Echoes of the Copper Horizon

The blizzard outside the abandoned school had been raging for three days straight. Snow had choked the cracks in the walls, the dead lamps, and the hollow eye sockets of the sentries whose skeletal remains protruded from the snowdrifts in the courtyard. In the second-floor hallway—where the teachers' lounge used to be—a single surviving lamp flickered dimly. Beneath it, atop an overturned table, lay a map of the city.

Pokes at the map with her finger, leaving indentations in the paper.
— Here, here, and here. Three points. Three spires. If what we found in the basement is right, these are the coordinates to the lab. — She looks up at N. — And are you sure you want to go there?

Sitting on the edge of the table, swinging his legs. His tail sways lazily, the needle tip nearly brushing the floor.
— Not "want" to. Have to. — He shrugs. — If Cyn reaches the lab first, she'll find a way to manufacture new Disassembly Drones. And then...

Standing by the window, forehead pressed against the cold glass. Her reflection—pale, with glowing yellow eyes—stares back at her from the darkness.
— And then there will be more of us. — She smirks. — Sounds like fun.

— V, this isn't fun. This is the end of everything. — She crosses her arms. — The Workers, the Disassemblers, everyone. If Cyn gets her hands on Project Echo...

Suddenly straightens up, his tail freezing mid-swing.
— Wait. — He tilts his head. — Do you guys hear that?

V pulls away from the window. Uzi freezes, mouth agape. All three of them listen. Beyond the walls, there is only the howling wind. Beyond the windows, only the snow. But somewhere deep within the building, on the first floor, something creaked. Metal on metal. Slowly. Cautiously. As if someone—or something—was trying not to draw attention.

Her wings unfurl with a soft metallic clatter, her blade-feathers glinting in the lamp's light.
— That wasn't the wind.

Grabs the dented pipe she's been lugging around since the start of their journey.
— Disassemblers? From another squad?

Slowly climbs down from the table. His eyes—two yellow glows—peer into the darkness beyond the door. He takes a step. Then another. He stops at the threshold, resting a hand on the doorframe. His tail twitches nervously, but his wings remain folded—he doesn't want this to look like a threat.
— I don't know. — Quieter. — But if they were Disassemblers... they would've attacked by now. Or at least said something.

— Or they're waiting for us to get closer.

He doesn't turn around. He stares down the hallway, where the darkness thickens at the end of the stairwell.
— Then let's not keep them waiting.

He swallows hard. His voice softens.

— Hey! — he calls into the dark. — Down there! I know you're there! And... he pauses for a second, searching for the words, — ...I don't want to fight! You hear me?