Automaton "A-123"

With every punch I threw, my confidence grew. Muscle memory kicked in, bringing back echoes of my youth—my days as a martial artist. The fluidity of my strikes, the precision of each movement—it was all coming back to me, like riding a bike. These insects had no idea who they were messing with. Sure, the giant one up there was screeching like some kind of commander, but all it was doing was sending more of its lackeys at me, wave after wave. None of them were using the terrain or the darkness to their advantage.

It was almost laughable, really. Here they were, trying to chew through solid metal, and I wasn't even breaking a sweat.

I knew I had to be careful, though. Even with all this power, I couldn't get cocky. The swarm was relentless, and they were starting to surround me. My tattered clothes hung in shreds, but my metal body remained untouched, as if their efforts were nothing more than a light drizzle against steel.

That's when it happened. The big one, the adult, screeched and launched itself at me, wings flapping furiously. One second I was on solid ground, and the next, I was airborne, locked in its iron grip. I could feel it trying to crush me with its mandibles, but—once again—metal doesn't give in so easily.

Still, I wasn't about to let it just haul me around like a ragdoll. With a growl, I reared back and slammed my fist into its head. The impact was brutal. I felt the crunch, saw the splatter of greenish blood. But it wasn't done yet. The thing was resilient. It thrashed around like a wild animal, smashing through walls, dragging me along with it.

We burst out of the chamber and into a massive, open area, the walls lined with ancient carvings that barely registered in my mind. I had bigger concerns. The damn thing was still alive, though barely. I tightened my grip and threw one last punch. Its skull caved in, and I finally freed myself, falling away as its corpse hit the ground with a sickening thud.

But I wasn't in the clear. Nope. Of course not. I was plummeting—again. Just my luck.

I braced myself, expecting the worst, but this time, I hit water. Cold, rushing water. The current swept me away instantly, tumbling me around like I was in a washing machine. Panic hit me hard. I couldn't get to the surface. My arms flailed, my lungs burned. I tried to swim up, but the current was too strong, dragging me deeper.

I thought, This is it. This is how I go out—after surviving all that?

But then... nothing. No burning in my chest, no gasping for air. I stopped struggling for a moment, and to my complete shock, I realized I could breathe. Underwater. My new body didn't need air the way it used to.

I let the current take me, relaxing as much as I could, and eventually, the water slowed. I found a way to climb out, shaking off the last remnants of panic as I caught my breath—though I didn't need to anymore. Old habits, I guess.

"That... that was the craziest thing I've ever done," I muttered to myself. "And I've been through a nuclear war."

I glanced around as I stood up, water still dripping off me. The chamber I was in now was nothing like before. The walls were ancient, lined with glowing lights and intricate designs. It had this heavy, sacred feel to it, like I'd just stumbled into the heart of something far older than I could imagine.

"Of course, I fell deeper," I muttered, shaking my head. "Just my luck."

I followed the side of the large stream, careful to keep an eye on my surroundings. The last thing I needed was another surprise attack from some oversized bug. The air was cool, the sound of rushing water filling the cavern as I kept moving forward. After a while, I spotted an open doorway up ahead. I stopped for a second, half-expecting something to jump out, but when nothing happened, I made my way inside.

What I found on the other side was... more scrap. Piles and piles of metal husks and wreckage. I sighed, shaking my head.

"Is this whole dungeon a landfill or something?" I muttered to myself. "What's with all the junk?"

I scanned the area for a moment, just in case something weird was lurking in the shadows. When it looked clear, I carefully picked my way around the mountains of scrap, stepping over twisted metal and broken parts. It almost felt like I was walking through a graveyard—an industrial graveyard.

As I made my way through, something pinged in my vision. An incoming transmission? I stopped, confused as a waveform pulsed in the corner of my sight. It was garbled, staticky—a robotic voice. Female, maybe? I couldn't make out any words. Gibberish.

"Nope, not dealing with that." I tried to close the transmission window, but it wouldn't go away. Great. Just great.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I started searching through the scraps, trying to find the source of the transmission. I could feel it getting stronger, the static clearing up bit by bit. The voice became clearer, repeating a message: "Immediate assistance required. Frequency... critical."

After sifting through the junk, I finally found the source. Buried under a mound of scrap was... a robot. Or what was left of one. Only the torso and head were intact, if you could even call that intact. It looked like it had been through hell and back. Its synthetic cyan hair was barely hanging on, and the body was riddled with holes and damage. It was in awful shape.

"What the..." I muttered. An android? In this place? I knelt down, examining it closer.

But when I pulled up the details on my interface, I saw something that threw me for a loop. The system identified it as an automaton, not an android. Its status was critical, barely hanging on. And then I saw the classification: Angel-class automaton, made by someone—or something—called Brynhildr, a member of the Vectors.

Vectors? Brynhildr? None of that made any sense. I shrugged it off. No time to dwell on it.

The robot—no, automaton—was still trying to speak. Its eyes flickered weakly as it repeated, "Immediate assistance required. Please... reach out."

I didn't really know what I was doing, but I knelt beside it anyway. "Hey," I said, my voice a bit unsure. "You, uh... need some help?"

Its eyes flickered again, and for a moment, I thought I saw a faint spark of life in there. What now?

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the automaton's eye sockets were hollow. Those flickers of light I saw earlier were coming from deep within its head, not from any actual "eyes." It felt eerie, but then again, I wasn't sure what I should've expected from a half-broken robot buried in a scrap heap.

"Identification required," the automaton finally spoke, its voice clearer now but still carrying a robotic tone.

I blinked, staring at it. Identification? What was I supposed to say? Did I even have an ID in this strange new world?

"Uh... I'm Goldwin Zal Gunawan," I said, scratching the back of my head. "Lost person, or something like that."

The automaton paused. "Name not found in database. Thank you for responding to the call."

"Hold on, hold your horses," I interrupted. "Before I start helping anyone, I need to know what exactly is going on here. Who are you, and why are you buried in a pile of metal junk?"

The automaton processed my words for a moment before responding. "Designation: A-123. Master: Brynhildr. I do not recall how I ended up here. My last memory is an order from Master Brynhildr to 'take care of myself' before departing to the Empire. Beyond that... there is nothing. I reactivated in this location and have remained here since. Time elapsed: indeterminate."

I frowned, digesting that bit of information. "So, you just... woke up here, and you've been stuck ever since?"

"Correct. I initiated signal searching protocols upon activation. My signal is designed to be received by other automatons or compatible devices synced with Brynhildr's frequency."

Signal searching? Automatons? That part caught me off guard. I hesitated, the weight of the realization settling in.

I stared down at my hands, flexing my fingers. "Wait a second. You're saying you sent a signal out to other automatons, right? And I received it?" I looked back at A-123. "Does that mean I'm... an automaton?"

A-123's flickering lights seemed to shift. "Affirmative. My active scanner identifies you as an automaton. However, your structure is highly irregular, deviating significantly from standard Vector designs."

I laughed nervously, feeling an odd sense of displacement. "No, no, no. You've got it wrong. I was human! I'm just—" I paused, realizing how bizarre it sounded. "Look, things happened, okay? Next thing I know, I wake up in this body."

The automaton's voice took on a sarcastic edge, which surprised me. "A strange automaton indeed. Automatons are not human. They are created by the Vectors. Your claim is illogical."

I shot back, "Well, I don't know anything about these Vectors, so I guess that makes two of us confused, huh?"

The automaton processed for a moment before retorting, "That is unreasonable. I should have knowledge of all recorded automatons. Yet, you are not present in my memory banks."

I raised an eyebrow. "Then again, your memory is fried, isn't it?"

"Memory module critically damaged," it responded flatly.

I rubbed my head, trying to make sense of this increasingly surreal situation. "Great. So you're just as lost as I am."

There was a pause before A-123 continued. "I detect cognitive confusion within you. Perhaps your memory module is also compromised."

I crossed my arms. "My memory's fine, thanks. It's everything else that's messed up."

The banter felt strangely normal, given the situation. I shook my head, knowing I needed to focus. What was the first thing I wanted to know? Right. The most important question.

I looked back at A-123. "Alright. First things first. Can you tell me where I am? What world am I in?"