Feral on the Ice
They were red—not from code, but from Crying.
"You're late," the First Alpha said, his voice cracking in the real air. "The 'Users' didn't leave us a world. But they left us the Ice."
He pointed behind him.
The ocean hadn't just frozen; it had crystallized into a massive, jagged plain of translucent white that stretched to the horizon.
"They’re coming for the Silos, Elara," the First Alpha said, pointing to the sky.
Dozens of Automated Retrieval Drones—the "Mother’s" physical hands—were descending from the clouds. They weren't coming to save the humans. They were coming to Harvest the Brains to keep the simulation running in a new, more "Efficient" location.
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