The work was, admittedly, useless- no one left to dig out things for- but it was something . The robot had been chipping away at the mountainside when its claws hit the casket, metal dulled by way of time and dirt. It hadn’t meant to open the thing; it just happened. Latches came undone with a sigh, then the girl emerged, coughing. She was covered in slime, disoriented. It bespoke her. You are in the future , it explained, not for the first time. Time capsules had been all the rage once; as the air steadily became more unbreathable, governments were anxious to preserve human specimens. For the next civilization, supposedly. Listen , it said with remorse, you’re dying . Her eyes went wide as saucers. This bit was always disconcerting, but the robot persevered, playing soothing music through its speakers. And it must have worked, because, when the hypoxia manifested, she was smiling.