Chapter Text
It was late evening at the Alliance base. The skies had that dull, orange tint of a day too long spent fighting, and the titans were finally getting a moment’s rest. Titan TVman sat on a repair bench, quietly adjusting the cables that still hadn’t been fully repaired from his time as the Watchman of Doom. Titan Cameraman leaned against the wall, his main lens occasionally flickering as he monitored the perimeter feeds. Titan Speakerman was trying (and failing) to get the speaker semi-titan to stop pacing.
“Executor,” Speakerman sighed, voice filtering through his massive sound systems, “can’t you just. . . sit for a minute?”
“I’m bored,” Executor groaned, throwing her hands up. “It’s too quiet. That usually means something creepy is about to happen.”
Almost on cue, a faint chattering sound echoed from somewhere beyond the walls; a quick, rhythmic “clack-clack-clack" like someone grinding metal teeth together.
“See?” Executor said, speakers humming. “Called it.”
Cameraman straightened. “That sound isn’t on the feeds. It’s. . . organic.”
“Organic?” TVman asked, setting down his tools. “In this world? That’s not good.”
The group exchanged uneasy glances. Then, together, they stepped out into the dimly lit wasteland surrounding the base. The noise grew louder, an irregular “CHITTER-CHITTER-CHITTER" sometimes punctuated by a grotesque “screeech” like a metal predator trying to laugh.
When they crested the ridge near the base, they saw it.
Sitting on a rocky hillside, hunched over like some mutated insect, was what could only be described as a Drill Titan: A massive figure of rusted armor and whirring hydraulics. Its torso was roughly humanoid, but where a face should have been, a horrible drill-like mouth spun lazily, lined with serrated metal teeth that opened and closed with every chatter. Sparks danced between them, the sound so harsh it made the ground tremble.
“Okay,” Executor whispered. “That’s new. That’s. . . very new.”
“Ugly fucker,” TVman muttered, staring at the monstrosity. His back claws shifted nervously.
Cameraman raised his arm cannon, ready to fire. “It’s not supposed to be alive. The Drill units were mindless. Scrap automatons.”
“It’s definitely moving,” Speakerman rumbled quietly. “And staring right at us.”
Indeed, the Drill Titan’s “head” tilted toward them, the chattering slowing to a low “grrr-grrr-grrr.” Then, with an almost playful tone, it began snapping its drill-mouth open and shut, directly at Executor.
Her optics blinked in surprise. “Oh. Oh, I see how it is.”
TVman took a cautious step forward. “Executor, don’t-”
Too late. Executor stomped closer, arms out. “You got a problem with me, tin can? You want a bite? Go ahead! I bite back!”
The Drill Titan’s drill spun faster, the chattering intensifying into a metallic shriek. Then, with a sudden burst it lunged, not fast, but violently enough that the ground shook.
Executor dodged, barely, as the drill tore a trench in the dirt. “Whoa-ho! Okay, big boy’s got energy!”
Speakerman’s speaker banks screamed loudly, the sound wave knocking the creature back. “Don’t antagonize it!”
“I wasn’t antagonizing it!” Executor yelled, jumping backward as the Drill Titan reoriented and snapped its drill-mouth toward her again. “It antagonized me!”
Cameraman joined in, firing light blasts to keep it at bay, while TVman tried to scan it. But the readings were scrambled; no processor activity, no core, just an empty shell driven by some twitching mechanical impulse.
“It’s. . . not alive,” TVman said, the confusion evident even in his reversed speech. “It’s echoing old programming. A broken predator script.”
“So basically,” Executor said, rolling under another swing of the drill arm, “it’s a stupid robot zombie that wants to eat me!”
The Drill Titan slammed its drill into the ground again, showering sparks. Then abruptly it froze, the chattering stuttering to a halt. It tilted its head, drill still spinning faintly, and then wandered off. Just like that.
The group stared as it clanked its way away from the base, stopping every few steps to make that awful “click-click-click" with its drill-teeth.
“. . . What?” Speakerman finally said.
Executor crossed her arms, speakers buzzing nervously. “You know what? That’s worse than fighting it. At least when it was trying to eat me, it made sense.”
Cameraman shook his head slowly. “We’ll need to report this. If it’s one of the old drill units, something might have reactivated it.”
“Or,” Executor said, narrowing her optics at the vanishing figure, “it’s just out there now. . . chattering. . . waiting. . . ”
“Ugly fucker.” TVman repeated.
“Not helpful!” Speakerman and Cameraman said in unison, turning to glare at him.
TVman made a :3 emoticon.
A distant “clack-clack-clack" echoed again across the wasteland.
Executor shuddered. “Nope. Nope nope nope. I’m sleeping with the lights on tonight.”
The titans exchanged a look. For once, none of them argued.