Chapter Text
N doesn’t remember the air being this tense.
A combined weight well over one ton landed softly on fresh snow, a resounding thud shaking their collective frames as the disassembly drone deactivated the anti-gravity thrusters on his wings, the smooth, ultra-thin metallic folding back into his body. He frowned as the landing pod came into view.
The Spire felt different from before. Instead of a soft underglow of satisfaction from a job well done, all he felt was guilt. Before, it was a checkpoint— a resting point to plan and bide their time ‘till the sun went down, salivating over the next Worker Drone. The next one to disassem—... murder, he mentally corrected. Murder. Because that’s what it was to him now. Before, it was just protocol. A directive— a job. The Worker Drone scraps surrounding him were just that: empty scraps, oil-less. But now?
…
…All he could see were corpses.
Now that his synthetic adrenaline wore off, or maybe because he’s paying more attention to her, N noticed how Uzi tensed on his shoulders as the spire shone ominously in the sunlight. The bodies weren’t just stacked— they were spread all around, too. Some were not even given the dignity to be set aside or buried in the thick layers of snow. A lens here, a head there, a few fingers and arms. Piles and piles… dry of oil.
All caused by him, because he was worthless and terrible—.
He shook his head. No. That’s what J always said. Still need to work on that…
N felt something leave him as Uzi hopped off his shoulders. Was it… warmth? N checked his sensors. No, he had maintained a near-constant temperature the whole time (stalwartly ignoring the tenth of a degree increase, a never-ending reminder of his need for oil). Yet, somehow, inexplicably, he felt something leave his core as her touch left him. She stepped in front of him, carefully avoiding Worker Drone scrap as she veered towards the one-way missile. He flicked his nanite injector in front of her, moving an almost fully articulated Worker Drone— likely one of his kills, then— out of the way in order to clear a path.
He flinched as Uzi turned on her heel sharply, looking at him over her shoulders, words icy and sharp, “Don’t do that!’
For the first words she could’ve said since they got back, he wasn’t expecting that. N could only find enough sense to nod sheepishly, not quite understanding what he did wrong.
…
He blanched.
You just punted a corpse, you idiot.
He could’ve lifted it, asked Uzi first, or done anything more respectful. Instead, he barely gave it a second thought, sweeping the cadaver out of the way without even glancing at it. Like it was trash. Like it meant nothing.
It meant everything to her.
N followed along, trailing further than he would’ve liked but intended to all the same. With a grunt, Uzi pried the unpowered sliding doors open, revealing the insides of the cockpit. His superior auditory sensors allowed him to hear the microscopic hissing of hydraulics, her frame minutely relaxing now that they were out of sight of the bodies. He tilted his head, finding the action odd. She moved like clockwork, now. Without a moment’s hesitation she eyed the consol, completely relaxed, prying open a seemingly worthless panel. Why would she—? “Comms relay. Or rather, a lack of a comms relay,” she declared, reading his thoughts. She muttered to herself, already immersed in her work. “As if we didn’t need more evidence you were sent here to die.”
She’s… so relaxed.
Despite only knowing her for a few hours, N couldn’t help but think it was unlike her. He was a Disassembly Drone. She was his target. Why is she so… at ease? His LEDs blinked, realizing her hand was outstretched, silently asking for a wrench. His scanners instantly spotted one inside a case on a nearby wall, somehow unscratched from when he crashed the ship.
…Do I make her relaxed?
Without thinking, N placed the wrench in her hand. His sensors barely caught the end tail of what Uzi was saying— something about scrounging the nearby area to make a toolbox since she couldn’t go back to the bunker. It would take more than a simple wrench to repair a spacecraft, after all. (She could go to the bunker to acquire the tools ; it’s not like there was anything stopping her, but he wasn’t going to mention that. Not worth risking her ire).
She worked, as per her namesake, and N suddenly felt out of place in every way but literal. He bobbed on his soles, eyes jumping around every which way. They fell into an awkward silence, unlike their comfortable one when they flew back to the Spire. When the wind was whipping wildly through their white wears, it was peaceful and serene. The ringed planet above reminded him of a similar world back in Sol’s system. He overheard it once when his systems were undergoing diagnostics— named after a Roman god of time and liberation. What did they call it… Saturn? He shook his head, breaking his digress.
Unlike their surreal journey back to the Spire, his core felt like the human equivalent to sheepish. He swore Uzi could feel it too, barely acknowledging him.
… What do we even talk about?
He ended up offering his pilot seat to her, not only because she was already sitting on it, but because J and V’s were either wrecked beyond recognition or torn to shreds in a fit of mania and or sadism (guess who caused that).
He squeaked, catching his restless nanite injector before it could stab him through the forearm again. N returned his LEDs’ gaze to Uzi.
What the—?!
N blinked, his arm already raised, a missile loaded into one of his many weapon compartments. He gasped, forcing himself to relax as he realized the nanite injector at the end of his tail was taut, poised to pierce the core of the Worker Drone in front of him. Against all advice from his automatic systems, he willed the launcher back into humanoid hands. However, despite his best efforts, the glowing, angry “ TARGET LOCK” symbol around her refused to yield, the alarm loud on top of his HUD.
This will… take some getting used to.
It took him nearly four seconds to even realize what he was doing…
By some miracle, Uzi didn’t notice her near death experience, growling in frustration as she glared at the lack of comms relay and other crucial auxiliaries. Plus, most of the cockpit was in complete disrepair, and that was putting it lightly. The console was blanketed with a layer of ash and rust. There were sparks, loose debris, and shards of quartz glass strewn about everywhere. The Murder Drone wanted to help , but he didn’t know how. Plus, he had a sinking feeling in the center of his core that Uzi wanted to be alone while she worked…
He piped up, “I can, uh, leave if you’d like? I understand if I’m distracting you…” N scratched the back of his head, a bit downtrodden. He couldn’t imagine having a mass murderer behind her was putting her at ease. Please, please, please say yes!
Uzi startled, dropping the wrench she was carrying. It fell with a ringing clang as she stood, turning to face him with her neon purple eyes. “No no,” she motioned with her hands, closing the distance between them. “N, I’m not mad at you— just this stupid wiring system.” She kicked one of the panels out of pure frustration to emphasize her point. The goth blinked. “Actually… hauling all the spare parts we’re going to need is going to take a lot of time.” She grinned wryly at him, placing her knuckles on her hips, a smirk on her screen as she tilted her head. “Think you can help with that?”
Taking any excuse to leave, N gave her a wobbly smile and a mock salute, antigrav thrusters already humming on the hinges of his razor-sharp wings, unfurling in a flash. N chose to ignore how Uzi’s eyes hollowed out, her form going silent as his wingspan filled the cockpit. He ascended, disappearing through the opening, the familiar glow of the ringed planet above filling his vision. I can be helpful, he thought. I always want to do my best.
She didn’t even get to call out to him, unable to tell him what specific parts they needed.
He ignored his thermo sensors as they alerted him to another tenth of a degree increase, hastened by the activation of his wings. The icon on his HUD began to steadily turn from green to yellow.
N flew off too quickly to notice Uzi staring at where he was once standing, flakes of snow left in his wake as she fastened her railgun a bit tighter on her back.
The normally boisterous girl visibly deflated.
“Don’t leave too fast…”
She shivered. It was pretty cold in the cockpit…
She turned her attention to the console, beginning any meager repairs she could.
Part of what made the planet’s star so dangerous wasn’t the light itself, but the proximity.
Copper-9 orbited exceedingly close to its host. Not only that, it didn’t have a seasonal axial tilt either, meaning that the same side of the surface was perpetually faced toward the fiery giant. The same reason the nights were so arctic— the thin atmosphere— was the same reason the temperatures were searing during the day. Temperatures constantly fluctuated between -107 and 30 degrees Celsius— a temperature that would normally be considered toasty to humans, but to him, it was like he was dying.
Well, he thought. I am dying.
He zipped from building to building, precise in his movements. Not a single flap of his wings could be wasted. N could feel it— the molecules in his body jittering and vibrating more and more, the heat building in the core of his frame. Any snow that grazed his body instantly vaporized. He eyed the white powder.
Wait a second…
In a moment of infinite wisdom, N scooped up some snow and plopped it into his mouth, swallowing.
A few moments later, he staggered, falling to his hands and knees as he hacked up steam.
“Idea noted,” he coughed, hoarse.
He slowed his flight, more of a hover across the city skyline than a zip through winds. His scanners surveyed the landscape, hoping to find a spare Worker Drone corpse. He pursed his lips. It was impossible to go back to killing; he couldn’t. Not with Uzi in his life. The idea of continuing to kill, to satisfy, to quench his eternal thirst… he hated it. A visible shudder went down his spine at the thought of delicious oil. His only hope now was to find one of V’s messy kills. If he was lucky, it could fill him up, at least for a little while.
As the star sank deeper below the horizon, he switched to night vision, the planet going dark. Street lamps sparked and lit up at random intervals, the last dregs of electricity seeping through. N shuddered, his eyes bleary. His stable flight fell a few centimeters, and he startled awake.
Suddenly, the loneliness of the world felt crippling. Gales howled in his sensors, the blizzard conditions doing little to cool him. He was a ball of steam alone in this world. V was tied up, most of the Worker Drones on the surface were either dead or in hiding, and J was—...
Oh.
He almost forgot.
J’s dead.
N sucked in a breath, wondering if Uzi felt this way when she left the bunker with him.
Self-imposed exile sucked.
At least we have each other. Right?
N’s sensors sharpened, a dull yellow outline appearing on one of his many electromagnetic sensors. He’d long switched to infrared after the sun went down. Oil appeared better this way. It retained the heat well— warm and sweet, just how he liked it. He spotted a kill, dismembered limbs all strewn about in the snow, entrail splattered across the wall. Definitely one of V’s. His flat soles landed softly yet crunched like an earthquake due to the flakes of white. N felt his frown deepen as he gazed longingly over the body like a man looking into an empty well. Over a few spots of yellowish-red appeared on his HUD, the poor drone sucked dry of oil.
He paused as he turned away, deciding to look at the body more closely. N squinted at the name tag just above the drone’s left breast. The name itself had been weathered but the occupation was still there. “Miner,” it read. He wondered if V even knew who the drone was. Maybe they died while digging out the bunker where Uzi’s dad lives. Maybe he killed them, and doesn’t even remember. Either way, it left a horrible feeling in his core.
Seeing them up close only cemented his decision to leave with Uzi.
He hissed as he unfurled his wings again, the appendages mimicking his hissing as they touched the falling snow, instantly vaporizing it. The action took considerable effort, a few more moments passing as he loosened the ultra-thin feathers. With a grunt, he propelled himself into the air again. Antigrav thrusters groaned angrily, his frame shivering with exertion. N can’t remember the last time he felt so slow. Not just physically, but mentally, too. Everything was slowing down, his flight noticeable dragging, limbs moving sluggishly, all an attempt by his automatic systems to keep his temperature down.
Half of him was split between wanting to see Uzi again and actually finding some oil. He was quickly realizing that finding bodies with anything more than a few drops was a luxury. He continued on, growing more desperate with each cadaver splotched with yellow on his infrared, endlessly teasing him. The urgency was getting to him— he can’t go back empty handed. Not after his systems almost automatically killed Uzi. She doesn’t even realize how dangerous he is. He didn’t know what would happen if he saw a live Worker Drone again. What if the target lock goes off on its own? Is it possible for him to… lose control? N can’t remember a situation where he was oil-starved.
The sensation might be so overpowering, he might… he might kill her—.
The drone furiously shook his head.
I won’t let that happen.
…
…But what’s the alternative?
There wasn’t one.
After hours of flying, N’s body forced him to land. Warnings displayed on his HUD before his wings unceremoniously retracted, his body plummeting like a stone. His systems were so lethargic he didn’t even notice he was falling until he hit the ground. His actual frame was fine— of course it was— but man did it hurt. Now, he was forced to limp back to the Spire, sunlight dangerously close to rising. Breath hitching, he collapsed just outside the main arch. He hissed as the first dredges of sunlight came out, maneuvering just behind the arch’s walls as the star came into view. Not able to soften his movements, each step he made left a dull thud.
Uzi… he needed Uzi.
If worse comes to worse, well…
…He’s never seen her without her railgun.
If he wasn’t actively dying, he would’ve laughed when V actually looked concerned as he walked past her.
Synthetic ligaments groaned as N made the final climb into the cockpit. The railing lit up as he touched it, the metal squealing as it turned red-hot. He whimpered, throwing himself over the roof of the ship. Violently shaking hands reached out for the button that controlled the hydraulics. With a shaky press, he heard the door hiss below him, opening. He dropped without any preamble, creating a massive racket as his slim, pale frame clanged on the floor.
“N? Is that you? I don’t know why I bother asking since I can’t imagine another Working Drone willingly coming here— oh my God, what happened?!” she dropped the toolkit she assembled, bolts, nuts, and different gauges of wrenches went flying everywhere. She rushed to his side, her mercifully cold hands reaching for him.
“Oh, it's nuthin’,” he slurred, his discomfort clear to the world. “Just feeling a bit tired—,” He tried to take a step towards V’s chair, but he only made it two steps before he fell to the ground. Uzi let out an “ooph!” catching him by the waist before he could knock himself offline. She gave him a baleful look, helping his failing motor processors make the final few meters to the chair.
“You’re overheating,” she mumbled, realizing the severity of the situation. It was a fact, not a question.
N nodded sheepishly, taking off his uniform’s hat even though it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. “H— Help…?” He turned away from her, but he didn’t know why. Maybe it’s because he felt shameful. Maybe it’s because he didn’t want to think about how frigid and sweet her oil would be—.
Uzi swore under her breath. “Fucking JCJenson… I thought we had a week. A few days at the very least.”
He felt his whole frame begin to shiver, almost like he was going into shock. “I–I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I haven’t been any help since we left the bunker. I–I’ve only been weighing you down.”
Despite his self-deprecation, Uzi was in full analysis mode, hand on her chin as she circled him. “You just stuttered,” she breathed. “You never stutter. Even your speech pattern is degrading, too.” Her hands clenched. Oh no. Was she mad? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I—I didn’t want t–to kill anyone…”
Uzi’s eyes went hollow, mouth agape. N continued.
“After everything, it’s not like I could go out h–hunting again. I–I’ve been trying to keep it t–together, but it’s just so hard . I wanted to find one of V’s leftovers. She tends to be pretty, ah… messy.”
But there’s still an eternal question in the air, and the implications were… unkindly.
What happens if he can’t find any oil? What then?
The Worker Drone went silent, N writhing in pain as his temperature rose another degree.
He knew he could never hurt Uzi. And he knew (he hoped) that Uzi knew that, too.
His eyes wandered to the outline of the girl on his HUD, the “TARGET LOCK” symbol screaming, still.
…But they could always be more cautious.
His vision started to spark. Visor failure.
She drifted out of sight, the edges of his field of view subsiding.
…
Just before his eyes went out, he felt something cool and metallic become flush against his back. N froze, letting out an involuntary shudder of satisfaction. He felt his vision begin to clear, blinking away the static. His temperature was falling— rapidly, too. What did she do? His vision cleared entirely, noticing the goth’s absence. It was only then that he recognized a very familiar weight clinging to his back. “Uzi?!”
“Shush,” she bit. “It’s cold in here, and you’re a great heating pad.” She mumbled a few seconds later. Was she drowsy? Seriously? “You only need oil because it’s used as a coolant, right? If you don’t need it for power, then this should help tide you over.”
“But what about you?” he pressed urgently. His temperature was going down fast. If all of that heat was going to Uzi, then wouldn’t that mean she’d overheat…? He felt her shrug, cold shoulders pressed against his. Despite the potential danger, he couldn’t find it within himself to pull away from her touch. The feeling was just too damn nice…
“Our parent company screwed you over, N. Unlike you, Worker Drones have cooling systems that actually function. After all, we were designed to do work for morally ambiguous amounts of time. I’ll be okay.” His spine locked in place as she snuggled closer to him. “Besides, this feels nice.”
That’s what I was thinking…
Not quite sure what was allowed and what wasn’t, N gingerly placed his hands over her forearms that had wrapped around his stomach. Back, hands, stomach— all feeling that sweet, delicious cold. Subconsciously leaning back, his sizzling synthetic hair rested on hers, colder still. His tail whipped, then snaked around, securing them in a cocoon of perfect heat exchange. Uzi seemed to have no objections, clinging a tiny bit tighter.
N couldn’t quite remember how long they stayed in the cockpit, silently yet eagerly touching, basking in each other, (a lie, of course— his internal clock was always running). All he knew is that the imbalance of their core temps eventually subsided, leaving them more or less the same temperature. Though, he could feel Uzi sapping heat away still, just less rapidly. She wasn’t kidding about Worker Drones having better cooling, huh? And yet, despite his heating issue temporarily fixed, Uzi didn’t pull away. He almost wanted to bring it up, but that same warmth he felt from her earlier compelled him to enjoy it for a few moments longer.
He didn’t even think when he scooped her up back at the bunker and placed her on his shoulders. It felt right. Feeling her cool, mechanical digits cling to his alabaster hair as they flew through the city made his core skip a cycle. The Disassembler Drone didn’t understand why that would be. It wasn’t this was the first time someone else touched him. Before his deployment, technicians would always be poking, prodding, and running tests, making absolutely sure he was working at one-hundred-percent efficiency. Whenever V touched him, it was rare, genuine, despite feeling forced and hostile. Whenever J touched him, she was always poking his shoulder aggressively or slapping him while denoting exactly what he did wrong. Uzi didn’t have any predisposed directives or programs, nor did she ignore him or berate him. She was just… here. With him.
He paused. The rim of his vision crackled, still recovering from the residual heat. That was it, wasn’t it? That’s why he’s thinking about this so much.
When he unconsciously plopped her on his shoulders, her fingers curled into his hair…
It was the first time someone touched him. Not out of obligation like his technicians, nor malice like V’s sadism, or J’s career-focused mindset. It was just… warm. Not in a literal sense, but a different kind of warmth.
N let out a tiny, indiscernible breath, full of mirth— Uzi wasn’t the type of person to keep to herself. If she wanted to, she would’ve voiced her complaints immediately and demanded to be put down, yet she didn’t. She wanted to be on his shoulders…
He let his digits comb through his faux hair, feeling her phantom touch.
Why was he focusing on this so much again?
…
Oh right, Uzi’s cuddled up to him.
Oh biscuits, she’s asleep.
He stole a glance out of the cockpit, a bit of sunlight peeking through the main arch of the Spire.
Nestling into Uzi’s embrace, N settled into the cockpit for a long, quiet day.
It’s not like he could go outside in the sun. The heat.
Might as well enjoy this…