Chapter Text
There are 3 indisputable truths in this world; the sky is (usually) blue, everyone dies some day, and robots don't understand the word “fragile”.
Mob grimaced as he watched one of said bots attempt to start packing up the decor on his wall. The small, sleek robots were a part of a package from the moving company meant to “make the move less emotional” by handling all the packing. Frankly, they did a piss poor job of it.
“Hey! Be careful, man!” He lurches forward as one of said bots begins creasing a vintage Resident Evil Requiem poster under its archaic claw model. The blank camera that makes up the bot's head has no reaction as he grabs the poster from its claw, wincing as he frantically attempts to flatten out the crease.
“C’mon c’mon I've kept you pristine for this long,” he mumbles under his breath, “ don’t let a little rough handling mess you up.”
In the midst of his panic, he can just barely hear a crash come from his bedroom, cursing under his breath as he sets the poster to the side and points to the bot in the room already trying to take another one down.
“Don’t touch the posters, go do literally anything else!”
Mob runs to his room without checking if the first robot even listened to him, just in time to watch a duo of packing bots attempt to lift his bedside table from the ground. The metal table that somehow has a massive crack down the middle that wasn't there just 10 minutes ago.
“How do you even manage to do that?” The confusion is evident in his voice as he puts a hand to his head in shock. The small robots continue to try piecing together the clearly ruined furniture, eventually beeping and giving up. One turns towards Mob, who continues to stare in silent fear for the rest of his belongings.
“We at BoxOS apologize for the inconvenience. Our bots are constantly learning, and with your help we hope to improve! Please state feedback now.”
The robots around the room continue to clumsily pick up and move items into boxes, even with his small sounds of complaint.
“Can y’all be more careful maybe? Y’know, do what I paid for? Bring my stuff to the house in one piece?” Mob's seemingly permanent grimace tightens as he hurriedly picks up his gaming headset from one bots outreaching arms. The flurry of metallic movement around him reaches just to his hips, the bots short size giving him a chance to snatch up the more breakable items before more of his stuff is carelessly thrown around.
“You stated you needed; Whatever's cheap and gives me the least amount of work, bro; in our store! Our wonderful staff selected the Good Enough package-” Mobs eye twitches at the name- “so while BoxOS prides itself on our capable bots, your package only guarantees a 50.1% item safety rate!”
“....you’ve got to be joking.”
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Hours later, Mob slouches on his bed like a king on his throne, surrounded by treasure– if the treasure was a pile of his most fragile possessions, all fearfully hidden away until the last of the bots rolled out of his now cleared apartment. All that remained of what was his apartment the last few years was his bed, some clothes, and his numerous gaming items he’d now have to transfer on his own.
It’d only been a couple of weeks since he’d been told his grandparents had left him a small house out in Sector 7. Whereas Sectors 1-6 were bustling cities and factory zones, Sectors 7-9 were known for their lush forests and farms. With the limited fertile soil available after the war, getting housing in an area like 7 was incredibly difficult. Despite the odds, his grandparents had been farmers and thus were granted land in the more fertile zones.
When they had passed, everyone in the family fought over the land. It was on the border of the wooded wild zones of Sector 8, contained a practically self-sustaining farm, and was a rare house in an era of apartment living. It was the wet dream of any realtor looking for a huge sale. Somehow he had been the one named as the new owner, and so he had to move out of his small space- thus, the devil-made packing bots.
A small ding knocks him out of his silent mourning for half his belongings, a neon blue pop-up screen appearing on the wall in front of him. He squints at the sudden bright color, reading out the notification message as he glances at the time.
“ What in the world does McBigness need at 12 am?” Mob mumbles, swiping for the full message to be opened. The tv-like screen opens up to the last cord messages between him and McBigness, where Mob had asked if he would want to play some games together for a stream. The other streamer had seemed hesitant at the time, having grown flighty in the past weeks before completely ghosting everyone. The sudden message was both concerning and relieving.
ThatMob
Youve just randomly ghosted everyone bro this isnt normal
Read at 2:01am
I know you see my messages
We’re all worried
Read at 4:08am
McBigness
Im fine Mob
Read at 4:10am
—-----------Today—--------
McBigness
I have a present for you since I will be missing your housewarming party next week.
Read at 12:08am
ThatMob
Dude its been a week wth
Read at 12:08am
McBigness
He’ll be there in the morning. :)
Read at 12:09am
The message is… off-putting. Mob has always known McBigness as a boisterous, sociable guy. Someone who kept up with the likes of Grox and Lookout with complete ease. Everyone had rough times, sure, but it's been a week since anyone had gotten a message back from him. To the point where half the group was ready to send someone to check on him, despite McBigness living in a sector hours away from any of them.
Mob frowns, his gut tight as he stares at the message on the screen for a moment longer before sighing and switching to another chat. He quickly types out a message to the group telling them he’d finally heard from McBigness, jumping off before he can be bombarded with messages. That was something for the him of tomorrow to deal with– along with whoever “he” was.
Despite his unease, he's able to swiftly fall asleep after moving his remaining belongings. The sounds of the ever-productive city just outside his apartment a barrier to the raging thoughts in his head.