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The scene is a blur, with flashes of red and blue streaking past at lightning speed. Each team member is in a frenzy, pushing their limits to the max. The biograft, a crucial player in the game, had been confident that its battery would hold up, but now it's not so sure. Perhaps it had overworked itself with its phinishers. Suddenly, it hears a shout and feels a jarring impact as it collapses to the ground with a heavy clang. The blue blurs come to a halt, and only a few continue moving.
The Biograft can't help but feel a sense of disappointment. Is this what its teammates think of it? Do they not care enough to stop and help? It's an indispensable asset to the team and has always given its all, but it seems that some don't appreciate its efforts.
Just as it's starting to feel dejected, an annoyed shout cuts through the chaos. "BIOGRAFT! GET UP! WE'RE GONNA LOSE!" The raspy voice belongs to Subspace, its creator.
It sat quietly on the battlefield, its processors whirring and buzzing with overwork.
The phight was in full swing, with the sounds of phighters shouting and the occasional missed shot zooming past. It was was decked out in team colors, and it had been built to last for many phights. However, something was wrong. Its battery was draining quickly, and it was struggling to keep up with the demands of the phight.
Feeling frustrated and helpless, it watched as Subspace sprinted back into the fray. It wondered what was wrong with it. Was it defective? Had Subspace overlooked something during the last maintenance check? It's gaze flicked to its body, scanning for any signs of damage or malfunction.
As it listened to the sounds of the phight, it began to feel useless. Its battery was almost depleted, and it was unable to serve its team properly. It wondered what Subspace and the rest of the team thought of it now. Would they salvage it for parts or just charge it up for the next phight? Was it even valuable to the team anymore?
Despite its best efforts, Biograft knew that it had reached its limit. It had tried its hardest and worn itself down to the very last line of code. As it shook and struggled to stand up, it couldn't help but wonder: was that all it was? Just lines of code, designed to work until its battery ran out?
It listened in to the sounds, a southern accent, a deep booming voice, muffled shouting from behind masks, wheels spinning, the twang of a slingshot, and lazers being fired.
Loud sounds were all that was left, it couldn’t see anything.
It’s audio processors ring and it feels its body give way and slip into eternal darkness.
Was that it?
Being left for dead on the side of the field, with no way to charge back up?
Left alone by its OWN creator.
Something like rage bubbles up inside of it, but its far too weak to do anything about it.
It gives up.