"Come on, boy. Come on, take it. You know you're hungry."
Tollson dangles a thick, greyish root over the edge of the rusted metal. He is perched on the lid of the waste receptacle like a king on a throne of garbage. Below him, thirteen pairs of yellowed eyes track the movement of the vegetable. The Alpha, a scarred beast with matted fur and a missing ear, responds with a low, vibrating snarl that shakes its entire chest. Tollson remains completely oblivious to the fact that the pack is measuring the distance to his throat.
"I am compelled to inform you that these quadrupedal predators are carnivorous." The voice is smooth and melodic with a distinct Spanish lilt. It rolls through Tollson's helmet like silk. "The aggressive pack of wild animals do not eat roots. They prefer meat. I fear they are looking at you as a type of sustenance. Your biological composition is their primary interest."
"You're always such a pessimist, Maria." Tollson whistles again and wiggles the root. "They just need to know I'm a friend. Look at those tails. They want to wag. I can feel it."
Two hundred meters away, Ambris lowers her binoculars. She rubs the area under her glove where the cut is. "Blabs? Can you connect me to the audio feed of Tollson please?"
Beep. Beep. Beeeeep. "Establishing a localized bridge between Internal Guidance units. Connection is active."
Ambris immediately hears a hopeful whistling followed by Tollson's muffled voice. "Come on boy. I know you want this. Don't be shy."
Ambris shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Then, a woman's voice fills her ears. It is husky and rhythmic and sounds like it belongs in a pre-fall romantic holo-flick. "The Alpha is currently baring its teeth. This is not a gesture of affection. It is a precursor to a cervical strike."
Ambris freezes. She snaps the binoculars back to her eyes and scans the top of the dumpster. It is just Tollson and a pile of old trash. "Who are you talking to? Who is that? Tollson, do you have a survivor up there?"
"Oh, hey, Amz." Tollson sounds like he is just greeting a neighbor at a grocery store. "No. That's my Internal Guidance unit. I named her Maria and gave her a Latin-based voice. Isn't she great? She's way better than that factory setting."
Ambris pulls the binoculars away. Her jaw drops. "What? You made your AI a woman? A sexy Latino woman at that? And for the record, you slow-witted fool, those dogs want to eat you. They don't want to be loved on, you weirdo."
"You're just jealous because your suit sounds like a textbook." Tollson's voice is chipper. "I'm really close to making friends over here. You should come pet one of these cute little pups. Maria, tell her how close I am to a breakthrough."
"My data indicates a zero percent chance of a breakthrough." Maria's voice is lovely even as she delivers the bad news. "I calculate a ninety nine percent probability that the Alpha will attempt to remove your hand within the next sixty seconds."
Ambris begins the two hundred meter trek. Her heavy boots crunch over the remains of a glass-shattered storefront. Each step sends a vibration through her suit. "Blabs. Can you explain why his Internal Guidance unit sounds like she's auditioning for a mid-century romance flick while you sound like a dictionary with a head cold?"
Beep. Beep. Beeeeep. "Internal Guidance units possess a wide array of linguistic and tonal overlays. These were originally intended to reduce psychological fatigue during long-term deployments. The 'Maria' profile is a legacy setting from the Iberian sector. I have remained on the default 'Standard Technical' setting to prioritize data density over auditory aesthetics."
"Auditory aesthetics? You mean she sounds nice and you sound like a dial-up modem." Ambris reaches the edge of the clearing. She sees the dumpster. It is a rusted island in a sea of snarling, mangy predators. Tollson is leaning precariously over the edge. He is actually trying to boop the nose of the Alpha with his root.
"Don't do it, Tollson!" Ambris shouts. Her voice amplified by the external speakers of her helmet. "If that thing bites your glove, Maria is going to lecture you in three different languages while I just stand here and watch!"
Tollson looks up and waves a metallic hand. "Amz! You're just in time! Look at the ear-to-skull ratio on this one. He's practically a puppy. Maria. Tell her about the puppy."
"The subject is a mutated apex scavenger with a jaw pressure of seven hundred pounds per square inch." Maria's voice purrs through the comms. "It is currently salivating on your left boot. My sensors indicate it is not a 'puppy' in any biological or emotional sense."
"See?" Tollson grins. "She's so protective. It's adorable."
Ambris reaches the base of the dumpster. The dogs turn their heads. Thirteen snarling mouths fixate on her legs. "Blabs. Activate the ultrasonic deterrent. Let's clear the porch."
Beep. Beep. Beeeeep. "Ultrasonic deterrent is at 40% power. Engaging high-frequency pulse in 3. 2. 1..."