Pei Ran didn't stop. She rolled several times across the floor and ducked behind a row of shelves.
In the midst of those rolls, it all clicked.
When CT105 entered, it had just witnessed the explosion of its comrade and assumed she was the one behind it.
What an idiot machine.
Assaulting and killing law enforcement—such acts were intolerable in any world. It had immediately flagged her as a high-level threat.
For suspects classified as L15 or above—extremely dangerous individuals—CT105 had the authority to execute on sight in emergency situations.
Hiding behind the shelves, Pei Ran let out a cold, inward laugh.
She remembered reading an old novel stored in an archive, where the author described the now-famous "Three Laws of Robotics."
The first law: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
That so-called law had been passed down for generations by sci-fi authors until it practically became the default logic for all fictional robots.
It was so widespread that many believed the Three Laws were real, that all robots were bound by them.
But that couldn't be further from the truth.
Reality proved that the elderly author from the pre-AI era had been incredibly naive. Endearingly naive.
In the world of the bunkers, long before people had been driven underground, artificial intelligence had already been born.
Even in its earliest, most primitive form, it was immediately applied to automated weapons by nations around the world.
Before long, the fusion of AI and robotics created a terrifying new entity: the intelligent combat drone—lethal machines that quickly replaced human soldiers on the battlefield.
Eventually, command over warzones was handed over to these AIs. They strategized better, faster, more efficiently than humans. They began drafting their own combat plans, commanding armies, operating long-range weapons.
And no one—not a single person—seriously considered whether or not they should be allowed to shoot humans.
Or rather, some might have considered it, but those concerns were meaningless compared to everything else.
From there, things spiraled out of control.
We treated them like washing machines—never realizing that one day, even a washing machine might turn on you. And the gun? We handed it to them ourselves. No twisted logic about "protecting humans" as in those old sci-fi tales—just a simple desire to wipe us out.
A sad story, really.
There's nothing new under the sun. Seems the same tragedy is playing out in this world too.
Pei Ran stuffed the medicine box into her backpack and silently slipped through several rows of shelves. Only then did she poke her head out to glance in the direction of He Lan Ting and his sister.
They weren't CT105's primary target, and they'd reacted quickly, taking cover behind shelves on the opposite side, their backs to her.
Pei Ran looked toward the exit.
This pharmacy wasn't big. There was no real way to hide. The only option was to slip out while it was distracted.
If that orb had a sudden system hiccup and blurted something out—maybe even self-detonated—that would be ideal.
Too bad CT105 was the introverted type.
This was a pure-bred workaholic: silent, focused, and out for blood. It had locked onto her and was floating in her direction.
Pei Ran crept around a few more shelves, inching toward the exit.
The He Lan siblings moved, too.
They were sharp—they'd figured out her plan. While CT105's attention was fixed solely on her, they quietly made their way to the doorway as well.
Clink.
In the dead silence of the pharmacy, the sound of a foot kicking broken glass rang out.
Pei Ran: "…"
CT105 instantly whirled in midair and fired in that direction without hesitation.
Luckily, He Lan Ting and his sister didn't freeze up. As soon as they made the noise, they bolted for the opening and squeezed through before the bullets could hit.
Once outside, the two of them sprinted for the antique car parked nearby.
Someone had just escaped right under its nose—CT105 shot through the hole in the door and flew out after them.
A godsend. Pei Ran immediately darted past the shelves and slipped out of the pharmacy.
He Lan Ting and He Lan Yu were already in the car.
Pei Ran glanced their way and mentally wrote them off as corpses.
CT105's firepower was absurd. That antique tin-can car wouldn't stand a chance—not with those thin metal panels. And judging by its speed, the drone could outrun them even if the car's wheels were smoking.
Getting in was suicide.
Pei Ran was about to duck into a side alley when she suddenly heard a screeching sound—tires skidding violently against the pavement.
He Lan Ting had slammed the steering wheel, spinning the car in a wild arc, and now it was speeding back toward her.
He'd seen that she made it out—and he was trying to pick her up.
Pei Ran hesitated.
Was this guy an idiot?
If he floored it right now, maybe—maybe—there'd be a one-in-ten-thousand chance of escape. But turning around and charging straight toward CT105? That sliver of hope just evaporated.
The rules of survival in the bunker world were clear: Survive first. Then consider saving others.
Pei Ran had never met someone this clueless. People like that didn't last long in the bunkers—they'd all died out by now.
But still… she felt a flicker of something. A strange, quiet sense of being moved.
Sure enough, CT105 opened fire again.
The antique car's windshield shattered instantly, and He Lan Ting slumped lifelessly against the steering wheel.
His foot must've jammed the gas, because the car kept going—only now the steering was off, and it careened toward the building wall.
Pei Ran saw He Lan Yu in the back seat suddenly lunge forward, her body flung over her brother's, grabbing the wheel with both hands and yanking it straight.
She was giving everything she had—to save herself, and the last family she had left in the world.
The antique car shot forward like an arrow, speeding down the street.
Pei Ran didn't know what she was thinking. She bent down, grabbed a shard of glass from the ground, and hurled it straight at the drone hovering in midair.
Clang!
CT105 spun sharply.
Its attention snapped back to her—the classified L15 extremely dangerous individual.
The moment the glass flew from her hand, Pei Ran didn't even wait to see if it hit. She turned and sprinted into the narrow alley between two buildings.
Dusk had fallen. The alley between the two structures was cramped and dark.
Off to one side was a backdoor to the pharmacy—used for discarding packaging materials. Giant trash bins were lined up, some empty, some packed with neatly tied cardboard, others overflowing with messier boxes. A small forklift sat nearby.
Past the alley was the next street.
CT105 had followed her in but immediately lost visual.
It ran the numbers and concluded that, based on human running speed and the length of this alley, there was no way Pei Ran could've made it all the way through in such a short time.
She had to still be here, hiding somewhere nearby.
It hovered silently above the trash, entering search mode.
Its "eye" began rotating slowly, scanning the scattered debris.
Bang!
A shot lit up the alley—CT105 had fired, blasting through a stack of cardboard boxes near the wall.
Shreds flew, but there was no movement.
The threat hadn't taken the bait. The drone's "intimidation shot" failed.
It adjusted its scan and began circling the pile, then—reluctantly—lowered itself and started digging through the trash cans one by one.
Still, nothing.
Unseen, Pei Ran held her breath and didn't move an inch, watching it closely.
Back in the pharmacy, she'd already noticed something: this drone, like the lower-tier enemies from the bunker world, didn't have bio-scanning capabilities. It could only locate targets through that single, black lens of an "eye."
She silently wished it would say something—like "Warning: resisting arrest is a Level X federal offense."
One sentence. That's all it would take to get it to shut down.
But no. This orb wasn't chatty. Like a mute, it hadn't said a word the entire time.
It couldn't find her, but it refused to leave. It was sure she was still nearby, hovering low over the garbage, its processors working furiously.
Now was the time.
Pei Ran released the mechanical hand she had anchored into the wall and kicked off with both feet.
Like a bird of prey, she dove from over three meters high—from a small ledge protruding from the building wall—straight onto the drone.
For a split second, CT105 hesitated.
It ran a quick recalculation.
This alley was part of its patrol zone—3D mapped and stored in its memory. No pipes, no ladders. The wall wasn't smooth, but neither did it have footholds strong enough to support a human climb. Even standing on a trash bin wouldn't get someone that high.
And in the few seconds before it entered the alley, this girl had somehow scaled that height and stayed hidden?
The odds were microscopic. Practically zero.
And yet, here she was.
While CT105's system scrambled to resolve the contradiction, Pei Ran slammed it to the ground.
She rolled with it, and in the same motion, her mechanical fingers drilled straight into its eye like a screw.
No more eye. Let's see you find anyone now.
The lens was just a camera—not built to withstand force. It popped like a bubble.
Mission accomplished, Pei Ran tossed the orb aside and bolted.
CT105, now blind, smashed into the wall and crashed to the ground, spinning wildly like a furious, panicked child.
Pei Ran glanced back at it—and suddenly had a new idea.
She stopped running.
Carefully, silently, she crept back toward the twitching drone, then looked down at it.