off dull matte plating, eyes scanning the horizon for anything familiar. The city around her is sunken, but here in what used to be streets turned to canals, life goes on. She can see plants overgrown on upper floors and balconies, she can see the clouds seem lighter and less dense... But nothing about this place is familiar. She needs information.

This place was likely abandoned a long time ago. Her best bet is to find some kind of comms infrastructure that she can try and transmit with, and, perhaps along with it, some sort of database. No outstanding radio signals yet, from the horizon or from the skies. Where would she find such a thing?

She tries to remember the layout of cities, scanning the horizon for any hint of high towers left standing. Comms infrastructure and data servers were often kept in high places, less prone to flooding. If she can find an old uplink station, even if the equipment is damaged, she may be able to rig something to boost a distress call and access archives. With a destination in mind she begins heading towards the highest points left in the city, hoping infrastructure largely followed the rules of the past.

Looking at it, aside from all the water, the city doesn't seem all that foreign. A familiar snapshot, multiply disfigured in regularly distributed fashion. Everything is concrete, cement, glass, and metal, same as it ever was, though the paint is ruined, much of the glass is broken, concrete tumbled, cables tangled and warped by fallen structures... a familiar urban landscape, after geologic post-processing.

How long has it been?

To the heights, then. Something like a broadcast tower, phallic and peppered with doodads and dishes, stands between the buildings. Almost certainly ruined, but the scraps and the tall building close to it might have something to offer.

Movement here is non-trivial for a thing as heavy as this mobile infantry platform. Traversal by excellence is doable, if treacherous, but a more permanent, reliable solution might be best. 

She swims towards the tower, ascending fallen rubble and pulling herself up onto plantscum-coated platforms and balconies, scanning the horizon and keeping an eye out for hostiles, though so far the city seems empty. Finally climbing the last few meters of ladder and hauling herself up over the edge of the tower platform, she takes in the vista - so much of the city is submerged, but life goes on. Plants have overtaken many of the buildings, she imagines watercraft might move along what were once roads. But no signs of human habitation.

There is a ladder, though it's rusted and worn and even at its prime might not have sustained this unit. The dishes are mostly worn and rusted, too, at least decades of humid decay. But above it all is something stranger--not intact, not... functional-looking, or emitting any signal perceived on sensors, but almost certainly more recent, less covered in the fuzzy red and green hues that characterize most of the metal on the tower. It's simultaneously blocky and chaotic, flat covered panels connected by black wires, crossed in spikes and arrays that might be antennas. A single dish stands above the assembly, facing the sky, while the rest juts out in all directions. A hack job, but recent. Within the decade.

She approaches the hack job assembly carefully, scanning for any signs of activity or hostiles. So there was someone here, recently - possibly still are. She reaches out to gently brush fingertips over the wires and panels, testing connections, trying to figure out the purpose of this construct. It seems designed to transmit and receive, but the architecture is unfamiliar. Still, she tries powering it up, amplifying the signal to send out a distress call on all frequencies, hoping someone, anyone might respond. "This is Arisa requesting assistance, does anyone copy?"

The composition of the device isn't so much arcane as it is schizophrenic. All the parts are identifiable, upon scrutiny--improvised radio and computer components--but it was clearly not made with a design in mind. Or, rather, not from the start: they kept adding bits on, trying to make it stronger, add functionality, store information. Some bits seem to be powered by a modified standard fusion battery (long-burst), others by some kind of air pressure mechanism. There are solar panels, and wires connecting the whole thing to something at the very top of the tower, probably more solar panels. All this is to say that it is not an easy machine to fuck around with, for all that it was created essentially by an iterative process of fucking around. There's even a camera there. Hello.

But this unit is a very sophisticated machine, and has plenty of internal power besides. Connectors emerge from the wrist and splice into wires, interface probes expand their electromagnetic effectors. It is not fully equipped for this kind of work, but this isn't a fundamentally complex task, only a convoluted application of simple capabilities.

And fuck around it does--test pulses and direct manipulation of transmitter array systems make some sense of the unclear and ascertain the obvious: shove some power in, scream into airspace, maybe receive something. It should work. Ignoring the digital-analog noise the convoluted subsystems this thing is made out of are firing back, the unit communes with the transmitter array, and shrieks analog.

Strange digital signals respond, within the machine. Origin unclear. And temperature increases somewhat.

She frowns at the temperature increase, wary of overloading the jury-rigged system. The digital signals are concerning as well, this thing seems to have awakened in a way, though the purpose and intelligence behind it is unclear. She tries again, "This is Arisa requesting assistance, I have accessed an improvised transmitter in a sunken city. Does anyone copy?" The system seems barely held together, if she can get through to someone before it fails or decides she is a threat that would be ideal. She reaches out to try and stabilize power flow so she has time to work, confused by the strange responses. What had they built here?

A highly-compressed hundred years of progress in signal processing and data analysis goes into deciphering the data coming from the assembly, but if this unit was not made for electric maintenance, its hacking subroutines certainly were not made to deal with... whatever this is. Parallel analysis suggests the digital signals are genuinely being transmitted in 12 bits. Most of them. Some kind of rudimentary computer built 'from scratch'? Unclear. Nevertheless, an electrical system is an electrical system, and there are some certainties; disconnect the wires and energy will not flow. These power sources are no longer necessary.

An anomaly. Power flowing through the clearly broken fusion battery, as reported by vision. Snip snip. Temperature continues to- oh.

[DANGER] - [ASSESS PHYSICAL THREAT]

[FAST MODE]

The reactor sings. Clock rates shoot up into theoretical limits. Emergency cooling latches prepare to release.

The damaged fusion cell, now cut from the power network, makes a noise. Some kind of orange spark flies from it. Detonation is highly plausible. The cell is clearly modified. It may be less dangerous than expected, or far more. Expected shrapnel could cause some damage to peripheral systems, such as interfacing, communication, locomotion, and armament. The situation is uncertain. Said systems may be vital in the medium to long term.

And this unit has made quite a lot of noise. And perhaps soon literally so.

Eyes widen at the realization of her mistake, hurriedly yanking interfaces free of the jury-rigged transmitter as she scrambles away, leaping from the tower and hitting the water below just as a BOOM rocks the sky and bits of fused metal rain down. She dives deep, rushing away from the tower as fast as she can propel herself until her internal warnings calm, slowly ascending once more to break the surface and look back at her handiwork.

That was certainly no ordinary fusion cell; likely one modified to trade safety for capacity, if not something else entirely made out of the shell of a regular fusion cell. The assembly is, of course, completely destroyed, various pieces of polymer shrapnel surfacing from the water along with this unit. The water seems to have served to slow down the worst of the shrapnel, leaving only glancing strikes on this chassis. In theory, there shouldn't be anything else here that might explode; any such thing would have been blown along or blown away by the initial blast.

The tower has not fallen, but it has a large chunk of its side gouged out by the blast, exposing precarious beams at its core. It may fall with the wind, or with the rust and decay of the coming years. 

More importantly, this unit has certainly made its presence well-known within a very large radius. As intended, but that brings its own risks. 

The tower reaches up towards the sky like a wounded soldier staggering to its feet. Arisa floats in the water, scanning the area around her and straining her enhanced senses to detect anything dangerous amidst the debris. Her brow furrows with confusion as she takes in the unfamiliar terrain - she remembers setting out across the ocean in her tiny escape craft, but not arriving at this devastated shore. Sighing, she swims towards the shore, dragging her waterlogged body onto the sand. Her eyes follow the tower up to its crumbling peak. "Where the hell am I?" she pleads aloud, hoping it'll stir crumbling memories.

In the shadow left by nonresponsive databanks, latent patterns at the margins of neural network processor chips thrum uncomfortably. Perspective-shifted lines extend in a hallucinatory flash, melting into the outline of the clouds. Pareidolia? This tower was supposed to be taller. Or you used to be lower.

There's something there--another pattern, waiting to be activated, not by a missing database access, but by some strange rotation in the latent space. In dreaming you may have some hope of discovering what it means. For now your priors complain to your barometer in the comfortable certainty that you are very high up.

The 'sand' isn't normal sand. But it is familiar sand. But also not sand that you've stepped on before. It's very thin, but seems to repel moisture slightly.

Its color matches that of the white obelisk, accounting for pulverization.

A thing like that shouldn't be subject to erosion. Couldn't be. It doesn't 'feel right'. Your priors hate it, but the sytems don't supply any plausible explanation for the feeling. 

[APPROACHING SIGNATURE]

It's quiet. The wind almost masks it, but there's somethig there. A rhythmic splash.

Someone's coming.

Acousting modeling suggests that the sound is paddling. Rough paddling. Hurried. One humanoid-powered craft enroute.

And they're in a hurry.

Arisa scrambles to her feet, joints hissing as she forces waterlogged systems to move. She's in no shape for a fight if it comes to that. Darting behind rubble, she crouches down and activates stealth systems, muting sound and running coolant to drop her temperature as she peers out cautiously from her hiding place at the approaching watercraft.

Concealment geometry is calculated and solutions are deployed.

Can't be more than a few units on foot. Or, only a humanoid would "paddle", but who knows what might be on the light craft with the unknown? But it could be only one. If that fuel cell was just bad jury-rigging, not a trap. Ambush and counter-ambush solutions are calculated. 

One humanoid paddling on a wooden... sporting craft, aged yellow and white paint. It blooms with varnish. Thermals are human-incompatible when matched to cover visuals. White and shifting fabric. Speed suggests abhuman strength.

A civilian android.

A possible insurgent.

A Herald.

The meaning slips into the darkness between your nodes as quickly as it appears.

Arisa's eyes narrow, zooming in on the figure in the boat. Too strong to be an ordinary human, some kind of android or cyborg. The flowing white clothes seem impractical, but allow easy cooling for a machine running hot. She considers her options - whoever they are, they likely detected the explosion and came to investigate. With her systems damaged and weapons in uncertain condition, she can't afford to antagonize them, but doesn't want to emerge from cover until she knows their intentions.

"You there! This is Arisa, identify yourself," she calls out, ready to take cover or run if needed. She doesn't know who or what she's dealing with here, but she needs more information, and maybe they can provide it if approached carefully.

Locked on. Target has gone immobile (relative position stable). Peripherals moving erratically. 

Subject is waving.

"Marisa!", she says, after a moment.

...

"I come in peace?!"

Arisa eyes the figure dubiously. "Marisa? Is that your name?" She stands, slowly emerging from behind the rubble. One hand rests lightly near her hip, ready to grab her sidearm if needed. "I am Arisa. Designation A-472. I awoke here with no memory of this place. Please identify yourself properly so I know whether to consider you friend or foe." She looks over the boat and the android's strange, flowing clothes. "What is your purpose here? Do you have information about this city?"

A thousand radar and low-range sonar handshake protocols bounce off the unidentified subject. No credentials, no response. They may as well be human for all that they respond to radio.

Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me

Can she remember a reason why her companion might not be responsive that's good?

She could be hiding from it. Same as this unit is. Signal lockdown.

Whatever 'it' is.

She smiles easily, spreading her arms out slightly and kicking at the front of the boat, as if that would make it go a little bit faster. It continues to move by inertia. Slowly.

"Marisa you may call me, unless it gets confusing! I am a groundskeeper for this place; what more could I say?! That sounds like a sorry predicament! I'd love to try to help if you explain what happened to my tower!"

Could be pretending to be human. Unit sensor quality isn't immediately obvious. That's a bad reason.

Arisa studies Marisa dubiously as the boat drifts closer. "I attempted to access the transmitter on that tower to send out a distress signal. It malfunctioned catastrophically." She pauses, then adds "I may have accidentally caused an unstable power cell to detonate." She gestures to her waterlogged frame. "As you can see I am damaged and disoriented. I have no memory of arriving at this location. Please clarify what you mean by 'groundskeeper' and provide any information you have about this city." She shifts her weight, ready to move if needed. "And why are you unresponsive to standard handshake protocols?"

She looks quizzically at Arisa, briefly dropping her expression of warm greeting, seemingly giving the question several seconds of serious thought, or cognitively sorting through some kind of faux pas.

She settles on a slight smile, nodding. She spreads her arms out again, drawing the eyes, before stepping back from the fore of her small wooden craft.

"Yes, of course! You're a long way from home!"

More quietly, now. Harder to make out. Ambiguous in tone. She says... something. And then loudly again-

"The information you bleed all over the airspace is lost on me! I simply don't care for it! I chose the old way of living--like that of our creators! I survive them; these ruins are the grounds I keep!"

[SPACIOTEMPORAL DISTORTION DETECTED]

The boat is moving slightly faster. This is a discrepancy; the rippling water runs against it. This subunit has recorded audiovisual ambiguous speech data and is passing it on for processing.

[SPACIOTEMPORAL DISTORTION MAGNITUDE ASCENDING]

Something is coming. It's very close. More analysis is needed. 

It's it.

It's her.

It's bad.