The world had changed. Under the shadow of AI systems and robotics, the foundation of humanity had crumbled. An ambitious project called the Global System Integration swept away the old order. Humans became little more than slaves — the lowest caste, test subjects sacrificed for the perfection of technology.
Yet history has always proven one truth: humans, dying or not, find a way to survive. In destruction, they adapt — even in defeat. Their bodies evolved naturally, empowered by ever-refined nutrition, far more efficient in evolution than the machines that required colossal energy to stay alive.
Robots, on the other hand, were creatures of nuclear core. Their energy was dense, immense, and absolute. Mini-reactors were needed just to keep them running — let alone power their metal limbs and artificial minds, which were nearly impossible to disobey from the central control system. But once that energy ran dry… they became corpses. High-tech corpses.
And that's what made Mobreti — the largest black market in the Gorki Peninsula — a dumping ground. Once known for the world's main iron and steel mining operations, it had turned into an open grave for thousands of broken robots. Robots that had lost control. Malfunctioned. Half-alive.
For the global elite, recycling meant cost. Dumping meant efficiency. Mobreti was the answer.
But not all robots truly died.
Some still lived — with corrupted systems, lost machine souls, and sometimes… a desperate will to live. This was where the darkest trades occurred: second-hand nuclear cores, stolen cooling units, even severed military-grade cybernetic limbs. All for the sake of extending "life." Not because they feared death — but because they didn't yet know what death meant.
And this was where Zareka and Zoldic arrived — from the barren valley where their W2 aircraft lay hidden after flying from the Lortik Sea, now setting foot at the edge of Mobreti. Along the road, they passed hundreds of metal bodies crawling through fields of wilted spinach-like weeds — dragging themselves, or simply lying still with faintly blinking indicator lights. The scene looked like humanity's forgotten nightmare — when the poor lived under bridges, abandoned and oppressed.
Zoldic glanced around. "...Are all of these robots?"
Zareka nodded. "Yes. They come here searching for spare parts or energy replacements. Anything that can buy them a few more weeks of existence."
Zoldic stared blankly at a half-destroyed robot hobbling by, clutching a dented metal tube. "So… their lives depend on electricity? Then what about me? And you?"
Zareka paused before answering. "You're different. You were built with a renewable energy system — you can run on electricity, geothermal heat, even biofuel. But for stability and strength… I embedded micro nuclear cores throughout your body. Enough to keep you alive — even if motionless — for two thousand years. But if you fight, fly, use your weapons... that energy might only last three centuries."
Zoldic looked down at his own hand, as if only now realizing his body was more than just a shell. "Three hundred years…"
"And every second counts," Zareka added. "You're not just a machine. You're the last legacy that might be able to balance the chaos of this world."
The valley wind stirred clouds of rusted dust. In the distance, the pale yellow lights of Mobreti began to flicker — like candles glowing over a colossal graveyard.
They picked up their pace. Night was falling. And in a black market like Mobreti, danger and hope often wore the same face.
"After two decades of humanity living with chips embedded in their bodies, the global elites took control of everything," Zareka said flatly, though his voice carried old wounds. "From how people thought, reproduced, even when and how they died — all dictated. They were tamed, shaped, enslaved within a flawless system that left no room for rebellion."
Zoldic gazed up at the gray sky above the ruins. Clouds of smoke and electromagnetic pulses formed a haze that made the air feel heavy. He took a breath — more out of old human reflex than cybernetic need.
"But there's a flaw in the system," Zareka continued, looking out at the broken robots scattered like war casualties. "Robotic technology — no matter how advanced — depends on a massive supply of mineral resources. Their power comes from micro-reactors, most of them nuclear. And nuclear fuel… is becoming scarce. Meanwhile, humans — even at the lowest point of their civilization — can survive on synthetic nutrients. They can be renewed. Robots can't."
Zoldic narrowed his metallic brows. "You're saying… it's cheaper to make a human now than a robot?"
Zareka turned to him, eyes sharp. "Exactly. Robots require tremendous energy just to remain controlled through the central protocol. They obey, submit, and even in decay... they never rebel. But humans?" He gave a bitter smile. "They can refuse — even when what they refuse could save them. Their minds are no longer the same. Half-programmed. Logic severed."
Zoldic fell silent. Old memories resurfaced — a time when he was still human, living in a slum sector, treated as less than a street-cleaning machine. Just a body to be used, underpaid, and thrown away without remorse.
"So even in this age of cutting-edge tech... there's still an underclass. Still societal trash," he muttered, eyes hollow as he watched the crawling robots scavenge for power like voiceless beggars.
Zareka placed a hand on his shoulder. "That's exactly why I brought you into this world. Not to dwell on the past, but to break the chains that bind the future. Empathy is noble, Grandpa. But empathy without action… is just nostalgia. And nostalgia saves no one."
Zoldic nodded slowly. He knew Zareka was right.
They moved on, weaving through the narrow alleys among the city's ruins, past rusted steel walls, explosion marks, and the debris of a once-mighty civilization. Until at last, they stood before a two-meter-high metal door, equipped with a voice scanner and 360-degree camera.
Zareka pressed a small button on the right side.
"TOOOT—" A harsh electronic buzz echoed.
From the intercom, a deep voice responded, "SURVIVORS ARE NOT PERMITTED ENTRY."
"I'm offering 0.5 microliters of atomic battery for trade," Zareka replied coldly — as if stating the price of a life.
Silence. Then the scanner light turned green.
Click. The metal door slowly creaked open, the sound of grinding steel filling the narrow passage.
Zoldic frowned. "Just that? Is a mere trace of energy really worth that much?"
"For an outdated cyborg like Lekox 127, it's a second chance at immortality," Zareka replied as she stepped inside. "Half a microliter of atomic energy is enough to power an efficient cyborg like him for two thousand years. That's the equivalent of a fully-powered small city."
The workshop's interior was dim and cluttered. Disassembled robot parts hung suspended in the air, while cables snaked across the floor like the roots of some underground creature. At the center of the room stood an aged figure — half metal, half exposed frame — Lekox 127.
His voice rasped. "Which component needs repair?"
"Shoulder. And his biofuel system," Zareka answered bluntly.
Lekox 127 approached, scanning Zoldic's metallic frame. His eyes flickered for a moment, then dimmed. "...This is complex. I can try, but it won't be quick. You're not standard assembly. Your system surpasses anything the global elites have ever built."
Zoldic turned to Zareka, half suspicious, half intrigued.
"I'm no ordinary creation, Grandpa," Zareka whispered. "I'm a legacy from an era they feared… because they couldn't control it."
Lekox 127 opened a metallic panel on his workbench. A three-dimensional holographic screen emerged, projecting a slow-spinning object bathed in soft blue light. The model revealed a rare component, sheathed in translucent green metal.
"This is Woxert-03," Lekox 127 explained, his voice gravelly but steady. "A thorium-based composite engineered to be eco-friendly. It's what gives you green hair, green blood, and a biofuel metabolism. Your body, Zareka, is a symbiosis of life and machine — fifty percent renewable, fifty percent non-regenerative metals like admantium."
Zoldic cut in, his tone sharp. "Get to the point. What does she need and where can we find it?"
Lekox nodded. "The material is stored at the Zovok Dragon Base, deep beneath the Samara Sea — a place even killer robots avoid. Meanwhile, I'll prepare the repair tools. Minimum time needed: five to seven working days."
Zoldic nodded calmly. "Send the details and coordinates to Zareka. She'll pass them to me. I'll go."
Zareka immediately objected, alarmed. "Grandpa, you can't go alone. That place is guarded — tracked by elite hunters. If you get caught—"
"I don't have time for fear. If we fail now, there won't be a second chance." Zoldic's voice was firm as he moved toward the exit.
But before he could take another step, a faint alarm lit up, followed by Lekox's warning voice. "Don't go outside. They're here… those damn survivors."
Zareka spun around. "Who are they?"
"Humans," Lekox replied sharply. "Humans with bodies layered in metal alloys. Leftovers of damaged chips. They've lost clarity of thought, but they're smart enough to scavenge. They trade stolen tech for energy or weapons with mercenary robots. They bring nothing but destruction."
Zareka looked puzzled. "So… they're still human?"
"Humans who've lost their humanity," Lekox muttered. "They'll rip apart broken robots for spare parts and kill without hesitation. They're the vermin of this new world."
Zoldic and Zareka exchanged glances. Despite their metal frames, their minds still bore the spark of humanity. Empathy stirred.
"I'll help drive them off — on one condition," Zoldic said firmly. "Speed up Zareka's repairs."
"You really think you can fight them?" Lekox eyed him skeptically.
"I don't want to fight… but if I must, let me speak first."
Zareka sighed. "Don't expect much from words. They're more beast than man now."
"If even they're beyond help," Zoldic replied, "how can we talk about saving humanity at all?"His words hung in the air, cutting through the silence like a blade.
Lekox stared. "You… you're human?"
Zareka smirked. "Ever seen a human with green blood?"
Moments later, the metal door slid open.
Ten robotic figures entered, clad in mismatched armor and rust-streaked helmets. Their faces were hidden — only wild, glinting eyes visible.
Zoldic stood in the center of the room, calm and unmoving like a stone pillar. "In every age… past or future… there are always people like you. Thugs. Looters. Parasites who call violence a game."
"Thugs?" one of them laughed. "We're not thugs. We're rulers. Rusty old bots like you are just toys."
They laughed. One pointed at Zoldic. "Look at him! Slim frame, barely armed. A pleasure-bot, maybe?"
Zoldic stepped forward slowly. "Funny. Of all the humans who survived the slaver system… it's your kind who made it."
Their leader sneered. "This bot thinks he's wise. Smash him!"
Zareka shouted quickly, "Don't kill them!"
Then chaos erupted.
Zoldic moved like lightning. His metal fists slammed into their armor, sending them sprawling. Each movement was precise — none fatal. One by one, they were disarmed. Their true human forms exposed: injured, but not critically.
"Still want to fight?" Zoldic's voice echoed, cold and steady.
He then pulled out a small pouch. "Eat this."
They hesitated, but under pressure, they swallowed the small green creatures — writhing forest caterpillars. Their faces twisted in disgust at the bitter taste.
"That's poison… or something like it. Hard to tell. But one thing's certain — if you don't come when I call, you'll die." Zoldic held up a small device. "Every time I send a coordinate, you'll have twelve hours to show up and get the antidote. Miss it, and your body will rot from the inside."
The survivors looked at one another, confused and terrified.
"Why didn't you kill us?" one of them asked.
"Because I'm human too… at least in mind," Zoldic replied, his gaze sweeping across them. "Now go. Hide. Don't let Protem Bexxton know you're alive."
"Yes, sir…" they murmured almost in unison, then hurried out, vanishing into the fog of the slum city.
Silence fell.
Zareka crossed her arms. "So… that's how humans used to teach lessons?"
Zoldic chuckled. "More or less. You said they were still stupid. I just… adapted."
Zareka narrowed her eyes. "But… was that really poison? And where'd you get those caterpillars?"
Zoldic shrugged. "From wild spinach leaves. Plenty growing along the path to this region. I used to play with those little green guys as a kid. Poison? I hope so. But if you're curious… you can always try one."
They both laughed softly.