A Storm Rolling In

The courtyard hums with activity, alive in a way Halo hasn’t yet seen. Smoke curls skyward from half a dozen campfires, the rich scent of roasting meat weaving through the air. Benji and Norio stand over a spit, the flames licking at skewered cuts as they turn them with practiced ease. Grease pops and sizzles and they discuss their hunt. 
          Not far off, Cinder stirs two great black cauldrons, the bubbling broth spitting against the rim. She wipes a strand of hair from her damp forehead with the back of her wrist. The community buzzes with excitement but she scowls at anyone who lingers too close. 
          All around, townspeople lend their hands. A line of children shuck corn, husks piling high. Women with worn knives dice carrots and potatoes at counters cobbled together from scavenged pieces. Dosei is hunches over a table, his glasses fogging as his eyes water while he butchers an onion, muttering under his breath at the injustice of vegetables. 
          The sound of chopping, sizzling, and boiling layers with chatter and laughter. It’s ragged, tired, but genuine. Spirits lift in the glow of firelight, the air alive with the promise of a meal shared together instead of rationed scraps. For a moment, Ossamaris feels less like a crumbling refuge and more like a home. 
          When the food is ready, the townsfolk gather in loose circles around the fires. Plates are passed, soup ladled, and the first bites bring collective excitement. Halo tears into a strip of roasted meat, the juices running hot and savory across her tongue. After days of scavenged rations and stale, expired food, this feels decadent. She can’t help but think of Moss, his diet of leaves and grass, and shudders at the thought. 
          I could never. 
          Laughter drifts over the firelight as the meal continues, stories traded between mouthfuls. For a little while, it almost feels like when she went camping with Ryousei and Kotarou, back before her whole world changed. 
          Benji leans back, chewing slowly, and points toward the horizon. Dark clouds roll in from the sea, heavy with rain. 
          “Storm’s comin’,” he mutters. 
          A chorus of groans follows. The good weather had been rare, a small blessing. Everyone knows what comes next: flooded walkways, sodden clothes, endless gray days. 
          Halo keeps her gaze fixed on the horizon, worried with a different kind of urgency. If she waits until nightfall, she’ll be wading through rain and mud to reach the android parts. 
          If I’m going to get those pieces for Rubble, it has to be tonight before the storm hits. 
          Halo waits for the right moment, then quietly rises from her spot by the fire. She offers a polite smile, murmurs an excuse about needing the restroom, and slips away while the others are still laughing over Benji’s exaggerated hunting story. The warmth of the gathering fades behind her, replaced by the chill of evening wind. 
          She quickens her pace as the storm clouds creep closer, the horizon flashing with distant lightning. She can’t waste time. 
          The streets of Ossamaris are quiet. Lanterns sway gently in the breeze, their colored glass casting fractured light across the canals. To her relief, the gates and drawbridge are still open, not yet barred for the night. She slips through, the weight of her secret pressing heavier than any lock. 
          Once beyond the safety of the walls, Halo breaks into a run. Her boots drum against the hill path, breath coming fast, until the forest swallows her in its shadow. The memory of Thorn’s brutal strike guides her step until she finds the familiar area. The android’s severed legs, still under the shallow water, waits like a grim offering. 
          Grunting with effort, she drags the cold metal limbs through the underbrush, twigs snapping under its weight. Her arms burn, her palms ache, but she doesn’t stop. The forest thins, and at last an orange sunset on water greets her. 
          At the rocky shore, the cave is drawing nearer with every step. Halo pulls the legs the last few feet, muscles screaming, until she can haul them inside. The sound of waves echoes in the cavern as she stumbles onto the flat stone where Rubble rests. 
          “Welcome back,” Rubble says, glad to see a familiar face. 
          “I got them,” she breathes, chest heaving, eyes bright with determination. 
          Rubble holds out both hands, showing off his recovery. 
          “Both of your arms work!” Halo smiles. 
          Halo lays Rubble flat on his back and props the severed legs against his torso. She holds them steady while he works; the metal is cold under her palms. Rubble’s fingertips flare with sparks as he welds wires and plates together. 
          “Why don’t the androids from the city regenerate like you do?” Halo asks, trying to keep the legs steady. 
          “They’re mostly older models,” Rubble says, voice steady as the arc of light from his fingertips. “The ones with bare metal and red eyes were the first generation, most of the androids you encounter will be one of them. The next had silicone skin and more human features.” 
          “Am I talking to a second-generation then?” Halo presses. 
          Rubble shakes his head as works. “No. I’m third-generation. My features are modeled after the host who uploaded their mind. Once my repairs finish, I’ll look like that person again.” 
          Halo exhales, the pieces clicking into place in her mind. “That’s why I thought you were human back at the apartment complex.” 
          “Hey, this feels different,” Rubble says, voice bright with surprise. “Was this android recently deactivated?” 
          “Yeah. Commander Thorn attacked it this morning.” Halo thinks back at how intimidating Thorn can be. 
          “I might be able to use this right away.” He flexes his toes, rolls his ankles, then bends his knees experimentally. 
          Halo’s face lights up. “Can you walk?” She springs up and offers him a hand. 
          He takes it, leans forward, and swings his legs into position. Halo pulls; he rises, wobbling, then leans into her. He’s taller than she expected, she has to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. 
          “You’re short,” he says, patting the top of her head with awkward fondness. 
          They fumble down the shore together, Rubble practicing steps while Halo supports him under one arm. Waves hiss against the rocks. Thunder rumbles distantly. 
          Rubble goes quiet for a moment, watching the darkening sky. 
          “You okay?” Halo asks. 
          He hesitates. “Sometimes thoughts intrude into my mind. They don’t feel like mine.” 
          “What do you mean?” she prompts. 
          “I thought about how much I hate thunder… how the wind will blow the porch door open sometimes.” He blinks, as if surprised by the memory. “But I’ve never had a home. Never had a porch.” 
          Halo stops and looks at him, the surf roaring in the background. “Sounds like you’re remembering something from your life before the upload.” 
          “Maybe.” He touches his hip where the plating is still rough. “I’ve been having strange dreams. I thought it was a glitch.” 
          “You shouldn’t stay in the cave tonight,” Halo says, glancing up at the angry clouds rolling in. “It could flood, and… maybe your past self is scared of storms?” 
          “I’m waterproof,” Rubble replies with a small, stubborn puff. “And I’m not afraid of storms.” 
          Halo gives him a look with half amusement, half resolve. “I’m taking you to the herbal shack. We can hide you in there, keep you dry and out of sight.” 
          “That's a terrible idea.” 
          “No it’s not,” she insists, “You could get struck by lightning!” 
          “In a cave?” Rubble side-eyes her. 
          “You’re coming with me even if I have to drag you there. I want to make sure you’re safe tonight.” 
          Rubble’s eyes glow a fraction brighter. “Alright. Thank you, Halo.” 
          As they slip back into Ossamaris, they sneak past the guards that, thankfully, rarely do their job. Halo freezes as Rubble’s joints squeal, a sharp, metallic protest that cuts through the quiet. A guard jerks upright, lantern swinging as he peers toward the noise. She shoves Rubble behind the nearest house and kicks over a bucket. The crash echoes down the alley. 
          Halo stumbles forward with a flustered wave of her hands. “Whoops!” she blurts, forcing a nervous laugh. The guards mutter to each other about how odd the new girl is, then wander back to their posts. 
          Halo exhales hard and rushes to Rubble, who wobbles as he pushes off the wall for balance. 
          “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. 
          “This plan is already going so well,” he says dryly. 
          She guides him into a narrow back alley. Above them, clothes hang across a drying line. She yanks down what looks to be men's clothes. 
          “This will help you blend in… a little.” she wrestles the fabric over his frame, the sleeves stretching tight around his metal arms. 
          “There,” she says, tugging the folds into place. 
          They hear voices drifting closer, laughter and chatter spilling into the alley. 
          “Dinner must be over, we have to hurry!” Halo panics. 
          She grabs Rubble’s wrist and pulls him into a backyard. Sudden loud barking makes her flinch. A dog, teeth bared, lunges at them, its momentum stopped only by the rope around its neck. 
          “Good thing it’s on a leash,” Rubble mutters. 
          The dog snarls and pulls harder, the frayed rope straining with every jerk. Halo’s eyes widen as the fibers begin to unravel. 
          “Go, go, go!” she shouts.