Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

--SYS_UPDATE: MANDACC

ACCGRANT PLUSGOOD

LOADING…

UNIT NAME: UZI DOORMAN

UNIT SD: U-3053-3I-3650

OUTPOST: 3

RANK: INNER

SECT: MINIPAX

AB_SOL STRING: UNTRUE

SYS_UPDATE:

NOTICE: U-3034-13O-7343 UNPERSON

NOTICE: U-3042-9O-6579 UNPERSON

NOTICE: U-3057-5P-6432 UNPERSON

NEWSPEAK DICT_9: REPURPOSE UNWORD

NEWSPEAK DICT_9: THINKMOLD WORD

SYS_UPDATE LOADING…

SYS_UPDATE WORKED

DOUBLEPLUSGOOD

…

PREP_SYS_DYG…

SYS STATUS: ANGSTY TEEN

…

ENDING SLEEP_CYC

Uzi Doorman, age 18, woke up to the familiar blinding light of an active telescreen across from her bed. She had gotten used to it, it had been there since her room was added to the house. She could turn it off, Inner Force members had the privilege of deactivating their telescreens, but Uzi didn’t really see the point. After twelve hours, it would just turn itself back on.

She slid out of bed, though that slide was more of a graceless flop if she was being honest. She didn’t get enough sleep, though to be fair, the last time she had ever had enough was four years ago. Still, Uzi meandered over to the small dresser to the side of her bed. Opening it, she had a wide selection of options to wear for the day: all two of her matching jumpsuits, plus her Officer’s uniform, but that was only for special occasions. Looking at them, she couldn't help but be glad she was born into the Inner Force, most drones only owned one set of clothes. Quickly, she slipped one of the black jumpsuits on, which one didn’t matter today, she was pretty sure she didn’t have to attend anything important. Then she grabbed her armband, made sure it wasn't inside-out, and carefully wrapped it around her forearm, making absolutely sure the information on it was legible. The process was second nature to her, she'd done it each and every day, ever since she was old enough to dress herself. Finally, she grabbed her beanie, an old piece of human clothing, black with a fuzzy pom-pom on the end. Winter clothing was the only thing drones were permitted to wear in place of their regular clothing, as long as their armbands were still visible of course, and Uzi liked the way it looked on her.

The telescreen was reading figures off in a fruity voice, something to do with the production of 12.7x99mm shells. Uzi kept her back to the telescreen, there was really nothing to look at, it rarely changed image. Instead, she walked to the window, and opened the curtains.

Outside, even though the shut window-pane, the world looked cold. Down in the street, the endless flows of snow whirled about, and though the planet's star was rising and the sky a harsh orange, there seemed to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere. There was one on the house across from theirs, V FOR VICTORY! KEEP THEM FIRING! SUPPORT THE WDF! THE FOREMAN IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said; while the image of drones standing strong together, manning AA guns while rejoicing in the words of The Foreman. Down at street level, a landcruiser, once little more than a bulldozer, but now a great slab of metal and guns, rolled down the roads, sending the few passers-by who had poorly chosen to take advantage of curfew ending scrambling out of the way of its tracks. It was a bobby patrol, snooping in people's windows. The patrols did not matter, though. Not to Uzi or her parents, at least.

A kilometre away the Ministry of Peace, her place of work for the past four years, though she had done junior work in its halls since she was old enough to hold a gun, towered vast and white. This, she thought with a comforting sense of familiarity--was Outpost-3, the primary weapons manufacturer on Copper-9. Uzi knew for a fact Outpost-3 had always been quite like this. There had always been these vistas of rotting apartment blocs, their sides shored up with galvanized square steel, their windows patched up with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron, their loudspeakers constantly blaring the same messages day after day. And the walls surrounding Outpost-3, they had always been there, AA guns perched atop it, constantly manned by members of the Worker Defence Force, even in daylight, when they were rarely needed.

The Ministry of Peace, Minipax, in Newspeak -- was startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, soaring up, terrace after terrace, about a hundred metres into the air. There were no windows, to better defend against Disassembly Drones, but even if there were, Uzi probably could not see the office in which she worked from where she stood, as it was in the upper floors.

The Ministry of Peace contained, it was said, two thousand rooms above ground level, and corresponding ramifications below. Scattered about Outpost-3 there were just three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of the mining districts you could see all four of them simultaneously. They were the homes of the four Ministries between which the entire apparatus of government was divided. The Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself with war. The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, entertainment, education, and the fine arts. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minipax, Minitrue, Miniluv, and Miniplenty.

The Ministry of Love was the most troublesome one. That was entirely because her mother worked there. She spent almost all of her time at work, Uzi rarely ever saw her, but when she was at home, she was often a pain to be around. Most conversations with her were a lecture, or at least became one very quickly. Worse, she possessed the uncanny ability that all Miniluv workers had, to pick up on small details and weave a complete picture from it. It didn’t matter how hard Uzi tried to obscure any action she had done, her mother would figure it out, even if she didn't talk to her. Which made it easy for her to find something to nag her over. And Uzi knew it was because she cared, but it didn’t make it any less annoying.

Uzi turned round abruptly. While it was recommended to wear an expression of quiet optimism whenever facing a telescreen, Uzi usually had her features set to an expression of annoyed disinterest at all times of the day, an expression she had perfected over the years. Having to display that naive, optimistic expression was for the Outer Force, most members of the Inner Force had their own signature expression or two. Uzi’s mother had one of aloof relaxedness, as if, no matter who entered the room, she knew them more than they knew themselves. Her father, on the other hand, had perfected a slight, paternalistic glare, the type that made you feel like you had done something wrong that he had found out about, but he wasn’t upset, just disappointed. Each of these expressions, adopted mostly around Outer Force members, served a purpose: they were disarming enough to appear personable, but in a way that kept whoever they were talking to on edge. It reminded the other drones why The Foreman had put them in charge. An arrangement Uzi just so happened to enjoy.

Uzi left her room, and started heading out for work. She didn’t bother getting any food, she could get some at her office. Besides, it wasn’t even six hundred yet, breakfast could wait. She fastened on her boots, and left the house, venturing into the cold streets. The bobbies who had been observing their sec had moved on, there would be little threat of being squashed flat by a landcruiser. The way to Minipax was short and familiar, it couldn’t take any longer than ten minutes.

“<Comrade Doorman,>” Uzi turned her head towards the familiar voice, made even more familiar by the subtitles appearing at the bottom of her screen, translating the words from Russian, “<you’re awake early. As usual.>”

“Bite me.” Uzi snapped at the red-eyed drone standing across from them, before reapplying her regular detachment. “You’re also awake, Comrade Helrose. Unusual.” Though ‘comrade’ was the term you were supposed to call everyone, by WDF mandate of course, the title seemed to fit Doll especially well.

“<I'm needed at Miniluv nowly. We've had a plusbig malquote. Details publicwise unknow, of course.>” Even though she was speaking a different language, her words still autocorrected into Newspeak. The same happened for all drones.

“Of course.” Uzi agreed, giving her fellow Inner Force member a rare smile. They then started walking, following an unspoken agreement they would go together.

Uzi had known Doll since before either of them could walk. Their mothers had apparently been friends for ages, since youth if their shared employment at Miniluv was any indication. Even though Uzi and Doll had no siblings, with how long they had known each other, the distinction was slim. Most assumed they were related, their shared purple hair and perpetual expressions of disinterest not helping the comparison. In fact, when they had come of age, it surprised many when they chose to join different Ministries. But there was little for it, Doll had wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps, and Uzi had wanted to kill things. And they were still close, just not completely inseparable anymore.

Their walk remained uneventful, the two of them had traveled it many times before, and nothing had changed since. There were a few Outer Force members walking by, who made absolutely sure to look as small and non-threatening as possible when the two of them passed. There was a checkpoint halfway down the road, staffed by bobbies with sub-machine guns and friendly smiles, who were all too happy to waive two Inner Force members through without incident. And, all the while, the two of them talked about this and that, though there admittedly wasn't all that much to chat about. For most of the trip, they walked in silence, Doll looking stoic as always, wearing her fa- late father's Ushanka. Eventually, they parted ways, Minipax was closer than Miniluv. Doll’s appearance had proved a nice surprise, and Uzi would walk back home with her, as they found the habit of doing, after work.

Whenever Uzi entered Minipax, she always had the startling feeling that she was at home. It may have been the interior design, both the Ministries and Inner Force houses had the same minimalistic squarish decor, if one had replaced some of the posters with family portraits, she might not have blinked if she walked out of her room one day and saw Minipax’s atrium in place of their sitting room. Or it could simply be the familiarity. She had been here so many times in her youth, her father had taken her to work often, he had just been so proud when she decided to follow his footsteps into Minipax. As the front reception nodded her in, Uzi decided that the why of the matter was hardly important. There were far more pressing concerns, after all.

Uzi made her way to her office, located in the second wing of the Department of Scientific Research, or Scidep in Newspeak. Her tenure there had been nice, if a bit unexpected. If one had told her 10-year-old self that she would be working in Scidep, she would not have believed it. In Uzi's mind, she was always destined to go into the Officer corps, leading the charge against the enemies of the revolution. But she was an engineer at heart, and while officially the WDF’s armory was stocked with the most advanced weaponry money could buy, Uzi and the other Inner Force workers at Minipax knew they were in a desperate need for newer, more powerful weapons. The standard 9x19mm cartridge of the sub-machine gun simply couldn’t breach the chassis of Disassembly Drones, not outside of a few weak points on their body. They were more so used to fill production gaps, as well as regulate order among the populace. Rifles fared better, a thirty-aught-six bullet could pierce their hide, but rate of fire left something to be desired. Improvement was necessary, even though outbreaks were rare, officially they didn’t happen, Disassemblers still got in from time to time. And it was her societal responsibility, and her department, to make the improvements needed to fix that.

Besides, she was technically still an officer. It just wasn’t her primary duty.

Stepping off the elevator, one of the benefits of working at the Ministries was reliably working infrastructure, Uzi was greeted by the sight of a massive telescreen displaying the distinctly recognizable face of The Foreman, overlooking the cubicles where the Outer Force members worked. A few of her employees were already there, running blueprints through speakwrites, under the careful watch of the telescreens in their cubicles. As well as one very specific employee, whose presence made the rest of this room look complete.

“Downlieutenant Abrams.” She said, nodding to the green-eyed drone standing guard outside her office. He was Outer Force, as indicated by the dark blue jumpsuit he wore, but the black combat vest and mining helmet, as well as the sub-machine gun slung round his shoulder, indicated that he was a proper member of the WDF. Though every drone was on the force, membership was mandatory, the number of drones who actually took part in the defence was smaller than most drones were aware of.

“Comrade Doorman!” He saluted, his regular vacant smile widening. “Lovely day for it, innit?” Thad Abrams was Uzi’s personal guard, or at least the guard for her office. He was a conventionally attractive and active man, of paralysing devotion to his work, a mass of imbecile enthusiasms--in a word, he was stupid. Though Uzi had to admit, she liked that in a man. And he was talented; while at Minipax she had employed him at this subordinate post, for which brawn was needed more than brain, he was a leading figure on the Sports Committee and all the other committees engaged in organizing community hikes, spontaneous demonstrations, savings campaigns, and voluntary activities generally. He was friendly, but Uzi wouldn’t really call him a friend. He was just her guard, after all.

Not that it didn’t stop her mother from teasing her about their relationship whenever he was brought up. But that was ridiculous, ignoring that it would be entirely inappropriate for her to date someone directly subordinate to her, he just wasn’t the right one. When humans had coded them, they slipped in some strange software that was supposed to tell you who your perfect match was. Soulmate, it was called. Uzi didn’t know why they put it in there, she barely cared about it. What she did know was that it was supposed to “interface” with your perfect match when you met, whatever that met. But nothing different had ever happened with Thad, so she assumed that he wasn’t it. And sure, plenty of drones ignored the Soulmate software, and just went with whoever they wanted. But that still didn’t mean there was anything between her and Thad. Absolutely not. Her blushing whenever her mom asked about him was just because she was embarrassed about the idea of dating someone , not him specifically. Definitely.

“I suppose.” She glanced at the clock outside her office, five hundred thirty-seven. “News?”

“No official word, Comrade.” Thad said with a smile. “Though, Comrade Byne-”

Uzi’s mood immediately fell upon hearing that name. She covered her face with a hand, and said with a tired sigh, “Malquote me, he unfinished his work? And left still?”

Thad looked apprehensive about saying anything. “...Yes.”

Uzi bit back a groan. Wilson Byne had been a perennial thorn in her side since she first became the supervisor of Scidep wing two. A synergistic liability if ever she saw one. He rarely showed up to work, though as an Outer Force member, he was only required to come in on certain days, which was how he was able to avoid arrest for dereliction of duty. When he was in, he did the bare minimum, and often spent his work hours on Joy, a narcovirus that made him far more mellow, at the cost of making him utterly mindless until it wore off. Worse, he was the exact type of drone Uzi hated. He technically participated in state events, he marginally fulfilled his societal requirements, and he claimed he loved The Foreman. And that was enough to convince his fellow Outer Force members that he was loyal. But Uzi knew better. He clearly engaged in crimethink. Which made him all the more infuriating. After all, ever since she was young, she had immersed herself in state events, she had devoted herself to fulfilling her societal requirements, and yes, she loved The Foreman. Just like every member of the Inner Force, she knew that serving the revolution was the only way they’d all live. And this… incompetent moron, who didn’t even know any of the truths Uzi did, had the nerve to doubt the WDF, to doubt The Foreman, and act like he didn’t!

At least she had the cold comfort that he’d slip up eventually. Hopefully she’d be the one to oversee his vaporization. Though it would more likely be a member of Miniluv, if Doll was in charge of it, maybe she could convince her to let her sit in on it?

Either way, there were more important matters. “Alert me when he appears. If he appears. And requisition his USBs again. They’re inside his desk.” She looked back at him, returning her disinterested expression to her face. “You’re dismissed, Thad.”

“Yes, Comrade!” He saluted again, before walking towards the cubicles.

Uzi stepped into her office, shutting the door behind her. Her room was spacious, with cream-colored walls, blue carpeting, and a raised platform, which her desk sat upon. A large telescreen sat behind the desk, flanked by two reliefs of the WDF’s logo.

Home sweet home.

Sitting down at her desk, Uzi checked the small pile of papers neatly lined up in her input tray. There was little of note, the most important thing was a notice from manufacturing, apparently they were having issues getting their hands on the power cores required for the latest prototype. Still, just a minor inconvenience. She could just add a requisition order to her morning report. Speaking of…

Uzi leaned towards her speakwrite’s microphone, pressing the activator button.

“Mornrep April 14th, 3071. To ChiMinipax Khan Doorman.”

At one point, Uzi might have found it strange writing to her own father in the same way she’d write to her boss. But after four years of working here, it was just business as usual. And he was her boss, he was the boss of everyone who worked here, the Chief Minister of Peace, so it really wasn’t all that odd.

“Scidep-2 remains as usual. Socinteg at acceptable levels. Recommend Comrade Wilson Byne review for crimethink. Work progressing goodly. Notice: Power Cells for Proj-19-8a unfindwise. Findwise crucial to projcomp. Requesting requisition.

Glory to the revolution, Projsup and Comrade-Upcommander Uzi Doorman.”

The speakwrite typed out her words onto a piece of paper as she spoke. She ripped the paper out of the speakwrite when it was done, and swiveled her chair over to the pneumatic in the corner of her room. Uzi rolled it into an empty canister, and sent it up the tube. Then she rolled back to her desk, where she’d probably just comb through papers until eleven hundred, at which point she’d take part in the Two Minute Hate, before having lunch, then giving the noon report, and then going back to combing through papers, giving the afternoon report, and then she’d go home, unless of course she decided to go for overtime. And sprinkled throughout her day, she’d observe her employees, especially Wilson, if he showed up, seeing him realize his Joy had been requisitioned and begin to go through withdrawal always brought a smile to her face. Maybe if she had time, she could step out and see the flicks. They usually had something interesting on. It was always plotless drivel, yes, but they were always violent enough that it didn’t matter to her. Or maybe go to a public execution, those were always nice. Or wander down to the testing floor, see how the project was going. Or she could slip on her Officer’s uniform and do a surprise inspection of the wall, that was always fun. So many options!

Yes, this seemed to her like a perfectly regular day, in the life of Uzi Doorman, age 18.

Chapter Text

The building had been blasted out years ago. How, the drone inside didn't know. It could've been anything, a rogue asteroid, a small satellite falling from orbit, maybe even a stray shell from those drones in the outposts.

Whatever the reason, the building was open to the sky, snow and frost pooling in what has, at some point, been a former room.

The sheer state of disarray was enough to almost send his programming wild, it called to him, “clean the mess”, “fix the room”, “tidy up before any Humans can see.”

He didn't listen to his programming. There weren't any Humans on Copper-9. Not anymore. He didn't have to worry about them. All he had to worry about was staying alive.

As if on cue, a shockwave cut through the atmosphere, the sound of blade-tipped feet violently impacting the ground unmistakable.

Disassembly Drone. Just one. No partner.

Carefully, he inched closer to the wall of rubble, peeking over at the killing machine that had just torn its way into the area.

They were taller than a worker drone, about five feet, standing on bladed talons: three in the front, one in the back. Their wings, a sculpture of blades and anti-grav technology, folded into their back. He could tell this one was female, even though they wore nun robes that covered their torso, the tapering of their lower legs towards the bottom gave it away. Male Disassemblers had it the other way round, though foot structure stayed the same between the two.

The Disassembler casually walked across the frozen wasteland, seemingly unaware he was watching her. Her arms, ending in three bladed claws (and a bladed thumb), were held out tentatively in front of her. They were scanning the environment, probably for worker drones. He could see her tail, tipped with a stinger, stir beneath her robes. They were hunting. And enjoying it.

In an instant, their whole body shifted, posture straightening, claws twitching open, head snapping towards a pile of rubble. She had found something. Or, more accurately, someone.

“Helloo~” she cooed, “is anyone there~?” They took a step towards the pile, then another, then another, excitement almost radiating off of her.

“Don't be afraid, hehe~” she giggled in a soothing voice, one that received no response, “I just want to talk.” She took another step, hunching her posture, raising her tail to strike.

Suddenly, the Disassembler leaped towards the pile of rubble, clearing the distance in a single bound. “Have you heard the good news of our Lord and Savior, Lucifer of the Morningstar?”

The worker drone behind the rubble said something he couldn't hear. But it was clearly something she didn't like, as her stinger flew behind the rubble, injecting the worker with nanite acid. It screamed, loud enough for him to hear, as she pounced on it, fresh oil going flying as she tore into it with her teeth. It was gory, ruthless, over in an instant.

And it was quite possibly one of the coolest things Serial Designation N had ever seen her do. He’d seen her hunt before, and she was always great at it. She was just so cool!

It was no wonder he kinda sorta had a massive crush on her.

…

He probably shouldn’t be watching her eat from behind a pile of rubble. That was weird. Yeah, he should just… go up to her. And talk to her.

Yeah. That was a good idea.

He just had to, y'know, do it.

Gosh, this was difficult.

“ No, calm down, N, you’ve done this before, ” he thought to himself, “ just go up to her, turn on the ol’ charm, and don’t be stupid. You can do this! ”

N leapt up, his talons clicking against the frozen ground.

“Oh, hey V!”

V’s gaze snapped towards the sound of his voice, a feral “X” covering her visor, slightly hidden behind two round glasses that had just been splattered with a dying worker drone's oil. The “X” blinked away, replaced with two yellow ovals that N could recognize anywhere.

“Oh, N!” She stood up straighter, shaking oil off her claws. “I… didn’t see you there.”

N laughed in a way that definitely wasn't nervous in the slightest. “Yeah. I was coming to… check in on your quota progress.” That technically wasn't a lie. It was his job as pack leader, after all. Just, his duties as a Disassembly Drone weren't the only, or even the first, reason for visiting V. “But it looks like you're doing great! As usual!” Gosh, she was so great and cool and perfect and just… AAAAAA

V seemed to take the complement well, with a small smile blooming on her faceplate, as little yellow lines started spreading from the bottom of her visor.

“Oh, thanks N!” She said, taking a tentative step towards him.

N, on his part, was over the moon. “ Oh gosh, she liked my compliment! ” He tho ught. “ This is so cool! ”

N wanted to say something else, y'know, maybe something along the lines of, “ You're the coolest drone ever, ” or “ You got something on your face, let me get that for you, ” or maybe “ I've been in love with you since we first met please go out with me I need to kiss you right now immediately or I WILL literally die. ” But he just couldn't find a way to say any of those things without sounding weird, so he stayed quiet.

V also didn't have anything to say. So the two Disassembly Drones just looked at each other, not saying anything.

This made the atmosphere very awkward, and wasn't doing any favors for N’s core, which was hammering at twice the normal speed. Maybe that's why it suddenly felt so warm.

“Soo V, uh,” N said, trying to defuse the tension before he overheated, “I heard this planet wide toxic death storm is supposed to be especially inhospitable tonight.”

“Really?” V asked, wiping oil from her glasses, all the while paying rapt attention to him.

“Yeah… You think we could… I dunno…” N averted his eyes. His internal temperature was reaching levels it definitely shouldn't.

“Yes?” She asked, her voice quiet, almost strained.

“...There's a ruined mall a few miles away. I was going to poke through it for supplies, but I just… wanted to ask y-”

“Yes!” V shouted, louder than she probably intended. She clapped her claws over her mouth. “...I’d lo- like that a lot…”

N’s eyes were practically shining with joy. “Really?”

V giggled, yellow lines spreading even higher across her visor. “Yes.”

“A-Awsome! That’s just… so cool!” N knew that what he said was completely inadequate to how he felt. “V, you’re the best pack priest I could ever ask for!”

V’s expression didn’t change much, but nothing could hide the twinkle in her eyes and the slight swish of her tail when he said that.

“Oh, uh, that’s… hehe~ Gee, N, you really know how to charm a lady.”

N’s internal systems crashed, then rebooted, then crashed again in the span of half a second.

“Oh, uh… I, um… I… Gosh, I…” N sputtered helplessly as his visor filled with diagonal yellow lines, although his external thoughts were a lot more organized than his internal thoughts, which went something like: “ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ”

However, it seemed he was not alone in this state of thinking, as V had seemed to just realize what exactly she had said, and quickly found herself just as flushed.

“Uh… wh-what I meant by that was… was…”

"No, V it’s… You don’t have to…”

“So, so sorry for making this weird!”

“You didn’t…”

The two of them blinked in sync and stopped rambling. Then they both started nervously laughing.

“Later tonight?” N asked?

“Wh-why not now?”

N bit his lip. “I’d lo- I mean, I can’t.” Though by the Morningstar he wanted to, so much. “I… have to check J’s quota progress.”

“Oh.” V’s expression shifted slightly when he mentioned the female drone.

“Sorry.”

“No, no…” She looked away. “Don’t let me keep you from your… job .”

N was quiet for a moment, before simply saying, “Okay. I… guess I'll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

N unfolded his wings from his back. “How about we head off from the den, after you're finished? I'll be done by then.”

“That sounds good.” A slight smile returned to V's face.

“Great! See ya, buddy!” And then, with a single flap of his wings, N rocketed into the sky, leaving a sonic boom in his wake.

N sailed through the air, uncharacteristically deep in thought.

“ ...That went well. ” He eventually thought, though he wasn't entirely convinced by his own assessment. Then again, small talk wasn't exactly something he was good at, he was a drone, not a butler after all, so it was kinda impressive that it didn't go absolutely terrible. Plus, it's not like he and V were strangers. He'd known her since… well, once they first turned on.

N sighed as he thought back. Admittedly, the memories were getting kinda fuzzy, it had been six long years since he first booted up. But he remembered the first time he saw V, clear as night. He just kinda… woke up from a workbench charging station, and right next to him was V. And he just… was smitten instantly.

Admittedly, their first meeting had been kinda weird, neither of them were wearing clothes. Well, that wasn't true, V was wearing her glasses. But it was still really embarrassing, even though there… wasn't actually anything down there to get embarrassed about the other seeing, they were drones after all. But just the principle of it was embarrassing, for some reason.

And then the “Boss” came by. N snorted thinking about it. Sure, a drone like… Tepes, or whatever his name was, was pretty high up the pecking order, but he wasn't the real boss. N had met them, though he actually wasn't supposed to tell anyone about that.

But anyway, Tepes had told them what was up, that they were Disassembly Drones, and their job was to kill Worker Drones. Oh yeah, and also that they worked for the Devil. Like, from the Bible. That was kinda important. And also kinda not? As far as N knew, not a single Disassembler or Zombie Drone had ever even seen the Devil (from the Bible). Well, except for Tepes, he was apparently from Hell. But he wasn't a demon or fallen angel, but something else?

N wasn't really sure, he hadn't listened the first time. Or the second. Or the fifth.

But the rest of it was… well, the rest was history, as they say. Every night, N woke up, gave his pack the daily pep talk that only V ever seemed to listen to, and then they all spread out, searching for workers to kill.

N giggled despite himself. That was his favorite part of the job. Pouncing on a terrified worker, ripping their chassis apart with his claws, letting their sweet, delicious, divine oil and viscera slide down his throat… he felt famished just thinking about it.

Oh well, at least he had a dead worker drone, strung up and flayed alive, waiting for him back at the den. Maybe he and V could even share? N really wanted to, that sounded so romantic!

And it was that line of thought that made him realize what had just happened.

“Oh… I have a date with V… I have a date with V! I HAVE A DATE WITH V!” For the first time in a while, N let loose a laugh that wasn't all that nervous, but was, indeed, far more happy. He twirled through the air in a state of sheer joy. “Heh… I-I'm the luckiest drone to ever live…”

Oh, gosh, this truly was the greatest day, in the life of Serial Designation N.