Ellen

A-123's voice hummed slightly before responding, "Judging from our location, I am 84% certain we are currently in a dungeon not far from a town called Batustone."

"A dungeon?" I muttered. "Of course, I get dumped into a dungeon." I rubbed my temple, taking a moment to process the idea. "So where exactly is this dungeon?"

"The dungeon is known as the Iron Grave," A-123 continued. "It serves as a landfill for metal waste across all of El Reino Kingdom."

I let out a short laugh in disbelief. "Great, so not only am I in some kind of weird world, but I'm also stuck in the kingdom's garbage dump. Fantastic."

A-123 didn't react to my sarcasm, instead continuing in her steady, robotic tone. "The upper and middle strata of the dungeon have been explored by Rovers—those who scavenge, gather, and fight. However, the lower stratum, where we are now, is mostly unexplored due to the presence of extremely dangerous monsters. Only the Vectors have ever reached this deep, using it as a disposal site for waste."

I paused, realizing something important. "Wait... we're in the lower stratum?"

"Correct."

The tension in my chest tightened as I looked around at the endless piles of junk. No wonder everything looked so desolate. It wasn't just a metal graveyard—it was the bottom of the dungeon, where only monsters strong enough to survive lurked. Great.

"Alright, hold on," I interrupted, raising a hand. "How far is it to the surface from here?"

"Approximately 15 kircas, or roughly 15,000 mercas," she replied flatly.

I blinked. "Uh... What the hell is a kircas? Or a mercas?"

A-123 paused, a flicker of what might've been confusion showing in the dim lights of her sockets. "You do not know the basic metric system?"

I just stared at her. "Let's assume I don't."

"One kirca is equivalent to roughly 1,000 mercas. This is the standard unit of measurement in most of El Reino," she said, sounding almost incredulous for an automaton. "How could you not—"

"Never mind," I cut her off, feeling my patience slipping. "I'll just assume kircas are like kilometers or something. So, 15 kilometers to the surface? That's... quite a hike."

The more I learned about this place, the more confused I felt. Before I could get my bearings, I needed to know where, or rather what kind of world I had ended up in.

"So," I sighed, trying to refocus, "what kind of world is this? I need a bigger picture."

"Understood." A-123's tone shifted into something more formal. "This is Radunya, a world governed by Apostles, powerful beings who shape the laws of both magic and technology. The balance between—"

"Stop. Right there," I interrupted, my head pounding from the barrage of information. "Apostles? Magic? I just—give me a moment."

I slumped down onto a nearby heap of metal, my thoughts swirling into chaos. Magic? Apostles? Kircas and mercas? Nothing made sense. Absolutely nothing. This was some kind of fantasy world. A place where monsters and dungeons existed alongside automatons and waste dumps.

I buried my face in my hands, trying to make sense of it all. After a long pause, I lifted my head. "I'm... in a fantasy world, aren't I?"

A-123 didn't respond, leaving me alone with my spiraling thoughts. After a few more moments of reflection, I came to the only logical conclusion that made sense in this absurd situation.

"I must've been reincarnated," I whispered, the realization sinking in. "That's got to be it. A whole new world..."

I sighed, staring up at the metal ceiling above, wondering how the hell I was supposed to survive in a place like this.

…

..

.

***

A-123's flickering lights intensified as she spoke again, her voice resolute. "Now that you understand the situation, I require your assistance."

Goldwin raised an eyebrow. "Assist you? With what?"

"I need to find out what happened to me during the unknown period of time that led to my current state," A-123 said, her tone even. "And, most importantly, how I ended up here in the lower stratum of the Iron Grave."

Goldwin scratched his head. "That could be anyone. But from what you told me, if the only ones capable of building automatons like you are the Vectors, and they were the ones who reached this level of the dungeon, it's possible they're the ones who... trashed you." He shrugged. "It's just a wild guess based on what you said."

A-123 paused for a moment, the lights in her eyes flickering in thought. "It never crossed my mind that my creators could be responsible for my destruction. Your reasoning is sound. However, it would require solid evidence to confirm."

Goldwin nodded, "Yeah, it's just a theory for now. But still, that's your problem, not mine."

A-123's voice took on a more commanding tone. "I have decided to enlist you in my search for the truth."

Goldwin crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Whoa, hold on. I'm not getting involved in this mess. Sounds way too complicated."

"If you assist me, I will help you return to the surface," A-123 countered.

"Still a no."

There was a pause, then A-123 added, "You will not be involved directly. I only require your assistance in gathering information. Besides, you are new to this world. You wouldn't survive long without guidance."

Goldwin hesitated, grumbling under his breath. "Okay, you've got a point there. But I'm not about to dive headfirst into some overly complex conspiracy."

A-123 pressed further. "If you assist me, I will convince Master Brynhildr to reward you generously for your efforts."

Goldwin was unmoved. "Still not enough—"

Suddenly, in her usual monotone voice, A-123 started repeating: "Please. Please. Please. Please."

Goldwin's eyebrow twitched, his patience running thin as the automaton continued the same phrase in an unchanging, robotic tone.

"Alright, alright!" Goldwin groaned, rubbing his temples. "Fine, I'll help. But on one condition. If I start feeling like this is more trouble than it's worth, I'm backing out. No questions asked."

A-123's voice sharpened. "Once you accept, you must not back out. It is not advisable."

Goldwin snorted, amused. "Yeah, well, that's not your decision, is it?"

The automaton remained silent for a moment before finally responding, "Understood. Thank you for your assistance. To commemorate the beginning of our partnership, I will now play a celebratory fanfare."

A burst of static suddenly erupted from her, followed by glitchy, distorted noise that was anything but celebratory. A-123 paused before apologizing.

"I believe my audio database hardware has been damaged," she said, sounding almost disappointed. "I will now sing the fanfare manually."

Goldwin watched in a mix of disbelief and amusement as A-123 started humming a basic melody, her voice monotone but somehow determined to imitate a triumphant tune. He couldn't decide whether he was impressed or just plain annoyed.

"Okay, okay. You win." Goldwin chuckled, half exasperated. "I'll admit that was... something."

A-123's flickers returned to normal. "I accept your praise."

Goldwin shook his head, still smirking. "Well, if we're going to be working together, I can't keep calling you A-123. Don't you have a real name?"

"I do not remember having a name aside from my issued serial, A-123," the automaton replied. "You may give me a name, if you wish. Though I must insist that it be... cute."

Goldwin raised an eyebrow. "Cute?"

"I jest. Any proper name will do."

Goldwin sighed and thought for a moment. Suddenly, a glimpse of his past flashed through his mind—a young girl, full of energy, who loved to tease him, always greeting him with a surprise after he returned from work.

A small smile crept onto his face. "Ellen," he said quietly.

The automaton's lights flickered in acknowledgment. "Ellen," she repeated. "Very well. I am Ellen."

Goldwin gave a slight nod, feeling oddly satisfied. "Yeah... Ellen it is."

Ellen's flickering lights brightened as she spoke again, her tone inquisitive. "What should I call you, by the way? Is it Goldwin, Zal, or... Gunawan?"

Goldwin—no, Zal—paused, reflecting on the names. The frail old man named Goldwin was a person of the past, a memory that no longer fit the man he had become. The name "Zal" echoed in his mind—simple, familiar, and meaningful. It was the name his friends once used, and it was how the previous Ellen used to address him, back when things were... different. It felt bittersweet, but something about it seemed right for this new world, this new chapter in his life.

"Call me Zal," he finally said, his voice steady. "It's what my friends called me... what she called me."

Ellen's lights flickered as she processed the name. "Understood. Zal it is. I've stored your name in my database."

A brief silence followed before Ellen added, "I will now play a celebratory fanfare."

"Please, no," Zal interrupted, holding up a hand.

Ellen stopped instantly, her monotone voice unwavering. "Very well. No fanfare."

Zal sighed in relief. "So, what's the plan to start this investigation of yours?"

"I require a new body," Ellen responded, matter-of-fact. "To do that, I must return to the surface and find one of the Vectors."

Zal raised an eyebrow. "And what if the Vector we run into is the same one who trashed you? Awkward, don't you think?"

Ellen's lights blinked in a calculated pattern. "You are correct. We shall focus on obtaining a new automaton body first. The rest of the investigation can come later."

Zal nodded. That seemed reasonable. "Alright, let's focus on getting you a new shell."

Ellen's sensors suddenly activated. "I have detected active signals coming from a device within the metal wasteland."

"What kind of device?" Zal asked, curiosity piqued.

"A device that can allow my reactor core to connect to your neural system," Ellen explained. "I would be able to use your eyes and senses to navigate us out of this dungeon."

Zal's eyebrows shot up. "Why would you need to do that?"

"If I can share your senses, I can help guide us more effectively. It will improve our chances of survival," Ellen explained simply.

Zal grunted, weighing his options. "Alright then, where's this device?"

Ellen transmitted coordinates to him, and it didn't take long for Zal to find what looked like a thick, short cable, nearly as large as his arm. He picked it up and examined it.

"This the one?" he asked.

Ellen's flickers confirmed. "Yes. Now, allow me to instruct you on how to connect my reactor to your neural system."

After following Ellen's step-by-step instructions, Zal felt a slight buzz as their systems synced. Ellen was able to see and feel through his senses, though the control of his body remained entirely his own.

"I can see again," Ellen said in her usual monotone. "This is... pleasing."

Zal raised an eyebrow. "Do you even have the ability to feel happy?"

"I was merely joking," Ellen replied, deadpan.

Zal snorted. "You're full of surprises."

With the connection established, Zal now faced the problem of how to transport Ellen's damaged body. That's when his old, crafty instincts kicked in. He disconnected the cable first, then rummaged through the piles of metal debris in the wasteland. Using his experience as a tinkerer, he scavenged materials and managed to assemble a makeshift backpack large enough to carry Ellen's robotic remains.

Even Zal was impressed with how quickly he threw it together. "I've still got it," he muttered under his breath, admiring his work.

Ellen's lights flickered in approval. "Your craftsmanship is commendable."

Zal chuckled as he carefully picked up Ellen's body, placing her into the metal box he'd constructed. A small hole on the surface allowed the large cable to connect to his back, linking their systems once more.

"How's it feel in there?" Zal asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"It works splendidly," Ellen replied, her voice as monotone as ever.

Zal grinned. "Good."

While scavenging, Zal had also found a large piece of cloth. He fashioned a makeshift brown robe to conceal his identity and used the remaining fabric to cover the metal box, further disguising Ellen's body.

With their preparations complete, Zal adjusted his new cloak and hoisted the covered metal box onto his back. He felt the weight of it, but it wasn't unbearable.

"Alright, Ellen," Zal said, taking a deep breath. "Let's head out and see where this adventure takes us."

Ellen's flickers brightened as she responded. "Agreed. We are now ready to proceed."

With that, Zal and Ellen—one man, one machine—ventured into the unknown, ready to face whatever dangers lay ahead in the Iron Grave.