As vapor rolled off the mechanoid in heavy bursts—venting from seams that hadn't been there seconds ago, it spread low across the crater, thick enough to blur the ground before thinning out and vanishing into the air.
Then came the noise.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
A layered sequence of muted mechanical sounds—soft clacks, internal shifts and a deep rotational hum—barely audible at the distance Don had climbed to.
He crouched on the branch, one hand braced against the bark, eyes locked on the shape. He didn't blink. Didn't look away.
The mechanoid began to change.
Its ovoid body leaned forward as mass redistributed, the lower half stretching and folding inward on itself.
What had once been a smooth curve split into articulated motion—segments sliding, locking, compressing—until two powerful limbs drove down into the crater floor.
They weren't human legs. Too compact. Too forward-loaded.
