Chapter Text
The night wind blew across the land of twisted metal and decaying architecture. Copper-9 wasn’t the most pleasant of planets to make your home on, from the toxic air to the seeming lack of plant life.
There were really only two notable life forms on Copper-9, and they weren’t even organic. The first were the worker drones, a race of servant bots that eventually gained sentience. However, instead of rising up or anything, they sort of just lived a regular life. The second group however, the disassembly drones, had other plans. Sent by the company who made the worker units, JCJenson, it was their job to eradicate the planet of these wayward AIs.
One such disassembly drone was making his way across the landscape, flying on steel wings. An uncomfortable heat radiated from this particular drone’s chest. The climate of Copper-9 wasn’t a warm one; rather, this drone was overheating. Disassembly drones ran a significantly higher amount of protocols and programs than the average worker drone, and therefore were prone to overheat. Fresh oil would always do the trick, supplemented by the very drones they hunted. It was almost like a sadistic way JCJenson made sure they kept to their goal of disposing of their targets.
After a while of hunting, the disassembly drone finally found a target; a lone worker shuffling among the ash of the planet. Probably looking for resources or something. Whatever the case, it wouldn’t matter to it any longer. The disassembly drone perched near its prey, raising two fingers pointed directly at the center of mass. The crystal tipped fingers glowed yellow, a bit of energy silently arcing between both digits. And then, the blast. The worker fell instantly. Finally. Nourishment.
The disassembly drone flew down, biting on the downed worker as fast as he could. As the cooling oil flooded his body, relief did the same. The heat vanished, and his internal notifs pertaining to the issue closed, not needed as a reminder any longer. The disassembly drone wiped his mouth, oil dripping off his fangs. What to do now… he had completed his main objective of finding lunch, and he still had no idea where the nearest group of disassembly drones were. Maybe he should try a new direction? There should have been SOME sign of disassembly drone activity… where was everyone? Protocol insisted that he, as the last of his group, join another gr-
Oh. Right. Last of his group. The memories hit him like a rogue wave, but he tried his absolute best to shake it off. It didn’t work much. He just knelt there in the ashen ground, frozen, reliving that day. The drone pulled his longcoat close, seeking any comfort he could find in the piece of clothing.
He probably would have stayed there for a long time, stuck in thought, but a sound snapped him out of it. Another drone. This one had a piece of shrapnel in its hands, clearly scared but ready to defend itself. The murder drone gave it a look. Could that lousy piece of shrapnel do even anything to him?
Pull it together, C. You know your assignment. Find another group. He raised his two fingers again, promptly silencing the new drone. Serial Designation C couldn’t afford to dwell on these memories. Just get going, he told himself. And he did just that, unfurling his wings and taking off once more.
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“Another two lost,” an annoyed worker drone spat out. His subordinates looked at each other with worry. The boss had been getting more and more enraged with each attack. Which was understandable, but no one liked to see the boss angry. These two unfortunate workers had been out on a scrapping mission, to gather whatever useful objects they could get their hands on.
“Is it me or has our fatality rate risen?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“It seems to have, sir,” one worker replied. “We’ve noticed a completely new murder drone in the area. Along with the regular 2 to 3, our death rates are up. Not by much, but up.”
The boss sighed, putting two fingers to his metallic temple. “This is a proooobleeem,” he grumbled under his breath.
“There’s ah… more. There’s more,” the subordinate piped up again. The boss turned back to face him. “This new drone has some… frightening capabilities. We ripped the black boxes from the downed scavengers. It seems to possess crystal tipped fingers that fire some sort of plasma bolts. He’s deadly accurate. One shot for each drone. Right in the core.”
The boss’s expression became much more sober. That was very concerning. Most of the time the murder drones waved around wildly with claws and semi-autos. While they still certainly racked up quite the kill count, a murder drone with this precision unnerved him. A calm and calculated MD… he needed more information.
“Kenny. Call Colbert and get him down here. It’s time for recon.”
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C flew through the air, ash raining down on his face, requiring the occasional swipe with his arm. Where was everyone? He should have seen some activity by now. If only corporate could have provided him with some actual directions. C’s tail flicked in annoyance. He was only going to fly for a little longer before making camp for sunrise. He had to have been flying for hours each day for the past few days, why was there NO ONE AROUND??
C finally perched on a steel beam, scrap littering the ground. It would provide cover enough for the sun that was soon to rise. He got to work, propping up peices of metal to make a sort of hut for himself. C sighed. This miserable tent was nothing compared to his squad’s quarters. Maybe the next team would have somewhere decent to sleep… but he knew that it would never be as good, no matter how luxurious it could be.
He was still lost in thought when he heard something above. Something was flying. There was really only one thing that flew on this planet; more of him. He spread his wings and shot into the sky.
“HEY!” he yelled after the dissasembly drone. “SLOW DOWN!” The other drone looked back, a fearful expression in their eyes. It faded once they saw him, but not by much.
“You would NOT believe how long I’ve been looking for another squad,” C said. “I could have sworn I would have ran into someone by now. Where have all of you been?” the drone grumbled in an exasperated tone. He sighed. “Anyways, my name is Serial Designation C, protocol says I must… find another group. Where’s yours?”
The other drone seemed to be a bit dazed by all the sudden remarks. “…My group?”
“Yes, your group. Where are they?” C was becoming impatient.
“I… don’t know,” the other drone replied, their voice flat.
“You don’t- how do you not know?” C asked incredulously.
“I don’t know. They’re not here.”
“Well then, where are they??” C made a mental note to back off a little, as the drone in front of him was shrinking from his frustrated voice. He calmed down a little. “I have been traveling for days to find another squadron of dissasembly drones. You are the first I’ve met.” He made sure to regulate his voice levels. Perhaps being a bit more gentile would net him some actual answers.
“…Gone,” they said. C stopped cold. Gone.
“I… I’m sorry. For pressing the matter.” C was filled with shame, but shook it off. He couldn’t have known. “Do you know where any other squads are?” The drone shook their head. He sighed. “Then it looks like you have a new teammate. You already know my name, what’s yours?”