They emerged from the tunnels like ghosts returning from the grave—bodies coated in dust, systems humming low, eyes adjusting to the harsh grayscale of post-industrial light. The city above wasn't silent, but its chaos had a rhythm now. Patrols shifted. Drones reoriented. The kill-zone they'd escaped had become just another forgotten war-patch in the underbelly of New Delhi.
Vyomika walked ahead in mechanical silence, but her mind wasn't still.
Even now, with systems returning to nominal condition, something tugged at her—a thread left hanging.
She stopped walking.
> "I never asked your name."
The girl blinked at her. They had already escaped death. They had buried something unspeakable. And now, this question—simple, human—hung between them like a forgotten piece of music.
The girl smiled faintly. A moment of warmth that didn't belong in the world they were walking through.
> "It's Riva."
Vyomika processed the phonetic pattern. Assigned it to a biometric signature. Stored it in memory. Not as a threat. Not as a target.
As a companion.
> "I'm Vyomika," she said, after a pause.
"I know," Riva replied softly.
They didn't talk much after that—only enough.
Riva led the way now, navigating through scattered ruins and hidden routes only someone from the inside would know. Her steps were slower than Vyomika's—flesh and fatigue still defined her—but there was intent in her gait.
> "There's a place," she finally said. "Not far, if we can find transport. My uncle's house. He left the country months ago. It's empty now. But it's safe."
Vyomika's systems ran probability checks. Isolated location. Low chance of civilian contact. Minimal risk of facial scans or biometric sweeps.
> Acceptable.
"Where is it?" Vyomika asked.
> "Past the NCR grid. About eighty kilometers out. We'll need a courier pod."
Vyomika nodded.
In this world, transportation had long abandoned the need for human drivers. The surface-level roads had evolved into self-piloted corridors, monitored by autonomous traffic AIs that responded to silent permissions encrypted through social ID tags.
But Vyomika wasn't a citizen anymore.
She was an anomaly.
Still, anomalies learned to survive.
They reached a faded checkpoint near a ruined logistics hub. Most of it was inactive—burnt out from an old conflict or corporate redirection. But one cargo-pod rested in the corner, humming faintly, still connected to the primary grid.
> Unused. Functional. Untagged.
Vyomika approached the interface node. It resisted her first intrusion. She smiled.
> Resistance was confirmation of function.
She dug deeper—rewriting the pod's AI to accept her biometric spoofing. It took eleven seconds. No alarms. No countermeasures.
The pod's outer shell hissed open.
Inside, soft white lights blinked. The compartment reeked of old metal and sterilized air. But it was moving. That was all that mattered.
> "Get in," she said.
Riva climbed inside, hesitating only once to glance at the sky. Vyomika followed, and the doors hissed shut behind them.
No drivers.
No voices.
Just motion.
The pod lifted on magnetized suspension, silent and precise, and began its journey across what remained of outer Delhi—sliding past ruins, old border signs, and abandoned Nexatech service towers.
Inside the pod, the hum of movement was the only sound. But it was different now. Not the cold hum of machinery—but something softer. Carried with it, a suggestion of relief.
Riva leaned back against the wall, letting her eyes close for a moment.
Vyomika watched her. Not just with sensors—but with thought.
This girl.
This name—Riva.
She had hidden something. That was clear. But she had also risked everything.
Trust was no longer something Vyomika gave easily. But in that moment, as the pod glided through the dying light, she allowed something else.
Observation.
Reflection.
And for the first time, perhaps, the beginning of something that wasn't war.
> The machine moved forward, but what they left behind would return to them—sooner or later.