Chapter Text
(Extra for the image: Hello, I've had a good idea and have been writing this story. About my drawing: There seems to be 2 canon types of scraptools. There's Skrap-It's and Lloyd's (Two-nozzle / Tapered chin) and Break-Itt's and Smash-Itt's (One-nozzle / Square chin), with Knock-Itt and Skrugg being square chins with more exotic accessories. Physically, the only differences are on the head, being the square-ish chin, the lack of a bottom jaw plate, a higher angled nose, different eyebrow plates, the blowtorch nozzle plate (only allowing one), and a flaring hammer claw horn. Cosmetically, their body color is more of a single tone, with their main color accenting more prominently due to both it being the only other obvious color and being sparse around the body (Square chins' color accent differ in body part among them). My most anatomically correct (not perfect) scraptool depiction yet. I just thought it would be nice to contrast my usual art and conception of a scraptool to the square chin type. On another note, the writing in the background. In the show, mostly done by Revvit, the engraved schematics of things have a sort of text/writing in small amounts on them. My thinking is that at least of those in the show who speak English/"the common language", they may also read it, or at least by tools who do. Scraptools may also be able to read and write "reptoolian", but often don't, preferring verbal communication. I imagine it is just a font of English and of punctuation and not random gibberish, but I don't know that. I also don't know the symbol translation. So, while I don't know what that says, context clues make me think it fits (and good job if you know what episode it's from). Please enjoy the actual story.)
“Well, out there, the world is a dangerous place. I suppose peace is found in numbers; clan, family, friends, all working to keep themselves and each other fed and in working order. That works just well for survival.”
“But it’s never truly that simple, is it? Problems always come about eventually. It seems you got it worse than me, kid.”
Chapter 1: A Door and Its Lock
I, Deadbolt, or at the time just ‘Bolt’, having lived in a rocky plains safe from terrestrial and skyward threats, had the important job of ration overwatch. You see, a community of scraptools has the constant and prevalent risk of thievery. But if there is one thing that must be regulated around there for the colony’s continuance, it's ore and water. The colony lives in the middle of a rocky field, more or less a field of boulders, and while that's great for protection, scavenging becomes a whole ordeal. The ground is barren of ore and the nearest water is a quarter of a day’s travel. And while it does rain, it’s never enough to collect and hold for long durations, but thankfully sparse enough as to never flood the area. But the whole reason we were all there is because of the most central boulder. The largest one, I think, but the most unique, being mostly hollow. One hole in the side and it was the perfect storeroom for a scraptool colony’s hoard of ore and water, even allowing faint light in during the day through purple-ish crystals near the top. Before all else, this was my scraptool’s colony sanctity, and the rest of the boulder-laden flat was up to contention with whoever could keep and hold it.
Realistically, most scraptools are independent enough to care for their own needs outside of a colony, but it was my job to ensure the main stockpile is kept plentiful in case of emergencies. That mostly meant warding off those who didn't need to leech from the food and water any more than needed. It was a self-appointed job, actually, but those who wanted the job instead, either out of pride or malice to steal things later, got too bored or quickly learned I had far greater patience to watch with them than they thought. I always had fun with that, but what I really like is a little roughing up. Sometimes, often at night, and often with visitors, I need a stronger reprimanding method than what words can provide. The thief, faster than they can think, gets caught with my maw, claws, or tools pressing into places that cause immense discomfort. A fun lesson learnt. And a ban from the stockpile at my discretion. Truly, a thankless job. And the colony was persisting thanks in small part to me.
Was.
One day, Bolt was doing what he did best. He stood outside the stockpile with a portion of ore and water, waiting for no one. In the corner of a bend, he could see the entire entrance to the room and a majority of the path to it, leading to a large and active intersection. And where a small group approaches him.
“Hehe, look, look. Is that it?” one says quietly.
“Maan, I'm really hungry. Is this where the food is?” one says annoyingly.
“Soooo, this the stockroom, or something? Cause, we’ve been lied to like, three times, at least, to where this place is… “ one says toward Bolt, while also ignoring him.
“We’ll be done fast, in and out.” one says reassuringly, really quickly.
They all speak over each other somewhat, but none pay heed to Bolt at first. “One at a time.” He’d let them all have food and water, but only because they’re new to him and only this once for today. Or not at all if they didn't listen to him. He got up and ran to the front of the group.
They noticed. “Hey hey, calm down, I said we’d be quick, right?” “Woah, chill out.” “Uhhgh, seriously?”
“One. At a time.” Bolt stared at them hard, not wanting to talk more than needed. The annoying one stepped up first, pushing past the group and nearly knocking into Bolt as he got in first.
“Ha ha, should have been faster, looosers!” he scampered into the stockpile. “Huh, pretty and cool- oh, there it is!”
“No fair!” Said the wordy one. “Now we gotta, like, wait for Flin to take forever eating.”
“Hope you got lost in there!” Shouted the quiet one.
“Well, I’m not gonna be waiting.. too long cause I'm gonna be second!” the slick one says as he leaps ahead the other two.
“You did not just, Kas!” The wordy one, who would've been next, tries to grab onto Kas’ tail, yanking on it.
“OW!” For as much as a scraptool could grin and be smug, it vanishes. “I said to stop doing that, Greid, that hurts.” He jumps away, half on purpose to allow Greid to be second, mainly to stop his tail being pulled on.
“Hmm hmm hm, there’s the real Kas-” “Shut it, junk face, or do you wanna eat dirt today?” “What if I do want to eat dirt, huh? I'll eat a mouth full right now.” “Why haven't we thrown you off a cliff by now, Mark-It?”
Bolt’s irritation grows the more bickering he hears, but remembers he needs to get this to move on. A line grows behind the newcomers, and some eye his ore and water. He turns to shout at Flin. “That’s all you need! Out!”
“Hold on, just-” “Now!” “... Fffine.” A few seconds longer than Bolt would have liked and out comes Flin, walking a lot slower than he did going in.
“Fin-nal-ly.” Greid prances past Bolt and Flin. “Took ya long enough.”
“Then you will be faster.” Bolt orders. Greid proceeds unaffected.
“Some pretty good stuff in there.” Flin says to his other buddies.
“Ya, like what?” “Oh, I dunno, but I could eat more.” “Is there any more?” “Ha, kinda. You’ll see what I left ya. And, was that your scream I heard? ..Greid?” “Shut. It. You know she’s annoying like that.”
Again, more jabber, and more time wasted cause this group can't just eat and move on. The last three also spend their sweet time in the stockpile. When they all had their fill, they did leave. At last, the familiar, contributing scraptools can do their jobs and Bolt can get back to idly supervising. Until later that same day, they return, chatting and chattering.
“So, did you, like, also see that dark orange one fall over? Cause that was hilarious.”
“Really? I didn't.” “Oh, yeah, I didn't see that.”
Bolt wasn't about to have any of this. “Hey. No more.” They paid attention to him this time.
“Wait, what?” “Huh?” “But..” “Well, we just want a little-”
“No. You already had a lot today.”
“Woah, who are you to judge like that, hmm? Ain't that the whole point of all this food, to be eaten?.” Kas spoke up.
“If.” Bolt stood up and walked to the group. “you need it. It's a reserve for when we can't get leave to get more. You should've found some elsewhere if you’re still so hungry.”
Greid butts in. “So, what’re we gonna do, starve? It's getting too dark to look for our own stuff.”
“Ask around, maybe you’ll get free handouts if you beg enough. Not here though, you all can leave.”
With some more fussing, they left. But they stayed around. Occasionally. Bolt saw some of them down the intersection, looking at him. They didn't try to ask for food from the stockpile again, but he didn't see them trying to give back to it either.
About a week later, in the stockpile, Bolt was sleeping, as is usual. A long day of menial observation was his standard, and a nice sleep usually follows. But he was a light sleeper, and awoke after hearing footsteps. These tools know better, so, time to- “And now!”
Two bodies jump on him, which was shocking as it was unexpected. He tries to thrash, but those two bodies keep him down. “Now now now! Hurry up!” It's pitch black, he can't really see what's happening, but he knows he needs to do something. “Get off!” The struggle passes by in minutes, and Bolt is still completely restrained. No good positioning to use any tools, or limbs. The stockpile was getting robbed and he could do nothing.
Then he was shoved hard, off his little pile of dirt and into a tub of water. Through the miracle of patchwork, each container of water in the stockpile was airtight and upright, but fragile. He bumped into a stilt, a screw acting as a leg, that collapses out and topples the whole tub. Bolt is fortunate that it doesn't fall onto him, but it does break open, flooding the area. The little thieves run out with a small haul. The wave of water rushes around, scattering piles of ore everywhere. It also causes another tub to fall over.
So much wasted water, disorganization, and stolen ore. Now, Bolt was all muddy, tired, and worried. He was the only one accountable.
That morning was full of drama. The consensus of the colony was that a failed stockpile raid was of little problem. The scraptools in general, however, became very skeptical of Bolt’s affectiveness nonetheless. Disrespecting him, leaving less contributions, many trying their own heists at night too. They were fended off, sometimes, and Bolt got very tired of it very quickly.
He had a plan, but he was never gifted in crafting. With a few bribes, he had a few scraptools construct a gate out of metal. Unsurprisingly, it worked. At night, he didn't worry about raids anymore. A bar he set on the gate would mean only he could open it internally. There was still skepticism about him, but some trust was regained.
Until one morning when the gate wasn't open. It wouldn't open because it had gotten stuck solid. Bolt was trapped and residents gathered to gawk at it. They turned to desperation when they realized they had no access to food or water, so they began breaking the gate. It was incredibly sturdy, and it had jammed in the tightest way. Grinding, torching, clawing, bashing, prying for hours. Lots of noise they weren't considerate of. They made enough of a gap for scraptools to fit through, but not for much else. The sound attracted a pair of scrapadactyls, the rocks and boulders too tight for them to ever get scraptools should they try searching. They crowded around the stockpile boulder.. Their shrieks, alarming to the colony, were otherwise ignored. As they landed on the stockpile boulder, their weight and indelicate movements caused it to crumble in on itself.
The hole allowed the scrapadactyls to peer in, seeing the scraptools and the now vibrantly sparkling walls of the geode. Now an air of panic forms. The scraptools evacuate as the metal birds keep destroying the geode, no longer making it a safe space for holding resources against the elements or otherwise. The water reserves get attacked, and again, flushing the ore inside the stockpile, and waterlogging the ground. And the commotion attracts more scrapadactyls.
Bolt was devastated at the new condition of the stockpile. He thought about how hard it would be to repair the storeroom. What he didn't expect was the persistence of the scrapadactyls. A whole flock of them spent the first day pillaging any scrap metal they could from the storeroom. They stuck around the area after that. For the scraptools, even if the ore was untouched, the geode’s interior attracted the winged menace with any amount of motion, light, or noise, leaving it too risky to recover any of it.
For days, Bolt thought of ways to salvage his situation. However, his standing among the colonists became worse than he could imagine during that time. He was forced to forage for himself, no one wanting to share with him. Any proposition of a plan was met with hostility, ridicule, and snark. The scraptools ignored him, or belittled him, or kicked dust in his face. Then they started doing one thing he found he hated the most.
“Get out of the way, Deadbolt.” One scraptool said as he bumped against Bolt.
“Sorry.” he whispered.
“...Sorry yourself, Dead. Bolt.” The angry scraptool muttered, emphasizing Bolt’s new name to no one, but obviously to Bolt. Who knows who, but someone coined that new name that the whole colony unanimously uses for him now. It would be a cool name if its implications weren't derogatory. It reminded him of his permanent locking-down of the storeroom, and of its not so subtle, other implication. Bolt had failed his job, and the colony suffers for it, so who would blame them.
He noticed how no one else seemed to care to fix it, just ignoring the stockroom after a while, but ever knowing of Bolt’s fault for it. He was going to have to solve this problem alone.
Regret pulled him down into emotions he had never felt before as on one ore run, Bolt didn’t return to the colony.
In his youth, Bolt never really explored much outside the bounds of the colony’s territory, preferring to stay near and pick petty fights with the other small tools, and some big ones too. He’d always been within sight of the boulder field of the colony. But today, night fell around him in unfamiliar forestry.
Gigantic trees loomed far taller than any rock could ever. The ground was soft and lively, covered in grasses and mosses Bolt would never have seen in the barren soil of his colony. And instead of an almost constant background of scraptools talking, it was an eerie quiet save for his footfalls, and a slight overtone of unseen bitbugs buzzing.
At the dead of night, Bolt was losing his fight with sleepiness, what with the stress and little sleep because the last few days. He was draining all his energy into being hyper-vigilant, or rather, being insanely scared. Living under a rock for all his life did him no favors of what to expect when actually vulnerable. He decided that the hollow under root of a tree is the best he’s getting that night and ducked in, hyping himself up that he was just about to get caught for no reason as he did so. He scrambled back as far back as he could, and stared at the opening in. Staring, and not daring to move, until heavy eyelids turned into closed ones, eventually settling down enough to sleep, more or less passing out right there.