Work Text:
System Rebooting…
Battery life: 48%
Imagine waking up from blacking out, not really sure what caused it. You were happily tending to the garden at the retirement home when you started to feel weird. Granny was with you. She was sitting in the plastic garden chair as she gently smiled and idly chatted as the hours ticked by. A strange sensation made your head twitch and spin. You weren't able to see Granny’s reaction, but a muffled call to your name in her elderly voice was barely received.
Then, everything went dark.
Now, with robotic eyes flickering to life, coming back to your senses, the world looks absolutely destroyed. Gloomy. Fire here and there. The air was thick with a blanket of sickly orange. Sensors indicating it is highly toxic. Buildings in rubble. The place you once called home nothing but a fallen jenga building.
There had been mutters of war going about the little blue planet, but it had never been much of a concern when you were always ushered away from the inquiries you’d give whenever the TV would broadcast about the news. It seems those promises of the human ire never reaching this peaceful town were only empty statements.
This isn't something you wanted to imagine. Nor live through.
Granny. Where's Granny?
The equivalent to human panic engulfs your whole body. The wiring of your system felt like they tangled each other in gnarly knots. You have to find her.
Looking everywhere for her. Tossing chunks out of the way. Finding dead bodies. They stutter you in your tracks, if only for a moment. Some are no longer identifiable. Some are the friendly folks you knew at the retirement home. But none of them are Granny.
There's blood on your hands too. No telling where it came from or who it belongs to. There was no time to do self diagnostics. Your most important person needed you. And trying to call out for her only earned broken static and stutters.
Despite unknowingly having lost your voice you still painfully scratch out calls in hopes Granny will unveil your distorted voice.
Minutes turn into hours. You finally find her. She's not breathing. Not moving. Lifeless. Her body charred in places and there's for sure bones broken and dislocated. She was always so fragile...
Dropping to your knees, you whimper out a small static, followed by nudging her with the knuckles of your right hand. There was no response. Big amber eyes widen from the lack of feedback. You do it again. And again. And again. And again, with a louder plea.
Again.
Again.
AGAIN.
She's gone. You dribble out more sorrowful noises. Your voice crackles like wood in a campfire. Delicate hands lift her into a hug. She remains limp in your hold.
She meant everything to you. The moment you were brought online, she was the only one who never gave a disgruntled grumble about robots. Never once gave an ugly, wrinkly scowl at what you were created to be. Some old folks were simply too stubborn to accept the glimmer of the future society was letting them witness. You were only there to help; assist in things their tired bones would no longer allow them to accomplish. The garden had always been your favorite though. And Granny was always there to keep you company. Despite being “born” in a factory, you almost knew what it felt like to have a family. To have a mom.
Now she rested in your hold with all life drained from her. You want to cry but you're a robot. Robots don't cry. Your eyebrows pinch into a frown and dip into your eyes. Your chest felt clogged; fans and wirings hiccup. The emotions building inside revved up the gears and systems. They howl their own grieving song.
Curses to the Einstein who came up with the brilliant idea to make robots alike like yourself to artificially experience emotions.
Whatever happened during the blackout was the cause of this. But who? Or what?
There's shuffling in the distance. Your head raises and eyes zone in on the source. It's a man in some sort of uniform. Probably many others dressed the same. He lets out a painful cough and even mutters something about a mask but you were too mentally checked out to care much for those words.
Once he spots you his motions freeze. Staring at you with sunken eyes. Like a deer having a standoff with the expecting car. You place Granny down and stand to full height. He notices the blood tattooing your body and he fumbles backwards. Threatening to shoot. A broken gasp crumbles out of you. Surprised by the reaction. You've never been a threat.
You approach closer. The threats become more vulgar and desperate. It's clunky and scratchy, but you retract the lower arms back inside your cavity. An attempt to make yourself more benevolent. Maybe helping him would ease his hostility. Though this action didn’t persuade the little human.
Even while inches from the man, he coughs out (the pollution, you note) to stay away. You kneel down, immediate clicking from the gun could be heard but no bullets pierced through your metal.
Out of ammo.
A hand extends out, followed by the crackling of your once voice. Oh right. You can't talk.
Sign language, perhaps. You were programmed with this function for those who no longer had functioning ears. Swift movement of your appendages read out “Are you okay?” But the sentence never gets finished. The man shuffles further back away from you. If only a few inches. You lean back, frowning at your failed attempts to communicate and aid him. Eyes opt to do a scan of the man. You’d just wrangle him like a feral cat after diagnosing him.
The process halts when you land on patch the left of his chest. It had a purple logo of what appeared to be a rabbit. Strange. It looked familiar but there was no memory bank on the insignia. It even made you a little angry…why? Optics flutter away the diagnosis scan and draw attention back to the quivering person.
Now there’s rabbit ears dancing on the top of his head. Your eyes shrink. You try to blink it away but it only deems matters worse. Those ears got bigger and louder. The sound of a man’s voice swallows your hearing. It sounded nothing like the one trembling next to you. So loud. So demanding. Now those ears grew a jagged smile. He wants you to destroy. Take. Remove.
Closing your eyes does nothing. He’s still there. Like a virus. It burns. This burns. Burns. Burns. BURNS. He’s too noisy! Too invasive! Something is smashing in your face in a repetitive sequence. It feels flat and uncomfortable.
Make it stop!
The sensation no longer lingers. Everything vanishes in a snap of a finger. Or in your case, the delicate bones in the neck. You glance down at your hand. It has extended out towards the little human you wanted to help. The hilt of his gun was pressed up against your faceplate. Your hand? It's around his throat.
And then, there was no more little human. No more purple bunny either.
You could almost see his soul slink away into the doomful sky and weep out its own painful cry. More panic crashes into your system. You carelessly drop the man and his body makes a loud thud to the ground.
No. This is wrong. Very wrong! You’re a gentle giant, not a murderer. You liked flowers and the cute little bees that would kiss the flowers you helped grow. This isn’t your fault. It was… looking back at the patch on the man’s chest… Humans! Whatever that purple monster was! They took Granny from you. They took everything.
The man tried to kill you too. And you returned the favor. Your mouth clenches into a tight frown. Fists ball in a fit of anger. That purple rabbit man must be the dictator for these humans. Fine then. He’ll play your game.
No one gets to kill Granny and frocklic away.