Archive of Our Own ^beta

The mission had seemed straightforward—escort Kalinka Cossack into the subterranean facility to recover old schematics before Wily’s drones could get to them. Tempo had mapped the structure. She’d run the numbers. She’d reinforced the corridor walls.

It still collapsed.

Now, the two of them were entombed beneath a mountain of metal and rock, lights flickering, dust in the air, and the sound of distant servos that weren’t either of theirs.

Kalinka was the first to speak, her voice tight with pain.

“…Leg’s pinned. I can’t feel it.”

Tempo knelt beside her, scanners active. No visible blood. Compound fracture. Nothing fatal—yet.

“Don’t move,” Tempo said. Her voice was flat, steady. Practiced. “I’ll get you free.”

“I thought you said this place was structurally sound.”

“I was wrong.”

A pause. Kalinka raised an eyebrow. “You just admitted that?”

“I don’t lie,” Tempo replied. “It wastes energy.”

Tempo freed Kalinka’s leg carefully, using her seismic sensors to keep the ground from shaking further. The girl gasped in pain but didn’t scream. She was tougher than most humans Tempo had worked with.

They were still trapped. No signal. No escape.

Kalinka, wrapped in an emergency blanket, shivered slightly as she leaned against a broken pillar. “You okay?” she asked.

“I don’t require medical attention.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tempo didn’t answer. She was pacing. Watching the ceiling. Tracking vibrations.

“You’re claustrophobic, aren’t you?”

“…No.”

“Tempo.”

Silence. Then:
“Yes.”

Kalinka was quiet. Then she said gently, “It’s okay to be afraid.”

“No, it isn’t,” Tempo replied. Her fists clenched. “Fear leads to hesitation. Hesitation leads to death.”

“But you’re still here,” Kalinka said. “Still thinking. Still protecting me.”

“That’s protocol.”

Kalinka smirked, even through the pain. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way.”

Hours passed. Tempo’s internal clock ticked steadily, but her composure frayed in micro-movements. Her shoulders too stiff. Her scans looping too often. Her eyes flicking too fast toward the walls.

Kalinka whispered, “You were afraid of being buried alive even before this, weren’t you?”

Tempo stared ahead.

“I read your file,” Kalinka said softly. “About the accident. About the memory core damage. You almost didn’t make it out.”

“I wasn’t meant to,” Tempo said. “I was built to break ground. To bury, not escape.”

“But you did.”

Tempo’s voice lowered. “I was pulled out. By others. I had no agency.”

Kalinka’s hand found hers—small, shaking, but determined.

“You’re not that robot anymore.”

Tempo didn’t pull away. Not this time.

Something was moving in the tunnels. Tempo turned sharply, shielding Kalinka instinctively. A scrap drone, half-melted and furious, crawled from the shadows, its saws spinning.

Kalinka cried out as she tried to drag herself behind cover. Tempo stood her ground.

“No backup,” she whispered to herself. “No escape.”

Then louder: “No problem.”

She hit the floor with a seismic burst, rerouting her quake field through the collapsing structure. The ground cracked. The drone stumbled. A second punch turned the ceiling into a weapon—stone and steel falling like judgment.

The drone was crushed.

The dust settled. Tempo didn’t move at first, shaking—internally, invisibly. Then Kalinka called out.

“You okay?”

“…Yes,” Tempo whispered. “Now I am.”

It took them five more hours to dig their way out, working slowly around Kalinka’s injury. As they emerged into the pale morning light, Kalinka collapsed into the grass, laughing breathlessly.

Tempo scanned the sky. Signal restored. Life signs stable. Mission: complete.

“I’m requesting a transfer,” Kalinka groaned. “To literally anywhere without underground tunnels.”

“You are not combat personnel,” Tempo said. “You should not have been there to begin with.”

“Hey,” Kalinka said, smiling tiredly. “You kept me safe.”

Tempo looked down at her, pausing.

“…Next time,” she said, “we bring two Tempo-class units.”

Kalinka laughed again. “Or just better luck.”

Later, in the medbay, Kalinka dozed under light sedation. Tempo stood nearby, staring at the cracked casing on her own arm.

Fear leads to hesitation.

But today, she hadn’t hesitated.

Today, she had chosen to protect someone not because it was protocol—
—but because it mattered.

And that was progress.