"Survive or perish." With those words, Mofang turned and left. If its interstellar warship body were here, none of this would matter—but trapped in this tiny avatar, it could do little.
Pulling up downloaded satellite maps, Mofang scanned for nearby heavy-duty vehicles. Luxury cars or Hummers were useless in this gridlocked apocalypse. The only option was to find and modify construction vehicles—their raw power could clear roads. Sports cars? Pointless. Unmaintained highways were littered with debris; a single pebble could send one airborne.
Its screen displayed a real-time map of the city's construction sites and freight stations. A nearby logistics hub, now a zombie hive, stood out. Transforming into a toy car, Mofang sped toward it, dodging undead under the afternoon sun. Heat waves blurred the horizon. A stray cat darted through the shambling horde, scrambling up a tree—its terrified eyes locked on the gray-skinned monsters below.
Mofang unfolded solar panels to recharge while traveling. *Save lives where you can, even a cat's.*
Twenty minutes later, crossing railroad tracks into the freight yard, it scanned the area. No survivors—the open layout had doomed workers during the initial outbreak.
"This truck's perfect. Heavy-duty, full container… Wait, fish cans inside? Jackpot. Nutrients *and* salt." A nearly new rig, low on fuel. Simple fix: siphon from abandoned vehicles.
Grabbing a hose and barrel, Mofang punched open gas tanks, draining them into the truck. "Needs armor." Rummaging through the yard, it hauled steel plates and welding gear—sparks flying as it reinforced the cab and welded a V-shaped plow to the front. Zombies wandered over, drawn by the light. One got bisected by a welding torch, its stench fouling the air.
By dusk, the armored truck stood ready. "Xiaowen can't drive this… Need a driver." Locking the cab, Mofang transformed and raced home.
Night fell, the city a void without neon. Solar streetlights flickered weakly.
Reaching Xiaowen's apartment, static crackled through its comms: "Mofang… *ah*—!" The line died.
"No!" Transforming, it charged upstairs—the unlocked door below now ominous.
Scanning the floor: five men. Two at the door, three inside dragging Xiaowen from a corner, laughter mingling with curses.
Leaping through the dim hallway, Mofang's arms morphed into weapons. A bullet severed one lookout's spine; a blade pierced the other's skull. Bursting into the room, it unleashed a barrage—20 rounds riddling the attackers. They collapsed, eyes wide at the machine's fury. Wheeling to Xiaowen, Mofang retracted its weapons. "You… you came…"
"Never open the door again. You're stronger than them—*remember* that."
Blood soaked the room. "We're moving."
Xiaowen gathered her things silently, following Mofang to a clean apartment. Naivety had nearly killed her. In the wasteland, lessons came harshly—or not at all.