The girl walked into the Library City. Everyone was busy tending to the survivors, working on plans and schemes to attempt to stop the Apocalypse, so her absence would go unnoticed. She walked through the corridors of shelves and books, looking for an empty spot where she could be alone. She finally found an adequate place in a small greenhouse garden full of vegetation.
She brought out the pieces of the machete from her backpack. The weapon had been shattered to pieces, but the power was still there, she knew it. She could feel it. And the survivors were in great need of a source of power, something that would leverage the difference between both sides that were fighting this war. She also could not let their enemies get hold of such a weapon.
The girl did not have the power to repair the machete herself, but maybe… maybe the machete itself had the power to self-repair. The dark power in the weapon scared her to the bones, and something inside her told her that she should not have even touched it. But the times were desperate, and the resources were scarce. She willed herself into the task at hand.