A few hours passed in uneasy silence. The room, while sterile and functional, had the unsettling air of a temporary refuge, as though it had been designed to offer only the barest comforts. Seyfe's exhaustion weighed on him, his muscles stiff and aching, but every time his eyes fluttered shut, the tension in his chest kept him awake. He couldn't fully relax—not with the baby sleeping so peacefully beside him, and certainly not with the lingering presence of the Veilers, even if one of them was now, strangely, a bit more... human.
Then, without warning, the door slid open again. Seyfe's hand instinctively went to the small weapon at his side—a blade he'd scavenged before arriving here. His muscles tensed, preparing for the worst.
The second Veiler stepped through the doorway, its mechanical steps silent, yet its presence seemed to fill the room all the same. It held a tray in its hands—an odd and unexpected offering.
Seyfe's instincts screamed at him to be cautious, to keep his distance, but the Veiler didn't seem threatening. It didn't even speak. Instead, it simply placed the tray down on the small desk by the cot, its movements deliberate but not aggressive.
The tray was laden with food—small jars of baby food, bottles filled with what seemed like a mix of milk and supplements, and a small container of soft, pale grains that seemed to be some kind of porridge. Alongside it, there was food for Seyfe: a hasty meal, but far more appetizing than what he had been able to scavenge for himself. There was water, too, and a mug of something warm—likely tea, though the taste of it didn't matter right now. His throat was dry, cracked from dehydration.
Seyfe's eyes flicked between the tray and the Veiler. His grip on the blade tightened instinctively, but the Veiler didn't move toward him, didn't attempt anything hostile. It simply stood there, waiting for him to make a choice.
It took everything in Seyfe to remain calm. He didn't trust the government. He didn't trust the Veilers. The idea that this machine—this thing—could care about the baby or even about him was preposterous. Yet, the thought lingered. The Veiler's mannerisms, the subtle warmth in its voice, the way it seemed to recognize their needs...
Seyfe swallowed hard, his gaze flicking to the baby again. The infant was still asleep, its chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. A wave of guilt washed over him as he thought of the way he had nearly given in to hunger earlier. He hadn't even been able to properly care for the child, hadn't been able to protect it from his own hunger and desperation.
The Veiler broke the silence. "The child will need nourishment," it stated flatly, its voice devoid of inflection. "The food is prepared for both of you. You may rest while I remain nearby."
Seyfe's mind raced as he looked at the food. Was this just a test? Was he being watched, manipulated? The paranoia gnawed at him, but another part of him—one that was raw and tired and human—desperately wanted to believe that this wasn't another trap.
He clenched his fists. His stomach growled, betraying him. His throat burned with thirst.
"I'll feed the child," Seyfe muttered finally, his voice rough. "Then I'll eat."
The Veiler didn't respond, simply standing by as Seyfe lifted the baby from the cot again, careful not to disturb its peaceful sleep. His hands shook as he opened one of the jars of baby food, the smell faintly sweet, but it was enough to stir his stomach. He spooned the food into the baby's mouth gently, his movements automatic, like a reflex. The baby stirred, its lips parting to take the food, a faint murmur of contentment escaping it as it suckled.
Seyfe didn't look up at the Veiler. He couldn't. The strange tension still coiled in his chest, a knot of suspicion and distrust he couldn't quite shake.
Once the baby had finished, Seyfe placed it back on the cot, covered it with the blanket, and then turned his attention to the food set aside for him. His fingers hesitated as they reached for the plate of food, his stomach tightening in revolt at the idea of accepting anything from the government, from them. Yet his body screamed for nourishment. His mind screamed for clarity.
With a sigh, he pushed those thoughts aside. He was too tired, too hungry to keep fighting this.
He took a bite.
It wasn't great. It was bland, processed, but it was food, and it filled a gnawing hole inside him. He chewed slowly, as if expecting something terrible to happen with each swallow.
The Veiler stood silently by the door, its presence a constant, unyielding reminder of the system that had caused all this destruction. Yet… there was something about the way it stood there, unmoving, just watching, that made Seyfe uneasy. It wasn't human, but there was something almost human about its attention. It wasn't a mechanical guard; it was something more.
His mind went back to the conversation he'd overheard from the scum's radio about the Veilers. How they were supposed to be emotionless, pure machines, soldiers of the government, and nothing else. But this one—this Veiler—felt different. Its actions were too precise, too observant, too aware.
He finished his meal in silence, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His head was spinning with questions. Could the Veiler be aware of his thoughts? Was it toying with him? And what of the baby? What had the government intended when they sent it to this broken realm?
Finally, Seyfe set the empty plate aside and looked at the Veiler once more.
"Why?" he asked, his voice quiet but full of suspicion. "Why are you helping us?"
The Veiler's helmeted head tilted slightly, and for a moment, it didn't respond.
"Helping?" it echoed. "I am following protocol. My actions are based on standard procedure. You are a civilian in need. The child is an asset that requires preservation."
There was no warmth in its words—just cold efficiency. And yet, somehow, it felt like there was more to it than that.
The Veiler didn't elaborate further, but the tension in the room thickened. The silence between them seemed to stretch on forever.
Seyfe leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts racing again. He knew better than to trust this machine, but the fact that it had acted with such care—it unsettled him. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew one thing for sure: whatever was happening here, whatever this Veiler represented, it wasn't something he could easily understand.
Seyfe let out a heavy sigh, his exhaustion weighing down on him like an iron chain. His hands trembled as he dropped the weapon in his grip, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud. He stood there for a moment, his back aching and his mind swirling in confusion.
"Hey, you shit," Seyfe muttered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration. "Why don't we remove that mask of yours for a moment?"
His words were sharp, but beneath them, there was something else—a sense of vulnerability, something that made him question the coldness that had kept him alive for so long. He'd learned to trust no one, to never show weakness, but this? This felt different. She felt different.
The Veiler let out a soft, almost exasperated sigh, as if she had expected this. Slowly, she began to retract her helmet, the mechanical hiss of the seals releasing echoing through the room. Seyfe's breath hitched in his throat as the mask came off, revealing the girl beneath it.
She was just a kid.
Her hair was dark, tangled from days of travel, but her face—her face was unmistakably human. She looked no different from the teenagers he'd seen in the dead cities before the world had fallen apart. Her eyes, once cold and emotionless, now held a depth he hadn't expected.
Seyfe took a step back, his mind struggling to process the image. His heart pounded in his chest, confusion, shock, and a flicker of something else—a strange empathy, perhaps—sweeping through him.
"What the hell…" Seyfe whispered, his voice faltering. "You—what… How are you…"
The girl didn't immediately respond. Instead, she simply stood there, her hands by her sides, her posture almost as if she was waiting for something from him. She didn't seem threatening, not now that the mask was off. She was just… a person.
"I'm not what you think," she finally spoke, her voice softer than he had expected. It held a quiet power, a kind of raw honesty. "I'm not just a machine, Seyfe. I'm not what they turned me into."
Seyfe's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of her words. His pulse quickened, and he instinctively took a step back, the old, familiar walls going up in his mind. "What do you mean, you're not like them? Who are you really?"
The girl's expression darkened, a flicker of something painful crossing her face. "I was made to be one of them—the Veilers. But something… happened. I changed. I'm not sure how, or why. But now I'm… different."
Seyfe's eyes narrowed. "Changed? What does that even mean? Are you saying you weren't supposed to be like this?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes flickering toward the ground. "I wasn't supposed to think. I wasn't supposed to feel. But I do now."
The words hung heavily between them, and Seyfe felt his mind spinning. What was he supposed to make of this? A Veiler—a machine, a weapon—was standing before him, claiming to be human in a way. The world had turned upside down, and now even the most solid walls of certainty were crumbling.
"Why the hell are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice low, still tinged with suspicion. "What's your angle? Why help me?"
She didn't hesitate. "Because I don't want to be what they made me. I don't want to be the thing you fear. I want to help."
Seyfe's heart clenched. It didn't make sense. Nothing about this made sense. But as he looked at her, his instinct told him that she wasn't lying. She was—human. Her desire to help wasn't some programmatic command. It was a choice.
"I don't need help," Seyfe muttered, though the words felt hollow in his mouth. He didn't want to need anyone, not after everything the world had done to him. But the baby… the child in his arms, the fragile life he was now responsible for…
The girl stepped forward slowly, her hands held out slightly, as if trying to calm a wild animal. "You do need help. You're just afraid to admit it. I'm not like them. I'm not a weapon to be used."
Seyfe stared at her, his mind still racing. He wasn't sure if he could trust her, if he could trust anything in this broken world. But something in her eyes made him pause. Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe not. But in the end, he didn't have a choice.