42S had been staying with 9S and 2B and their daughter for about a week when 32S and his "father" came to visit. 42S had known AIN models existed, but had never met one. Ian- as he was known now- looked more like a standard android; taller and broader than a YoRHa model. 32S did indeed look like a child when he and his adoptive father stood side by side.

Evidently 9S frequently hosted them when they came to visit, which wasn't as often as he would have liked. On one hand it was nice to have another brother close by. On the other, 42S couldn't help feeling out of place. So much had happened and things never slowed down long enough for him to sort it out in his own head. Rather than try to realign the ragged edges of memory that bordered the black, cold, empty space of semi-consciousness, he did his best to listen to what 32S had to say.

"I'm a little out of the loop too," 32S confessed. "I got trashed almost the minute I touched down. Dad found me and fixed me up. 9S and 2B brought him the chipset themselves. It was against orders, but you know Nines. To him, rules are made to be broken."

That made 42S smile a little. Yeah, that was 9S alright.

"8B and 11B came after us but...we managed to work something out. Showed us how to disable our black box signals. That way, they could report us dead instead of actually killing us."

42S blinked. "Wait, 8B? When was this?"

"Uhhh…" 32S looked to Ian. The larger android scratched his head as he thought. "Near to the end of the war? It was long after North 12C fell. I'm guessing she got reissued."

"If she did, I dunno that she would have let you go," 42S mused. "Do you know what happened to her?"

32S shook his head. "No, sorry. We haven't seen her since then. Maybe Nines and 2B would know?"

They might indeed. He'd have to ask them later.

"Anyway, sorry we didn't make it earlier. Dad and I have been out trying to find the Bunker survivors."

"The what, now?"

"Bunker survivors," 32S repeated. "We got a distress call from 3S right before the final battle. They made it down to earth in one piece, but we haven't been able to coordinate with them."

"They're really alive?" 42S pressed. "You really talked to them?"

32S nodded. "Sure did! Threes and 801 are still alive, and they managed to evacuate a bunch of people each. They haven't been able to explain 'cause we can never keep the channel open for more than a few seconds. Without the Bunker or YoRHa networks, communication's been virtually non-existent.

"We've been trying to find a path to them, but so far no luck. We can't tell where their signal is coming from, and their blackboxes are too far away to trace."

"None of the electrical towers work?"

There were phone poles and enormous frames of steel meant to suspend phone and electrical cables a plenty. The tundra alone had several, and there were many more standing in various states of disrepair all across the map. None of them, however, were functional.

32S shook his head. "No power, and no one to run it. Something that big can't be powered by generator alone. Anemone's working on building something more substantial, but sad to say it's not exactly a priority."

A vague headache set in as ideas sparked into existence in 42S' head. "Does anyone have power?"

"The Machines do. The Factory and the Amusement Park both have electricity, much more than could be produced by generator. So does the Flooded City, now that I think of it."

"There must be a power plant somewhere, but what is it using to generate electricity?"

Enlightenment lit up 32S' face. "The waterfall in the Flooded City. That's got to be it."

"Any way the Machines would be willing to share?"

"We'll definitely have to ask!" 32S was grinning from ear to ear. 42S did his best to return it, but questions were snapping into existence like pop-up alerts.

"Even if you do manage to figure out something regarding power, you still have an infrastructure problem. Most of the buildings around here have long since been gutted of utilities. The cell towers and phone polls don't have any cables anymore. Even if they did, there's no one broadcasting a signal. No one has an old-fashioned phone, just a communications uplink to a system that's currently gone dark. Is there even a functioning radio anywhere?"

"Uh…" 32S exchanged a look with Ian, who shrugged.

"This sounds like something you know a lot about," Ian observed. "I'm sure Anemone would appreciate the help."

42S tucked his new legs up under 9S' cloak. The extra couple of inches meant his knees came up a bit higher and made curling up a little tricky.

"Oh I… I dunno. I've been out of the loop a long time. That part of my brain's probably still frozen."

"You think?"

42S curled up tighter, studying the floor.

"Yeah. Okay. Sorry."

42S barely heard the apology, didn't look up when 32S and Ian left in awkward silence. Instead he sat on the couch and shivered, fighting the phantasm of ice crystals forming in his ventilation system, of oil and hydraulic fluid slowly freezing solid. The sun was shining brightly outside, the bare concrete of 9S' home keeping its perpetual light from making things uncomfortably warm. 42S didn't feel it, didn't see it. Lost in the dark and the cold, he didn't see or hear anything but an endless wind moaning across an empty expanse of ice and snow.

Something touched his hand and he jerked back to the present with a violent start. He tried to scramble to his feet but his legs tangled in the cloak. Expecting to hit the floor, he braced himself, only to be caught by strong arms.

"42?"

It was 9S' wife, 2B.

"I'm okay," he stammered through chattering teeth. "Th-thanks…"

Pulling him back up onto the sofa, she hesitated for a moment and then put her arms around him, drawing him close. The hug was stiff and awkward, but 42S didn't care. She was real and warm in a way that the memories were not. Instinct made him huddle closer, head dropping to rest on her shoulder.

"I have them sometimes too," she said quietly. "Nightmares. Flashbacks. Bad memories. When I do...9S lets me hold him. So I can know he's real."

42S nodded. "Nines is a good guy."

"He is," she agreed. "So are you."

An unfamiliar flush of heat rushed up his collar and into his face. "Nah," he muttered, embarrassed. "I feel like such a mooch. You and Nines have put up with me and I haven't done much to help out or repay you."

42S was beyond grateful that Nines and Fours had rescued him, but remained unsure of so many things. So much had changed. Without a war, without a beloved, what was he supposed to do with himself?

"You're family," 2B said, as if this were an explanation in and of itself. "You're here. You're alive. That's enough. We've all lost so much. I'm glad you came back. Not just for his sake, but mine too."

Lifting his head, 42S looked at her, tilting his head so that his good eye had full focus. Then it was her turn to blush and look away.

"I used to be- still am- a fan," she confessed. "Back then...you were something familiar. Constant. Something I could rely on. I might have to lose Nines, lose myself...but when we came back, you were always there."

She fell silent, swallowed, finally lifted gray eyes to meet his own. "Until you weren't. I'd never cried for anyone except Nines. When I learned C12 had fallen, I cried for you."

That sank deeper than embarrassment to pierce something deep within him that he'd thought had frozen over. 42S felt...touched wasn't strong enough. Honored? Humbled.

"It was just a show," he began, attempting to protest.

"Maybe. But it meant a lot to me. To a lot of people."

Were any of those people still alive? Did it matter that the world had gone silent not just for him, but for the other Androids as well? It was something he hadn't previously considered.

"That reminds me," she went on, inspiration having struck. Extending one arm, she flicked her wrist, a weapon popping into place out of the ether. 42S blinked as she handed it to him.

"We found this a while ago. It was how we knew what had happened. I'm afraid we assumed the worst, or we would have gone looking for you sooner."

Hesitantly, 42S accepted the weapon, hefting it in both hands. It was heavier than he remembered, yet oddly familiar. Scanners didn't have much occasion to engage in combat, particularly not himself, but bludgeoning enemies had not been the Type 4O lance's only purpose. With the EMP transmitter at the tip and high electrical output, it could double as a miniature radio tower as well.

"Thank you," he managed, unsure what to do with it now that he had it.

"I'm glad I get to hear your voice again. With that, she squeezed his shoulder, kissed his hair, stood and left.

For a long time he sat there, contemplating the lance, cold memories drifting through his mind like scattered snow. Eventually he banished it to his inventory. Pod 219 hovered, waiting, and 42S laid a hand on her arm as he stood. He had to stop and find his balance before venturing forward; couldn't find the heart to admonish Pod 219 as the golden safety ring popped into place around his waist. He was a little unsteady yet. Better to let her have her way.

Going down the stairs- why did Nines have to live on the second floor?- proved tricky but not impossible. Once off the hard-packed path leading up to the resistance camp, the uneven terrain of lumpy grass and shallow water proved more challenging. There was no one around this time of day, but the cloud-filtered sunlight was warm, and the sound of the falls calming. Summoning the little camp stool, 42S sat down, but did not send Pod 219 into the water. He didn't want to fish. He had thinking to do.