She runs, and stops at a playground. Clutching her endlessly pounding heart, she struggles to stay conscious and on her feat. Around her dulling vision, mechanical footsteps fill the frozen air; She is safe, but her security is not permanent.

She sits down on a swing and looks towards the approaching robots. In front of the buildings now leveled to pillars of ruble, their white, plastic shells reflect the partially cloudy sky, the smooth casing stained with dust and dirt.

She gives a half-hearted pump on the swing. Towards her, the dozen robots aim their guns, weapons configuring out of their arms. They click; Each gun loads.

But, none of them shoot. Normally, when a rogue unit identifies a human, it fires on the spot. she, however, knows they won’t attack, not here. Further and further, she swings; The robots only look on, awaiting to fire.

She figured out that these robots follow a strict code, remnants of their past regulations dictating how they function. By the looks of it, they cannot operate on a playground nor fire their weapons in one.

Still, she is hopeless; She sheds a few tears before pulling herself together. Sifting through her bag, she notes that there is only enough food to last a few days, only few days to take action, and only a few actions that ensure her survival.