Chapter Text
6:45 PM.
The streets are empty, pothole filled, and drenched. It’s another bleary night yet again, a thick veil of mottled gray upon the city. With bright smiles however, Saitama and Genos each carry grocery bags home stuffed with discounts and good deals. Saitama in particular just couldn’t turn a blind eye to these sales.
He sneezes out of the blue, listening to the raindrops clink along Genos' arms. Shivering, he wonders just how he forgot his umbrella when it was right there, and the mere fact of getting sick just never seems to cross his mind.
But, the food was cheap - a small price to pay indeed.
“-Master! ”
“...Huh? Yeah?”
“I had offered to carry those bags for you. Did you not hear me?”
Saitama sniffs, rolling a shoulder up to wipe his nose, “Oh. No, I got it.”
He’s distracted, keeping an eye on the clouds again as a charcoal smog engulfs each apartment rooftop. Down an alleyway, Genos spies an abandoned lot of worn rubber tires and tarnished metal. He isn’t too sure if a monster could be within until the pile stirs, rumbling.
“...Wait.”
“Eh?”
Genos directs with his chin, “Over there.”
“I can’t see anything, it’s too dark," he squints. "What’s wrong?”
Genos just says nothing and crosses the street, determined.
“...Wh-?”
Confused, Saitama reluctantly follows him into the shadows - but nothing moves other than a tumbling loose piece of junk.
“You worry too much. It’s probably just a cat…”, he sighs tiredly. “Come on, I’m hungry and we gotta get this stuff home before it pours.”
The cyborg huffs, frustrated. Surely he’d be able to register a threat right in front of him.
But this time, it felt more like intuition.
“Yo, Genos!”, Saitama whistles across the street. “Let’s go!”
And worrisome still, Genos keeps glancing over his shoulder as he catches up.
The restless cyborg can’t shut down that night after dinner, of course. He can sense something’s clearly wrong and heads for his boots instead of the futon.
“...Goin’ to a late night party or somethin’?”, Saitama slurs, half asleep under the covers.
“No. I must investigate that area again. It does not sit well with me for us to have left there.”
“Mm. Well, I can’t force you to go to bed. You’re not a child. Just...watch yourself.”
Genos bows, raising his voice, “Yes, Master Saitama! Thank you!”
“Not so loud, man…”, Saitama groans, cocooning himself.
11:17 PM.
Other than a dog barking in the distance, the rain is a canopy of white noise as Genos races back to that alley. The smog has lifted a bit; the moon cascading its radiance upon the wet, glistening road.
Hugging the wall, he pokes his head around and-
*MEOW!*
A stray cat scampers out, and a malicious chuckling stirs from the junkyard pile as Genos cautiously approaches, palm drawn.
"My, my, my...how lucky am I! To think I'd live long enough to see my first cyborg. Heh."
“...Who are you and what do you-”
“-Ooh. Got moss in my keys!”, it grunts, ripping off old electrical tape and yellowed stickers. “What a pain in the unit.”
Too preoccupied untangling itself free of cables, the stocky silhouette tosses around to and fro. The figure looks to be comprised of old computer hardware, having a monitor for a head and keyboard chest; both a weathered green from age. Ball mouse shoulder guards, CPU tower torso, and a dot matrix printer lower body complete its form.
It reverses out of the scrap pile, wheels rolling directly over wires protruding out from the monitor - and nearly falls flat on its back.
“ＥＲＲＯＲ！”, it yells, regaining balance.
Genos stands his ground.
“I will ask you once more: who are you and what do you want?”
The screen flickers at the cyborg’s luminous palm.
“...First, put that thing away, kid. Where are your manners installed?”, it says, pivoting forward. The wheels screech loud like nails on a chalkboard, breaking the rain. “The name's DOS Barebones. What's yours?”
Grumbling impatiently, the cyborg drops his arm, “...Genos.”
And DOS nods in return.
“Welcome...Genos.”