Beyond the shipping container is a boiler room, with enormous floor-to-ceiling steel drums taking up most of the space. Just across the way is an open threshold to a small closet, and to the right is a pair of very short hallways that cut through to the other side. Blue light flashes intermittently through the nearer of the two.

Oh, movement? Well that's something different.

She moves towards the blue light—some sort of instinct telling her to be cautious.

As she nears the blue light, that same instinct blares at her to stay just outside of it, not entering the light itself.

She complies, watching as the light flashes slowly on and off, on and off.

After the third time watching the light flash off, she jolts forward, peering to see the source of the light.

Is she being silly? It's just a light, but she can't help but heed the instinct screaming in her mind to stay out of the light.

It's a short corridor, strewn with a few boxes and barrels, utterly unremarkable except for the small device standing about a foot and a half tall. Four spindly metal legs support a trapezoidal body. The sides are hollow, revealing a red light glowing within and some electronics. Atop that body rotates an arm with a little camera shining a blue light, and a long metal tube about the size of a rifle barrel. A narrow box sits at the back end of the arm, and a little pole sticks up over the tube.

The device pans back and forth, covering both sides of its little corridor. It turns swiftly back toward her.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-
She pulls back immediately, heart pounding in her chest. She doesn't know how, but she recognizes that thing—some part of her subconscious twinging at the sight and screaming at her that it's dangerous.

Fuck.

Ok, just breathe. It can't move, can't follow her. It's okay.

Slowly, she gets up.

She doesn't have to go that way. Not yet.

She turns and begins walking. What's in that closet?

The closet contains a tool cabinet full of paint cans and some unidentified large drums of something. Atop one drum rest three pistol cartridges.

…Oh yes!

She pockets the pistol cartridges—just in case—and grabs a paint can.

Moving quickly back to the hall, she waits for the light to turn away from her, then turns around the corner to face the device.

Pitching back, she hurls the paintcan under-arm at the machine—aiming for the top of the device as it turns slowly back towards her.

The can sails through the air and strikes the arm, just above the rotor. The machine tips, then falls over, blue light panning across the ceiling, spindly legs sticking into the air.

Perfect!

She walks carefully around the device, being sure to stay below the blue light as it pans over the ceiling.

It jerks and wiggles a little as it tries to pan fully, and tries to pan down to the wall, but only occasionally manages it. The back casing on the arm is cracked, revealing a feed mechanism full of .22 cartridges.

Ohhhh?

Still no gun to use them with, but score! She quickly cracks the casing the rest of the way open, holding the device still to keep it pointed away from her, and pries the belt free.

Who knows if she'll use it, but it's worth keeping for now.

Then, setting the device back down on its back, she turns down the corridor.

What's past the device?

Sitting on a metal barrel at the end of another line of boilers is a small tape device. Closer inspection reveals it to be a tape deck hybridized with a floppy drive, and a little screen on it with a pair of arrow buttons. A pair of headphones rest alongside it, atop a floppy disk, as well as two more pistol cartridges.

…Huh.

She looks around, carefully scanning her surroundings for signs of—well, anything, really. After a moment of searching, she shrugs, pockets the pistol cartridges, and slots the floppy disk into the strange reader-device.

Sitting down against one side of the corridor, she begins to read.

The disk contains a single file, labeled "Out of Time."

All signs indicate that the MindKill is imminent. The Threat has abandoned subtlety in its infiltration of the media, of our society, of our bodies. There is no longer any doubt.

THIS IS THE TIME WE HAVE PREPARED FOR.

Receivers who have volunteered for cache duty, now is the time to focus on your Mindtech to ensure that your guidance and supplies reach those who survive. If you receive this message after the Mindkill, please accept our aid, and ensure that our sacrifice was not in vain. 

She sets the reader down in her lap.

For some reason, these terms feel… familiar.

Cache duty…

…

…No, nothing. It's like her thoughts and memories are… blurry; filled with static. She can tell there's something there, but she can't quite… reach it.

She sighs and ejects the disk from the reader. Maybe she'll remember later.

For now, she stands and pockets the reader, turning to look past the boilers.

Whoever left this, she has a feeling they're on her side.

At the end of the U-shaped boiler room is a door. Beyond it is a rooftop terrace garden. Another turret can be seen panning back and forth, facing away from her into the terrace, red glow spilling from the exposed circuitry.

Beyond it, she can see a revolver resting on one of the deck chairs.

Oh, that's how it is, hmm?

She treads carefully towards the machine, moving around the greenery and always keeping her eyes on the the blue light radiating from the front of the turret.

As she nears the device from behind, she crouches down and gets a better look at the circuitry.

Whoever designed this thing must not have known—or cared—what they were doing: the circuitry is exposed and accessible from behind the turret.

Looking at it, she can see where the circuit-board appears to connect to a battery. If she can just…

Something in there ticks and beeps very faintly in response to her attempt. Did she brush some kind of sensitive circuit?

The red light inside seems to brighten slowly, though the blue light of the camera's gaze still pans back and forth steadily.

Shit, that can't be good.

This thing seems to have sensors all over, and one of them set off a timer or something.

She hurriedly disconnects one of a few wires, then another, then..

With a sharp click, she manages to find the power lines and disconnect the battery.

The whirring stops, the lights shut off, and the barrel slumps down to the ground.

She relaxes back, sighing in relief. She'll have to be more careful going forward.

She sits back, slowly opens her eyes, and—oh right, the gun~!

Up she goes, over to the deck chair; then she picks up the revolver, inspecting it.

Smith & Wesson Model 10. Fits the handful of .38 specials she found earlier. It's a little banged up, but perfectly serviceable.

Huh. Convenient that it takes the cartridges she already found, but she's not complaining.

She confidently loads the firearm, dropping one cartridge after another into the cylinder before slotting it solidly back into place. It feels like she's used one of these before, but she can't quite remember.

Standing, she turns and makes her way to the exit at the far end of the terrace. What else is there around here?

Deck chairs to lounge in, a few tiny tables, some plants around the edges, a raised section full of machinery, and then around the far side, toward the far door, she can see a steadily flashing blue light.

She grins, looking excitedly over at the flashing blue light. If that's what she thinks it is, it looks like she's going to get to find out how similar these things are to eachother.

Steadily and carefully, she makes her way through around the terrace and toward the light, making sure to keep out of the light itself at all times.

As she gets closer, she can faintly hear a woman's voice, ringing out in some wordless song.

On this side of the U-shaped terrace, to her left is a metal catwalk, while to her right is some kind of shed full of shelves.

On the catwalk to the left is another turret, the arm spinning a full circle continuously, with no blind spot.

A small white rectangle seems to be resting atop a barrel, just past the turret.

She carefully pauses behind the doorway, waiting until the turret rotates away from her before walking back around, facing the turret, and…

Breathe out…

Pause…

Press.

Bang.

A small hole punches through the metal plating, striking and destroying the battery.

The turret arm slumps toward the ground, and the light goes out.

And… breath in.

Fuck, that was more stressful than she expected.

She takes more calm, slow breaths, gradually reducing her heart rate and calming her down.

…Phew.

Finally, she lowers her gun and carefully picks her way around the turret to the barrel with the small object on it.

The singing gets louder as she does so.

It turns out to be a cassette tape.

Well, she can guess what to do with that!

She puts in the headphones attached to her tapedeck, and, setting her gun down on the barrel, picks up the tape and inserts it into the deck.

On the tape is a man's voice, giving some kind of message:

When the Mindkill comes, you will likely have forgotten everything about your own life before entering the post-Mindkill environment. But everything that has become intuition, everything you've made a part of your inner self, the Threat is unable to erase. Therefore it's important to train until the training becomes so natural that you give it no thought. Correct usage of your firearm has to become as natural as breathing for there to be any chance of success. 

…

The man's voice sounds vaguely familiar, as do the words. Has she heard this before?

No, wait, not important. She rewinds the tape and listens again, it's the content that matters here.

That disk before said the Mindkill was imminent. That means either it's about to happen, or it has happened.

If this tape and that disk are from the same source… Can she remember anything about her life?

No.

Well, that's more than a bit terrifying, but at least it answers that question.

If the tape is to be believed, the Mindkill has happened, the Threat has erased her memories, and all she has left are her trained instincts, alongside whatever she can glean from the world around her.

And the tapes. The tapes feel important.

She clearly knows how to use this gun, and she clearly knows to avoid the turrets' lights. She wonders what else she knows…

Well, only one way to find out: She'd better go explore more!

Picking up her gun, she turns back to the dead turret. Can she scavenge any bullets from this? They won't fit this revolver, but they might be worth collecting anyway.

It certainly has a small belt of .22 cartridges. She can pry the rounds loose from the wrecked machine and pocket them if she wants.

…

……Fuck it, she can always grab them later if she needs them. She doesn't actually want to carry around a bunch of otherwise-useless rounds.

Alright, next, clear the area: Is there anything in the shed opposite the catwalks?

Lots of shelves, with a paint roller and tray, some plywood, some sealed boxes, and a small cardboard box sitting open, eight cartridges for her revolver sitting inside.

Perfect!

She grabs the cartridges.

Now is a good time to reload, too: Popping the cylinder out, she knocks the spent cartridge onto the ground and collects the rest, refilling the revolver fully this time and leaving one full cylinder's worth of cartridges aside in her pocket.

She pops the cylinder back into place and lets her arm fall to her side, gun in hand. It feels so much better to have a full cylinder.

Turning back, she makes her way out along the catwalk.

There are some messily stacked shipping containers below her. Ahead, she can see an open threshold, and through it a metal scaffold and a large skylight.

She continues through the threshold, keeping a wary eye and ear out for anything out of the ordinary.

This place really is massive. She can look down from the catwalk as far as her eyes will strain and not see the start of the buildings anywhere, and no matter far out she looks, it's nothing but a sea of them out to the horizon. It's a good thing she—apparently—isn't afraid of heights, or this would be a lot more difficult.

The first thing she notices when she crosses onto this next gravel-topped rooftop is—

BEEP!

A blue light snaps on to her left, pointed right at her.

Fuckfuckfuck!

She rapidly backpedals, falling onto her backside on the catwalk, firearm held in front of her in both shaking hands.

After a second, it starts panning back and forth, from a good angle on the threshold she just departed, to one hundred twenty degrees left of that, and then back.

Hhahhhhhhh-

Her breath is coming fast and shallow now, but she struggles to calm down, still sitting there as her heart pounds in her chest.

…It takes a minute, but she gets her breathing under control, and after that, her heart.

Slowly, she picks herself up off of the ground, lowers her gun to her side, and pats herself off with her other hand.

Note to self: Do not let your guard down.

She makes her way back over to the threshold, keeping behind it as she watches the blue light pan there… then back… then there… then—

—She turns the corner—quickly but carefully—and aims her gun at the thick front of the turret, where the light comes from: It's a larger target than the battery, and it should be enough.

Carefully she exhales…

Holds…

(Gods, this is terrifying, but she has to be sure—)

…And fires.

Bang.

The camera and light assembly erupts in glittering sparks and shards of plastic, falling down from the turret. No more light shines from it, though it continues to pan back and forth blindly.

Phew. She kicks the turret over with her foot—just in case—but it mostly seems fine.

Still, she keeps a wary eye out now, scanning all around her for any hint of danger.

Nothing on the rooftop is moving but her — and the helpless, blinded turret she kicked over. Down through the skylight she can see a lot of blinking arcade machines, and a turret panning down on the ground floor.

Atop a couple barrels in the corner of the rooftop are a floppy and another box of a few rounds.

She grins and makes her way carefully over to the barrels, still keeping an eye out for any unseen danger. Once there, she pockets the rounds and inserts the disk into her reader, sitting back against a barrel to read.

This disk contains a file labeled "Semper Fidelis."

If this disk is not blank, it means that you have survived the Mindkill. If you have no memory of what happened, do not be alarmed. We expected this and prepared for this eventuality. We did our best to send you sufficient supplies and guidance, but the rest is up to you alone. Your path is a difficult one, full of hardship and setbacks.

Even though you have forgotten, you have spent years training the Receiver virtues of perseverance, discipline, and courage, and we know you have what it takes. Remember that we are still watching you from Reality A, and we will never give up on you. 

She chuckles grimly to herself. Well if that doesn't confirm her suspicions, she doesn't know what will.

Still, it's kind of sweet—she really hopes they're telling the truth, and whoever's behind these messages are on her side. It feels like they are, reading them, but that isn't always a good reason to trust someone in a situation like this.

Putting her reader away, she stands, dusts herself off, and picks her gun back up, feeling its comfortable coldness in her palm.

On instinct, more than anything, she pops the cylinder and checks the chambers, knocking the single spent cartridge out of the weapon and replacing it a fresh one from her pocket. It may not be entirely necessary, but she still might as well reload when she has the time.

As she makes her way around the skylight and to the far doorway, she watches her surroundings, eyes alert for signs of danger.