Chapter Text
Sent to the different sectors of “Copper-9” were various murder drone pods One squad of three murder drones was sent to Sector [REDACTED] to look for any workers around the territory. The leader, Serial Designation C, was searching for their teammate, L, in the tundra. They last reported to the pod six days ago. C returned to the pod around the break of day, greeted by their teammate Serial Designation F.
“Captain,” F said formally with a hint of sarcasm. His processors focused on various images of locations within their sector range. Both were somewhat worried about their missing teammate. After all, how could they kill enough worker drones by the deadline to get branded JCJenson in SPAAACE pens without her?
“Any news, F?” The captain asked. The other drone shook his head.
“Nope, I’m guessing no sign of her?”
“No, sadly.”
It was quiet now, just the two of the Murder Drones. Usually, the missing teammate would vocalize any complaint or comment she had.
“The sun is out. We have to continue tomorrow night. Let’s just rest now and refuel before we overheat.” C pointed out, gazing at the clock in the pod.
“On the bright side, more oil for us.”
“Save some. We’ll still have to ration in case of emergency.” As F went to grab some corpses to feast upon, C went to rest in the shadows.
Later a heavy snowstorm broke out, giving C and F more time to search for more worker drones or their teammate. Luckily for the two, disassembly drones were built to last through the frosty winds at the cost of being vulnerable to heat. A stupid design flaw F remarked, but C kept him in line whenever he dared to question the company.
It was becoming harder and harder to fly in the storm. The drones were forced on foot, slowly making ground. F saw what appeared to be a light. Civilization? Or at least a drone one. That was strange. There was not supposed to be a colony in this location. Or was F too far from the original sector that he stumbled upon it? There was no time for questions as the sight of a worker bot caught the murder drone’s immediate attention. Quietly the hunter crawled over to the entrance of the supposed colony where the drone entered, not in any rush to get away quickly. Was this drone stupid?
“This will be easy,” F thought while quietly infiltrating the colony. It was quiet. There were no drones around, and when F was distracted, it seemed like the drone he was hunting disappeared. A feeling of suspicion and even dread slowly came over F, an emotion not familiar to him. Slowly F traversed the long, empty halls. The only noise came from F’s movement. He turned to a closing door emanating a faint blue light. F was able to hold it open for him to enter.
The room was like an ice box, below 19 degrees Celsius, a faint mist prohibiting the murder drone’s full vision. Then F found something, a massive block of ice. In it was something. It took a while for the murder drone to focus on it, wiping off some frost that covered the miniature iceberg. F saw what it was, his hydraulics slowing and fluids freezing as he stood.
He opened his mouth, forcing a cry.
“...L-L?”
There she was, trapped in the ice, his lost teammate. What made F’s robotic guts turn was how she was frozen. Various metallic organs were exposed, and the wings fully extended. The limbs were cut open with the variety of weapons displayed beside her. Every dismembered part was removed with precision and eloquence, appearing as a clean-cut. The visor appeared shattered, showing inner circuits spread apart to show every detail of her design. It perfectly showed the anatomy of the murder drone, except with a missing core. It was as if the drone was a part of some butterfly collection, a mere trinket to hang up on a wall. Before he could step back, a massive jolt of electricity struck him. F then saw a warning that his systems would be shutting down.
C continued searching, meeting the same metal building that F faced. The door was slightly open, with enough room for C to wrap their fingers around to get themself through. It was still eerily quiet until the sound of wheels started to scratch against the frozen metal. Instantly C rushed over to see what was causing the noise, only to meet with a single worker drone in a long tan trench who was currently closing a door.
The worker knew what was about to happen and instantly rushed down a long, winding tunnel. The murder drone stalked its prey down, following every step. The halls were too small for the disassembly drone to fly, and the chase took longer than C would have wanted. But then the worker cornered himself in a large room. It was time to end this. C was about to launch themself as the poor defenseless worker, but then the ceiling started to recede. Sunlight immediately beamed down upon C through thick glass, the target’s systems overheating.
The worker then ran out, closed the door, and with the sound of buttons, the room started to heat up and fill with oil. C’s mind grew hazy as the sunlight and heat fried their inner circuitry. Instinctually the murder drone attempted to devour any drop of the black substance to keep cool. With the press of a button, all that oil was ignited, along with the murder drone. The screams echoed through the facility. The pain was the only thing the disassembly drone felt as its inner mechanisms began to melt. They didn’t want it to end like this, to die outsmarted by some worker. C used their stinger in hopes of ending the misery quicker, but it only made their already slow death even more painful. The shell melted and dissolved, the drone’s fuel increasing the flame. Circuit boards crack and burn with the heat, leaving a mangled, melting, and screaming corpse.
From a heat-resistant camera, the worker drone watched in slight disappointment. He was in an office surrounded by monitors that showed surveillance of the whole facility, and where there weren’t monitors, there was a rack of various welding tools. The worker turned to face an unconscious F who lay on a table, the murder drone’s tail removed with the stump resting in a canister labeled “Liquid Nitrogen.” The worker went to a record player and turned on some classical tango. Then he grabbed a mask and apron with the name “Abraham” written in cursive on both accessories.
The worker drone Abraham looked at the turned-off murder drone, a disgusted yet intrigued expression on his face. He lowered his mask, turned on an angle grinder, and sang to the song as C’s screams echoed in the background.