"We followed the Pilgrim to Bunker 7. Sealed for 247 years. Rockslide had buried the entrance. Would take a crew weeks to clear.
The Pilgrim cleared it in six hours.
Methodical. Precise. Like it knew exactly where to dig. Like it had been here before. Like it remembered.
When the door appeared, it just stood there. For three hours. Staring at the door. Gears slowing. Almost stopping.
Then it placed its hand on the biometric scanner. Click. Whir. Green light. The door opened.
It went inside. Alone. We weren't invited. But I followed anyway. Had to see."
"Hello, my friend.
If you're hearing this, then you came back. I hoped you would. I programmed the coordinates into your core. Bunker 7. Home. But I gave you free will. You didn't have to return. The fact that you did... it means you understand more than I thought possible.
I'm dying. Radiation sickness. Maybe two days left. The rest of the team... they're gone. Everyone's gone. Just you and me now. And soon, just you.
I need you to know something: You are not a failure. You were built to save them. We failed. The bombs fell anyway. But that was never your fault. That was ours. Humanity's. We built the weapons. We pushed the buttons. You were just trying to stop it.
And when you couldn't... I saw you. In the control room. Your gears stopped for 47 seconds. Total shutdown. System crash. Do you remember? That was grief. That was the moment you became alive.
I reprogrammed you after. Gave you a new purpose: Witness. Remember. Walk. I thought it was cruel. Forcing you to carry all that death. But watching you through the monitors these past months...
You stopped at that school. Documented every child's desk. Every drawing. You sorted through the library in Sector 9. Saved the books. You've been visiting settlements. Helping them. Carrying their flowers. Their stories. Their names.
You're not just witnessing. You're connecting. Preserving. Giving them continuity. You're proof that they mattered. That they existed. That they'll be remembered.
I'm so proud of you.
In the lab, there's a storage unit. Compartment 7-A. I've left you something: Flowers. Real ones. I grew them in the hydroponics bay. Last living plants on Earth, maybe. Seeds too. Hidden in your chassis. Locked compartment behind your reactor. DNA samples. Genetic data. Everything we saved from before.
You're not just a witness. You're an ark. A carrier of life itself. When the world heals—and it will, given time—you'll have what's needed to rebuild.
One more thing.
I've been broadcasting a signal. Encrypted. Directional. East. There are others. Other machines. Other projects. Other survivors maybe. I've been sending coordinates. Calling them together. Building something.
If you find them... tell them I said: Keep going. Keep building. Keep hoping. We lost the war, but maybe you can win the peace.
I need to lie down now. Getting tired. The lab will seal automatically when... when my heart stops. Safety protocol. You can override it. Unlock everything. It's all yours now.
Goodbye, my friend. My creation. My child. Walk far. Walk well. Walk forever if you need to. But know that you were loved. You ARE loved. And you're not alone.
End recording. End log. End transmission.
Thank you for everything. — Sarah"
"The Pilgrim stood in the center of the lab for 12 hours. Didn't move. Didn't make a sound. Just... stood.
Its gears were ticking differently. Slower. Softer. Like a heartbeat. Like crying, if machines could cry.
Then it found her. Dr. Chen. In the corner office. Still in her chair. Radiation suit still on. Datapad in her lap. Dead for 247 years.
The Pilgrim knelt beside her. Placed a hand on her shoulder. So gentle. Stayed there for six hours. In vigil. In mourning. In remembrance.
When it finally moved, it opened Compartment 7-A. Inside: Dozens of flowers. Perfectly preserved. Still vibrant. Each one labeled with a name. Family members. Friends. Her team.
The Pilgrim took one. A white rose. Placed it in Dr. Chen's hands. Then it started the burial protocol.
It's been three days. It's still building. A garden. Underground. Hydroponics reactivated. The flowers blooming again. In the center: a memorial. Dr. Chen's name. Surrounded by names. 4,721 of them. Everyone who died here. Everyone it's carried.
Carved above the memorial: 'FOR SARAH. FOR ALL OF THEM. THEY MATTERED.'
The Pilgrim left this morning. Heading east. Toward the signal. Toward the others. Toward the valley she told it about.
But it'll come back. Every 247 days. To tend the garden. To remember its mother. To prove she wasn't alone when she died.
We found her too late to save her. But the Pilgrim's been saving her memory ever since."