She entered a side room that was the former control center, now blackened by fire. Somehow, a single chair had survived.
With a sigh, Lyra dusted it off and sat down, letting the weight of the day settle into her shoulders. The walls around her buzzed quietly, a remnant of the outpost's backup systems.
"Oh, but do me a favor, Tyty," she added, looking up at him. "Send that poor, half-dead Tyrant unit back to the destroyer. He's too tough to let go just yet. Tell the medics or whatever machine repair you guys that we've got up there to patch him up. Rebuild his chassis, reboot his mind... whatever it takes."
Tyty nodded. "Acknowledged. The unit will be transferred to the repair bay aboard the destroyer immediately."
Lyra leaned back in the chair and looked at the flickering ceiling lights, her voice soft again.
