Annotation:
-Direct speech!
"Quotes"
"Thoughts"
[VI/AI]
EFFECTS!/Effects.

It is during a routine break to get my bearings when I feel my world suddenly darken around me at the edges. I manage a desperate glance around me before my knees buckle and I bend double from the veritable uprising in my stomach. My arm claws at the concrete ruin I was about to hop over, parkour style, as that body of mine does its best attempts to resemble an epileptic pretzel. It is not long before I am hurling indescribable, viscous chunks onto the deserted city's ruined concrete. The attempt at giving my lungs an outside view of my chest lasts for a whole minute as I kneel on all fours, retching like a cat. As the debilitating fit subsides I spare a wide-eyed glance at the product I expelled, myself still prone and puzzled. What could I have possibly ingested to warrant such a response from my beleaguered system I have no idea, but perhaps I could hazard a guess using the Bunker's VI. Taking out a bullet-proof glass vial out of one of my pouches I gently scoop up enough of the stomach gunk, corking the small glass vessel at the end of the procedure. I then take a crouching stance, pistol in the jittery hand, and survey my surroundings. No one had accosted me as I was retching, thankfully, so I am free to pathetically scramble to my feet and resume the journey to the scrapyard. From there I would get into ruins proper, then into the spot heplfully marked as "Resistance Camp".

Sparing a moment to scratch under the optics of the drone worriedly buzzing around me I routinely inspect my surroundings. I am now in the uncharted territory leading to what is, assuming the physical map of the area (backed up in the drone's databank in the digital form, of course) is correct, a giant hub of android activity. The supposed Resistance camp is rumored to be one of the tide breakers of the Machine activity in the region, as well as a haven for all surviving automatons. In all honesty I am hesitant to present myself so soon, but the Grunt do what VI say, et cetera et cetera.

Once again, the long trek to my destination, no matter how stressful, drives me to think with its prolonged silence. It has been awhile since I got a moment to think, so, using my apparent newcome un-wellness as an excuse, I break camp in the middle of nowhere after another hour of walking. My staying point is, as usual, a drab display of hollowed out grey building chunks surrounding vast spaces that used to be playgrounds and communal areas with lush vegetation staking a claim at every bit of empty space not occupied by the ruins of humanity. On the fifth floor of one of those rentable chunks I barricade the only entry point with rusty shelves of some kind, unpack my sleeping bag and get a heating unit going.

Curling up on the concrete floor with only a relatively thick layer of fiber is not an experience I would recommend, but not the one I am unused to. Before it all came to a close and all of us ended up being frozen for however long, we traversed the vast underground network that used to connect our bunkers, thousands of meters underground, scouring it for machine presence, or what is even more dreadful - the splinter cells. Rough bedding like this was not uncommon, and nobody would start a fire, limited oxygen as it was, with an added bonus of being seen for miles around.

-The Fourth Millenia was one hell of a thing, huh…

I quip out loud. The clumsiness and nausea seem to subside a little as I stop moving, so I decide to leave my well-being in the hands of the drone hovering nearby and go on daydreaming. It is, after all, a legitimate moment of calmness in the hectic days that followed my reawakening. How long has it been, even? A week at most, I have not counted the days. In this time, I managed to avoid dying about ten times, met the Machine lifeforms and met our temporary replacements as well. These new generation androids are something else. Stronger, more durable, seemingly capable of reason and complex thoughts and emotions. They take nicknames, have distinct personalities and live differently from each other. Yet still, they keep on fighting.

For however long it took for nothing but concrete and rusted rebar to remain, these poor souls lived, fought and died against an endless onslaught for their masters, who in turn abandoned them, seeking to hide themselves deep underground, concealing themselves in relative safety as their own society teetered on the brink of total collapse. Perhaps I could refresh my memory back at base, spend some time reading about these events at the archives. For now, though, it is time to rest.

Turning and tussling, I feel the bile coming up again and curl like a caterpillar before heaving mightily. The goop comes out less chunky and more of a stream, coating the concrete time and time again.

"That's it, I am going home."

Whatever it is, it is not going away, I might as well consult the bunker VI. Resting a bit more and making sure I do not collapse again I slink back to the bunker, making my way through at least a dozen seemingly docile machine lifeforms on the way to thew concealed entrance. A half an hour ride down the admittedly fast platform I am back home. Decontamination, shower and a whole meal later I stand before the console, waiting for it to process the report.

[Noted. This is quite an unexpected development. The procedure was designed to have the preserving fluids expelled in a matter of hours.]

"Or in a couple of bathroom visits..."

-Something must have happened to the procedure! My performance is severely affected and I cannot complete my mission.

[That is a severe reaction indeed. We must proceed with another stage of the plan, then. I have spent considerable time analyzing our systems and we have come up short on a few of them: our ventilation system is extremely taxed, the shaft mucked up with, assumingly, centuries of grime. Our chronometer is bugged and although we can count time internally, our overall perception of time is nonexistent, the systems do not even know what millenia it is, yet alone year.]

That is grim news, and I can already smell the next set of instructions. Considering what is happening with our cryo reawakening procedure I doubt any more of us will be taken off the ice, that means I have to haul ass for all of Mankind and do everything myself. On one hand this is a mess, on the other I get to requisition more equipment. Until further notice I am the only grunt there is, therefore...

-Can I have more stuff?

[...]

...
Some time passes. Presumably half a day of lazing around in the dorm,sleeping, dying of boredom and restocking on gear leaves me a little antsy for some action. The fits of dizziness and occasional vomiting does happen, but lower and lower in volume until my head clears completely. Then the package comes and all is good in the world. From the moment the internal delivery system plopped out a box half my size I knew the goodies had arrived in force.

-Let us see what you have here...
I say with naked glee as my trembling hands start unwrapping the package.

I take an admiring look at my new uniform and gear. Upon fitting and equipping everything and making sure the straps are all in the right places and belts wont strangle me in a moment of inconvenience, I cut quite a figure. Full-body undersuit, lined with thin armored plates in vulnerable spots, an armored vest alongside the knee and elbow pads, and, most importantly, a helmet with a full-face mask complete with a detachable (and frankly quite bulky) air filter. White C detector on the left hip, Pistol on the right one, now with six total batteries to feed it. Thirty shots is not a small number, but... neither it is a small one. Gigawrench at the back near the new heavier backpack. Below it, hanging in adjustable straps is the Cranker. But that is not the best part. Had to trade every damn part I have scavenged from bastards big and small in order to get some more, alongside with all the "Gs" I have collected for the last request of mine.

I heft the new device in my arms. It is a thick rod with a relatively small hammerhead on top of it. It has a button in the small indent, as if to not have it be pressed accidentally. Upon activating it the rod unfolds into a two-handed grip for what is essentially a spear with a sledgehammer at the end of it. Considering the overwhelming presence of machine lifeforms and the underwhelming amount of ammo it was only a matter of time before I got myself a melee weapon, sans the wrench. Considering how damn thick those metal toddlers are the blade won't cut it, quite literally in this case. The wrench is a hefty bludgeon except it is a tad heavy and unwieldy, as well as damn tiring to swing for a prolonged time. This is where this thing comes in. Portable, long and can, when swung properly, deliver more pain than the wrench at a safer distance.

After all, I have to finally try out the moves we've been taught on actual targets. Our training did include more training to running out of ammunition than "retreat or perish if cannot". The drone is also here, now with an additional power source that could set it up for days. I should probably name it something. As I ponder about all the possible names of my loyal companion an intercom screeches to life with an abrupt disturbing noise.

[Vanguard One to the debriefing room. Repeat, Vanguard One to the debriefing room.]

"Here is my que, I suppose."

Temporarily setting my musings aside I obediently proceed to the debriefing room. The console which I usually report to ponderously glowing amidst the darkened, power-conserving utilities.

[Vanguard One. The situation has become clearer. As a safety precaution and the only human unit active, you are to be debriefed in regards to Project Amber and its outcome.]

Considering I have never heard of this project beforehand this was, until a few minutes ago, a highly classified project. Curiosity prevents me from interrupting the VI as it spills the beans.

[Project Amber is what is considered to be the project most decisive in regards to Humanity's contemporary preservation. Designed as a means of conserving a certain percentage of the population, it was deemed successful after two years of testing and proceeded to be integrated into a certain number of underground facilities around the globe.]

-No wonder I am suffering drawbacks. Two years of testing, even presuming possibly artificially aging the experiments, is quite little to base such a crucial program upon.

The Mainframe continues, undeterred by my outspoken musings:

[The short, unscientific version of the procedure in question is that the subject is put inside of a previously vacuumed capsule with Amber Fluid then filling the capsule and submerging the individual inside. The Amber Fluid is a substance the nature of which I was not cleared of, but it is nicknamed of the ancient semi-precious form of a millenia-hardened resin called amber, a crude, natural way of preserving ancient secrets. It is how the scientist of Old made certain breakthrough discoveries having found insects or body parts encased in amber, perfectly preserved thousands of year into the future. The Amber Fluid bears resemblance to natural-made amber in two ways: its colour and the ability to preserve objects it encases. At this, however, the similarities end. Unlike amber, Amber does not harden completely — it courses through the body of the subject in question more akin to honey, flowing through the body's natural delivery systems as well as seeping through the organs and skin. It allows breathing and bears mildly regenerative properties so as not degrade the brain, skin and every respective organ otherwise suffering of aging.]

That... is a lot to take in. From what is described to me they found somewhat of a key to immortality, albeit a dysfunctional one.

[Here are the drawbacks determined so far: apart from the residue left from the Amber fluid still circulating in your system in form of grey substance, coating your lungs and stomach, your brain had not partially recovered as well. It appears that the bouts of anxiety and gibbering thoughts you have exhibited in the first days after your awakening are a product of a brain lag years long in the making.]

I see. No wonder my thought process revolved in a spiral at a hundred kilometers per hour. The thought vomit that plagued me , the food analogies and disturbingly snarky behaviour were, after all, a desire of my brain to catch up after however long its thoughts were drenched in honey.

[I have elected not to awaken anyone else for this exact reason an many more. Firstly, you will be monitored for any future side effects that may appear later. Secondly, determining the current date is integral to determining treatment. You are to reactivate our Chronometer. Thirdly, our power sources, despite being outfitted with redundancies and contingency equipment, have mostly ceased to function over however long it took to reach the contemporary. You will make a tour of our damaged and underpowered equipment and perform a full survey and damage report. For each task completed, you may ask the Mainframe for more equipment. The machine parts program is still available to you as well, should you need more power cells manufactured.]

This makes sense, again. Despite being saddled with even more work than I have anticipated, I will be the one to reap the rewards. In times where there were more of my comrades around me the tasks of such rarity were snatched quite fast by anyone but my ponderous self.

- I suppose the Chronometer cannot be activated without at least another power source refitted into our grid.

[That is correct.]

- I propose a construction of a Solar Array from salvaged Machine parts. No necessity to expend our resources on something we can take for ourselves from the enemy.

"And, of course, more of our goods can then be spared for me."

...

As it turns out, Mainframe can be convinced of a lot of things if it is not forced to stretch our thinned resources even further. Armed better than I ever had before, I am in the process of climbing one of the buildings in the housing complex that was build to disguise the entrance. Having emerged from the auxiliary entrance mainly used for maintenance, I have passed the ruined remains of an underground parking lot and am in the process of tentatively testing the stairs for any signs of crumbling. Upon realising that Humanity as a whole would be better of not squabbling among each other in pointless wars, a lot of our curiosity and manpower has been directed into further development, partially that of our infrastructure. The building I am in, despite looking worse for wear than a starving, half-burned cow, still manages to hold itself together for what appears to be sheer determination and fossilized glue. It takes a lot to scale the stairs to the third floor, much more does it take to get to the eight, and by the time I have climbed all the way to the twenty third floor my knees have night turned to jelly.

I am in the process of seriously reconsidering the entire idea as among the many holes and cave-ins that litter the roof I spot a pack of Machine lifeforms milling about. One of the four of them is shuffling around, kicking loose chunks of concrete with its stubby, penguin-like feet while the other two seem to be keen on removing a piece of rusty rebar from one of the supporting pillars. The last two seem to be... sitting on the edge of the roof, looking into the distance. It is yet another sign of unusual behaviour from what is usually a ravenous wall of metal limbs. The group itself, on top of being a source of solar array parts, is in a prime spot for an installation of one. Despite for what one may assume on hearing the words "solar panel", it is not anymore a flimsy, breakdown prone antiquity from the old millenia. If constructed properly it would be more durable, take less space, draw a little more power and have a limited self-repair capability. Fourth Millenium does NOT screw around with technology. The group of the five machines is a problem, but... there are no Mediums around them, and therefore they can be dealt with, provided I am mindful of the surroundings and not fall fall foot-first into a hole and break all of my limbs. Although... I already know how to start off the fight.

Creeping up closer, I pick up a large piece of mushed, dry concrete and, after a moment of aiming, hurl it at the head of one of the machines sitting on the edge. With a loud banging noise it smashes into its back a little lower than I intended, yet still tips it over the edge. Without a sound more it plummets to the afterlife from the twenty-third floor. The rest of the group is visibly pondering the demise of their ally as I scuttle ever closer, moving from a decrepit heating unit to a heating unit I use as cover to get into the firing range. Having left the drone back at its charging station and the fight close to its beginning I am suddenly not so eager. After a moment of hesitation I holster my pistol, though, as a thought passes through me.

"If there was ever a time to practice melee combat, it would be here, against this isolated enemy group on an unfavorable terrain. Do it, you might otherwise not get another chance at such."

I take a step forward, then another, brandishing my new weapon, its shiny head glittering in the everlasting sunlight, yet to spill the oily blood of Humanity's enemies. It is for the first time since the start of this conflict I must face the foe in melee combat willingly.

-For Mankind!

I rally myself to fight with a hoarse cry, catching the attention of the nearest one of the four, then stepping close enough to bait out a spinning attack they so prefer to do, then winding up a devastating strike to its head. The strike glances off its stupid round dome and chambers into its right shoulder, caving it in slightly. The arm that is attached to it visibly slows down and the rotation halts. It seems it now has a shorter range of movements which I exploit mercilessly as I strafe its right side with haste, then wind up another shot at its head as it desperately tries to turn on its stubby legs to match me.

CRUNCH!

A crushing hit straight to the side of its head tips it over, the thing letting out a pitiful metallic wail as it topples. I have no time to finish it off, though, as its comrades finally catch up to me. I withdraw immediately, taking hasty steps back, twirling the weapon in my arms with anticipation of their next move. Next one, a small biped, walks up to me with an intent to land a devastating punch to my midsection. I barely avoid it by staggering backwards. For being their size and design they are quite agile, their movements sets of rapid bursts intent on pulverising me. As I fall back to create space between us once more the remaining small buggers close ranks seemingly on complete accident. If I swing at one of them the others will have time to reach me.

"So be it!" The weapon is temporarily discarded, clattering onto the floor as I turn tail and run. Having created enough space I turn and take a knee and steady my breath, unleashing an aimed shot at the leading enemy of Mankind. It takes the first, second and third hits to the head, torso and shoulder respectively, faceplanting forward in a way that is almost funny, even in the middle of heated combat. Its frame whitens as it cracks in multiple places and then it violently explodes, coating its comrades in self-made shrapnel. They stumble, disoriented for a moment, and that is when one of them suffers a devastating case of self-combustion as my carefully aimed shot goes straight through its eye lens and ignites something volatile, spewing nuts and bolts like confetti as it crumbles to the ground in a heap, headless.

Discharging my last beam into the leg of the remaining one, a biped, I watch in glee as the shot slags the kneecap, turning it into an immobile mess of rusty steel. The metal creature limps towards me angrily. I in turn calm down, measured breaths overtaking the nervous mandrage as I circle around the two disabled units left on the battlefield. I've actually won. I've-

"Stop. Calm down and finish the fight."

Welcome back, Reason. Good to see you are awakened from Amber at last. With my mind back in the game I make another zig-zag and pick up my elongated warhammer, now much less pristine. With ginger steps I approach first one, then another machine and bash their limbs to pieces, leaving their heads intact. After all, laser does a bad job of preserving the most valuable parts, and such are integral to the construction of the first array. Then, I drag the bodies into one pile at the intended construction spot. They are quite heavy and it takes a lot out of me, yet in the end I finally arrange the borrowed set of tools and proceed with the construction. Hours pass by without disturbance, as the finishing touches on one of the first steps to reclaiming are nigh. It is at this point I realise that I have to walk back all the way down to salvage the fifth Machine for the last few wires and chips necessary to finish construction. Putting a tarp upon the unfinished construction, I sigh in exasperation and make my way down.

Tired beyond belief, I return to the roof an hour later having spent the last thirty minutes jumping at every shadow while stripping whatever useful was left of the biped that had committed assisted suicide. A few more adjustments here and there and the construction is finally finished. Now... now I have to run a cable all the way to the underground...

"I think I am done for today. Carrying a heavy cable spool multiple flights of spotty stairs is not in the evening's menu."

Yet, even if this task is not finished, content I feel is palpable. After days of simply surviving and skirmishing around the ruins, the long road to our reawakening had finally begun. It is only a matter of time until someone else joins me in my daily routine, I hope. It is getting a tad lonely...

...
Welcome back everyone. I know it has been quite some time, but there has been quite a lot happening in these eighteen months or so I have not updated this fic. I am still determined to finish this work. If I stop updating it probably means I have finally been conscripted and am rotting in some trench.