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Welcome back, Host!
Date: November 22, 3048
Time: 11:01
My systems slowly pieced together scattered programs, executable files, code fragments, and other miscellaneous junk from my memory. First, the sound sensors—microphones—came online, followed by the light-sensitive sensors. The last to activate were the nanobots responsible for projecting real tactile sensations and processing them into data packets. The whole process took no more than five seconds, but with my accelerated mind, it felt like an eternity.
After calibrating the light sensors, I decided to look around, rising from the floor. The first thing that caught my eye was a massive pool of oil spilled across the floor, glistening like blood in some horror movie under the dim light of a single ceiling bulb. I could easily reach up and rip it out along with its wiring, but that would be pointless.
The gray walls, slightly smeared with oil, pressed on my mind, making me feel uneasy. Considering I've never had claustrophobia, this was... puzzling. Very puzzling.
There was only one steel door, about nine or ten centimeters thick. They clearly don't know I could effortlessly tear it off its hinges, along with a chunk of the wall, and stroll out of this... whatever this place is. It's obviously some kind of complex.
The magnets attached to my head spoke volumes. They have critically little information about me, even though I've never shown my weaknesses—except for my half-dead core and other... quirks. Apparently, they're basing their approach on the weaknesses of a standard Solver, trying to weaken me with standard Solver methods. But mine isn't exactly standard... Heh. I don't even know what to call it.
Touching the magnets on my head, I was surprised to note their strength—my hand was drawn to them. Even the small servos in my fingers were a bit overwhelmed by the load. No way, servos capable of bending metal were struggling against these odd little magnets. Though, calling them "little" is a stretch—they're not something you'd stick on a fridge. Not that I was planning to...
My attention was drawn by the creaking door, which slowly opened with a hiss, like it was hydraulic, letting in more light with each second. At first, I couldn't believe my eyes. They were giving me so many opportunities to escape without realizing what it could lead to. Opening the door so wide without standing in the doorway? Peak idiocy. I could escape right now, but the chances of running into guards along the way were too high, and without weapons, that would be not just foolish but deadly. Yes, they took everything I had, though they left my butler suit, for which I'm grateful.
When the door fully opened, a nondescript man appeared in the doorway, illuminated by the yellow corridor lights. Or so I thought at first, calling him nondescript. His hair stood out—completely gray with an unhealthy, almost metallic sheen, unlike anything I'd seen here.
His face was... suspiciously kind, like a priest's. That raised more questions than the two massive goons standing behind him, each three times his size.
Glancing at me and raising an eyebrow, he waved his hand, and as if by some higher power, unnoticed bracelets on my wrists snapped together so forcefully that I couldn't even separate them, let alone break them.
The man nodded with satisfaction and entered the cell, closing the door behind him. I heard the two goons lock it from the outside. So, they think I'd kill him... That would be nice, but not advantageous. Unless they ask for something outrageous, I probably won't kill him. Maybe.
The old man pulled out a folding chair from behind his back, snapped it open, and set it on the floor. Sitting down, he fixed his cheerful gaze on me, waiting for a reaction. The attention made my eye twitch, which didn't escape his notice. I raised an eyebrow, hesitant to start what was likely to be the strangest conversation of my life. A conversation with elements of an interrogation.
"Well, hello..." the old man glanced at his notebook, searching for scraps of information about my name.
"...serial number Ai," he said, smiling so sickeningly sweet that it made me grimace. Sometimes, I curse the drone's emotion display system—everything is written on our faces. With effort, you could even display text. Honestly, I don't like it. The old man grinned wider when he saw my contorted expression, clearly showing what I thought of the situation.
"Do I need to respond?" I asked, struggling to return my face to a calm expression. What do they expect from me? That I'd snap this old man like a twig, even without the use of my hands? Unfortunately, they made a big mistake leaving my legs free. With them, I could turn his bones to dust.
"As your mind wishes. The emergence of a personality in a drone is a moderately rare event, but it happens in various situations. It's easy to distinguish awakening from mere software damage," the man explained, leaning slightly forward in his chair and occasionally glancing at his notebook. His eyes scanned the text, picking out information.
"Awakening is easy to spot because the drone starts doing deliberate nonsense. For example, you—killing your kind, deliberately hiding from humans, planning an attack on the complex, and so on. Even walking around with a sword sets you apart. Drones with damaged software don't 'think'—they kill other drones or humans without hiding, and as a result, they're sent to the scrap heap," he said, closing the notebook and focusing entirely on me. The cheerfulness vanished from his face, replaced by a certain seriousness.
"Very... curious information... But what do you actually want from me? You're not keeping me in this ultra-secure cell with magnets and handcuffs for nothing, right?" I asked, playfully tugging at my hands in a mock attempt to break free. What do they want? No idea, but I'm about to find out.
The old man's gaze grew even more serious, his upper face shrouded in shadow, his eyes glowing like sapphires in the dim light. After staring at me for a few seconds, he finally spoke:
"We need information about 'Object-0.' As one of the hosts... not created by us, you might know more than all of us combined," he answered honestly, piercing me with his gaze. I stood up from the floor and stretched, circulating energy through my body. A bead of sweat appeared on the old man's face—ha, he's terrified. Drones with so many magnets can barely move, at most walk. But I... made the handcuffs creak and the ceiling bulb flicker. A mere intimidation act, nothing more. I'm not hiding anything anyway. The information isn't strategically important to me, so I can share it without fear of consequences.
"I'll tell you... But what are the terms of this... almost deal?" I asked, grinning widely, revealing razor-sharp fangs capable of cutting through matter. If my core weren't failing, I'd have grown a second row of teeth to give this old man a heart attack, but alas, that's impossible for me now.
"W-we... will definitely let you go... The manager's word!" the old man exclaimed nervously, looking at me as if I were the source of all his nightmares. This made me smirk even more—I couldn't widen my grin any further. The fact that this... old geezer was the manager of this place amused me even more.
"Excellent. Let's begin," I said, sitting back down on the floor, wiping away the oil with my hand like a mop. It didn't help much, but it was better than nothing.
"Object-0... also known as Cyn, is my, I don't know how to explain it, sister. She's the first Solver host in this universe and the one who hates it when her little brother gets hurt. This genocide is partly my fault because I allowed her to start it. She listens to me." With every word, the old man's face grew longer. I loved confusing his underdeveloped brain with the pure truth. I decided to finish him off.
"If you try to keep me locked up here, nothing will stop me from sending Cyn my coordinates and even marking my location on a star map. In short, this planet is still alive only because of my will. One wrong move on your part, and 'big sister Cyn' will be here in no time. Know this: even I can't stand against her, let alone you pathetic creatures who think you're kings of the world." I closed my eyes, keeping my light sensors active. Convenient. From a normal conversation, I'd slipped into threats. Not bad. So good that the old man clutched his chest, looking like he might keel over.
"Y-you..." The old man barely calmed himself, doing a quick breathing exercise to steady his heart, which he'd just released. His eyes still darted in fear, trying to look at anything but me. Sweat dripped from his forehead and neck, soaking into his shirt.
"...You know about the g-genocide?" he asked with some disbelief, finally daring to look at my smug, menacing face. I opened my mouth slightly, letting him see those monstrous fangs again.
"Everyone who's not lazy talks about it. It'd be harder not to hear about it, since every appliance broadcasts the same thing," I said, opening one eye and glaring at him from under my brow. My face was as calm as Boris's before his fight with Saitama. I didn't care about anything, and I just wanted this conversation to end.
"Ahem... Here..." he whispered, pulling out a PDA from his belt. Shaking, he activated it, bringing up a holographic screen, and handed it to me. My first thought was that it resembled the PDA from Subnautica's Alterra, except this one had a slight yellow tint, unlike Alterra's pure blue.
After examining the device, I turned my attention to the news website it displayed. The contents brought a wicked smile to my face. I hoped Cyn kept her promise, or she'd have an "unhappy" brother Ai to deal with. As if I could do anything to her. Here's what it said:
"Drones of unknown design have begun exterminating humanity. A third of Earth's population has already been wiped out, and the remaining two-thirds are trying to defend themselves, but these strange drones are stronger. They resemble heavily modified worker drones with Expansion Wings and the body of a War Drone. They possess a vast arsenal. Preliminary estimates suggest Earth will last, at best, another couple of months if the onslaught doesn't weaken..."
"My sister's having fun," I said, finishing the news report and tossing the PDA back to its owner. The old man caught it but nearly dropped it, struggling to hold the piece of plastic and metal from the last century. I watched his efforts with some pity. Pathetic.
When he finally managed to hold onto the PDA, he looked at me with wide eyes and asked in horror:
"What?!" His face showed complete confusion, as if trying to process my words.
"What's 'what'? My sister's having fun. And it seems... there's nothing you can do to help yourselves. My deepest condolences..." At the end of my words, I even bowed, trying not to laugh. The old man's expressive face—those wide eyes filled with fear and confusion, those sky-high eyebrows, and a jaw that could've dropped to the planet's core—was too much.
"W-what do you mean... having fun?!" he demanded, jumping up from his chair and grabbing me by the collar, lifting me off the oily floor. This wasn't difficult for him, despite his elderly appearance. He was strong enough to lift a drone with ease. Not on Tessa's level—she could hold us at arm's length—but this old man wasn't as simple as he seemed.
"It means what it means. Your mother planet... will soon be cosmic debris, with protuberances shooting out from its core in all directions," I said, placing my hand on his forearm and squeezing slightly, forcing him to let go and set me back on the floor. Shame, I wanted to hear his arm snap. But, as I understood, I wouldn't get that pleasure.
"Have I satisfied your curiosity?" I asked, lowering my voice and turning to the wall, pretending to be fascinated by the concrete walls of the interrogation room.
"Y-yes..." the old man replied, sitting back on his folding chair and muttering something. His muttering was so incoherent that even I couldn't make it out. He was likely pondering how to relay this information without causing a panic among his team. Worse than panicking idiots are panicking idiots in charge of the world.
"Will you uphold your end of the 'deal'?" I asked, grinning wickedly. If they don't release me, I'll have to take matters into my own hands. It'll be painful without extra cores, but even without them, I can do plenty. If I get a knife, my superhuman processing speed could take out everyone here. I should probably train with melee weapons. I have a sword but... can't use it well. Not enough skill.
"Huh? Y-yes! Just... wait a couple of minutes..." the old man said, standing up from his chair. He approached the door and knocked three times. After a moment, the door opened, and he left. One of the goons entered in his place.
His naive face and vacant stare spoke volumes about his intelligence—or lack thereof.
Approaching me, he turned me to face him and began removing the bracelets and magnets. The bracelets and head magnets were electromagnetic, so a single press of a remote made them fall off. Interesting tech—I should do something with it later.
After a few seconds, I was fully free from my "shackles" and physically unrestrained. I'd grown somewhat fond of this little cell, so when they started pushing me to leave, I took one last look at it and headed where they were shoving me.
As we walked, I decided to ask about... something. Hard to define what.
"You trust me that much?" I asked, flashing my toothy grin. The goon didn't react, which surprised me. Normally, people would at least flinch at that, but he didn't even blink.
"You didn't even put those 'safety' handcuffs back on. What if I decide to break your bones? I can," I said, deliberately clicking my finger joints for effect. It worked—sort of.
"You wouldn't want to. It's not in your interest," the goon replied quickly, glancing warily at my still-clicking hands. Ooh, the big guy's scared—took my words seriously. Though it was a joke, as the saying goes, every joke has a grain of truth. He better pray to all his gods I don't turn against him, or I'll really break his bones. Weak core or not, we drones physically outmatch humans by a mile.
"Fair enough," I replied curtly, continuing without paying attention to anything else. Better these amoebas don't know I despise humanity as a concept with my entire cold soul. My lack of desire to meet Cyn is the only thing keeping them alive... for now. Cyn will wipe all life from this planet eventually, and I won't stop her.
After five or six minutes and passing through several doors, we finally reached a more open area. Before me lay a scene of half-ruined mines, not fully built or equipped. Wooden supports barely held up tons of rock, creaking under the strain and sending vibrations through the floor. Hastily installed lights, attached to the fragile ceiling with black wires, overwhelmed my light sensors, making my system—and me—curse the designer of these mines.
In this lighting, the stone of the mine looked yellowish, though it was actually gray—logical enough. An ordinary mine, but it felt familiar. The more we walked through endless forks and low tunnels, the stronger the feeling I'd been here before. But that can't be true, right? Right? I hope.
Everything clicked when we passed a computer and a bunch of numbered crates, which I realized were empty due to the lack of test subjects. That's when I knew I was in Cabin Fever—a secret underground lab where mad scientists conduct experiments on Solver hosts. Dangerous work, but it doesn't stop them. They've lost their minds; evolution took a wrong turn. Where's their self-preservation instinct?
The fact that they have an uncontrolled Solver host—Eve—running around freely makes my eye twitch. They infected a drone and didn't even bother creating a containment cell to prevent a total catastrophe, like a couple of singularities. They're testing their luck, trying to get more from life than they have. They don't realize these "games" could kill their planet.
I was certain this was Cabin Fever when we reached the "secret" elevator from episode six. It looked newer and... polished? Yeah, that works. My face reflected in one of the elevator doors with near-perfect clarity. No idea why they need this, but it looks nice, even if it's practically useless.
They led me into this small chamber with a double door: a steel mesh as the first layer and that polished metal as the second.
Inside, it looked worse. A cargo elevator is a cargo elevator, no matter how it's dressed up. Dust and construction debris littered the floor, and walls smeared with dried putty made me want to bash my head against them, despite the protective film. Just as I was about to indulge in some wall-smashing masochism, the elevator started moving, and my thoughts shifted from destroying everything to how smoothly it rode. It could rival the Burj Khalifa's elevator.
We reached the surface in... thirty seconds. Impressive. Considering we ascended at least a couple hundred meters, this elevator wasn't as ordinary as it seemed. I'd have to investigate its mechanics later—after the planet's demise.
We continued through the upper level of this lab, which could be called an "office." Its security was mind-boggling. First, it was part of a massive chemical plant above Cabin Fever, serving as its cover, with heavily armed guards. Second, there were Sentinels—those dinosaur-like bots from episode six that can paralyze drones from head to toe. Shame they only work on drones; I'd love to see them tear humans apart.
As we walked, I was struck by the goon's level of access. His universal keycard opened every door we encountered, including the one out of the office—a terminal that, in episode six, was a death trap for disassembly drones. It led to an empty corridor that, in a couple of years, would be a massive, debris-filled hall with a huge hole in the center. For now, it was just a clean floor. We passed through another door and reached a stairwell.
For the next five minutes, we climbed over twenty flights of fifteen or more steps. It didn't bother me, but the goon grimaced more with each flight. By the end, his face was so sour I thought he'd deflate like a balloon. Sadly, that didn't happen.
After catching his breath and stretching, he shakily approached the door and opened it by pressing the handle. Cool air rushed into the stuffy space, refreshing every part of my body. I couldn't smell the divine freshness without a nose, but the breeze caressing my nanobot-reinforced metal parts filled my processor with pleasure data. Have I mentioned how much I love nanites that mimic tactile sensations? If not, I'll say it again: I adore them.
Turning to me, the goon patted my shoulder twice, gave a goofy smile, and said:
"That's it. Go wherever you want." He tried to push me outside, thinking he had, but I stood still, glaring at him with irritation and disapproval. Noticing my look, he quickly pulled his hand back, expecting something bad.
Why was I so annoyed? They didn't return my gear. If they don't, I might get really mad. I could turn this complex into new boots with the Cube. Why not?
"Where's my stuff?" I asked, raising an illusory eyebrow and placing one hand on my hip. The other reached for the goon's neck, trying to grab him. He backed away, avoiding my "vise."
"I-it's... where you l-lived... in the abandoned school," he stammered, hitting the wall with no way to resist. I glanced at his belt and smiled. He was so scared he forgot about his electric baton, which could knock me out. Idiot. If he weren't, I'd be rebooting from a DDoS attack by my own sensors. Instead, I could threaten him freely.
I pulled my hand back, smiled, and bowed like a proper butler. Turning on my toes, I strolled outside, feeling his terrified gaze.
Stepping out, I began my adventure to my sector, about an hour's walk away. It'd be the longest sixty minutes of my life, with nothing to do but play Snake or Tetris on my display. Like Eve, I'd beaten Snake thirty times and racked up quadrillions in Tetris. Nothing to do.
I walked, passing drones who ignored me, busy with "important" tasks. Humans looked at me with confusion, and kids pointed like I was a zoo animal. It pissed me off. I wanted to snap those fragile fingers, bake pies from their bone dust and oil, and feed them to their owners, making them suffer.
But they got lucky—I reached my abandoned school just as the circus started picking up. I weaved through alleys to lose any tails, but there were none. The crowd lost interest when the main exhibit vanished and dispersed, abandoning hope for more "entertainment."
Slipping through a hole in the fence, I reached the school and jogged to the entrance, opening the creaky door with a slight thrill. The first thing I saw was my gear, scattered on the floor where I'd last lost consciousness.
The second was a scorched spot on the floor, likely from an EMP grenade thrown here first.
"How 'noble' of them," I said, picking up a few items I didn't have before: two new cores and a PDA. These gifts raised more questions than answers. Are humans hoping for cooperation? Maybe, considering how strong I am even without cores. But unlikely. Always stay vigilant.
۞⦰۞
Date: April 19, 3049
For the next few months, I... survived, as odd as that sounds. No other word fits, considering I'm carrying a life-support device in my backpack, which doesn't exactly make things easier.
Humans helped in various ways. They sent drones, which I dismantled for parts without leaving the abandoned school. Sometimes, they brought resources, handed over by doomed couriers before becoming scrap. Usually, these were extra cores, oil cans, and processors I munched like chips. It matches the manual, which even has a line: "Drones can eat anything you can afford." Considering it was written by James Elliott himself... it's both funny and weird.
Processors were tasteless, just... vitamins, if you will. Eating them made the oil in my body flow smoother and faster, clearing corrosion and revving my servos to full power. It felt light and pleasant, like after a sauna in my human days. Pure bliss.
Despite this favorable atmosphere, my core was in rough shape, at just 19.4582% condition. I needed a replacement—a perfect vessel for my personality to serve as a computational and energy source. For now, that's impossible. Sad to say.
After a month of this lifestyle, I started resembling a certain orange-eyed figure. Yes, Alice, whom I haven't seen in this world yet. Though I haven't seen many...
Why do I resemble Alice? Simple. First, the oil. It covers me head to toe—okay, I'm exaggerating, but my torn suit has very noticeable stains. No horns yet, thankfully; I'm not crazy enough to tinker with my head's wiring and attach lamps or flashlights. The only thing tempting me is a knife-tipped tail, which is easy to make, but I'd need... disassembly drone tail samples, and those won't arrive on this planet for another year and a half or two.
I got some feedback from humans, despite threatening them during the interrogation and scaring one guard. The manager's too afraid to meet me—I don't know what scares him; I'm the kindest, sweetest drone on this planet. A bit odd, though.
Over these four months, nothing interesting happened. No attacks, no outings, not even human visitors, though I expected them to be frequent. Guess it wasn't meant to be.
At most, I'd go to the school's roof and gaze at the two moons, which I'll grow sick of when this planet dies. For now, under a clear sky without snow, they're a disgustingly beautiful sight against the stars, lighting up my display with glints and illuminating the planet like a second sun.
1 year and 5 months until the "Incident."
۞⦰۞
Date: June 7, 3049
Time: 13:11
"Interesting..." I muttered, walking on wet asphalt after a recent rain. The sky was still overcast, blocking sunlight and keeping everything for itself. Everything looked dull and gray, matching the general mood or maybe my display's color. Could be either. No impossible events, just low-probability ones.
The sky reflected in puddles looked even duller, more "gray." Ugh, pure depression. But my mood was great today, like nothing could ruin it! Well... partly true, since I was strolling with a toothy grin, making the few humans brave enough to be out glance at me like I was a glitch in reality.
Where was I headed? Oh, my destination is infamous in narrow circles and never advertised. No, not a fight club. Much simpler and more transparent: a lab. The Cabin Fever lab, finally completed, and they invited me as an... evaluator of the enterprise. No idea why the honor, but it's intriguing. The promise of meeting Eve and her new friends—likely Nori and Alice—makes it even more so.
After an hour and a half of leisurely strolling through the wet morning streets of random Copper-9 sectors, I reached the factory, its size staggering my imagination.
It spanned nearly two sectors, its vast area somehow terraformed properly, as I understood.
There was a lake, surprisingly clean, where you could even swim, which delighted and surprised me. Humans can avoid ruining everything given to them—this lake's proof. Hard to believe that in nineteen, almost twenty years, Cyn and Doll's deal will happen here, on a frozen lake with a half-destroyed factory...
Approaching the spot where they'd released me last time, I grinned wider and stood before the same goon who'd escorted me before.
As soon as he saw me, his eyes lost all confidence, darting around to avoid acknowledging my existence. Sweat beaded on his face, his brain—if he had one—desperately searching for a way to dodge my attention. His hand reached for his baton.
"Playing dangerous games, kid," I said, stepping closer. I swiftly drew my sword and pressed it to his throat, nicking the skin and drawing a few drops of blood. The goon shrank and trembled, trying not to move and worsen the cut from the molecular graphene sword.
"Think that baton will help?" I asked, pulling the sword back and pointing at the electric baton he was reaching for.
"It won't... I could split your ribcage like a flower, making every breeze agony. I'll grind your bones to dust and pick it out with rebar, tearing your skin. I'll rip out your heart and feed it to your comrades. They won't like it. If I want, I can repeat it, just by reviving you. Want that?" My crazed face and toothy maw came close to his, making him meld into the wall. My words turned him so pale he looked like a fresh corpse in a coffin.
"Shall we?" I asked, kicking open the exit door. The fact that it opened the other way, was made of tempered steel, and had enough magnets to crush a human skull didn't concern me.
I was back on that stairwell, which meant a long, boring descent. They could've hung some paintings for fun... What am I saying? There's barely enough lighting, and I'm talking about paintings... They're far from normalizing this complex—farther than the Milky Way's center to TON 618. Idiots. I couldn't imagine how humans navigate here. I'm a drone with night vision, but them... Yikes.
I began this "fun" descent (to hell) into the main facility. As I descended, I noticed more plaster on the walls, the railings coated to prevent corrosion, and the dim bulbs on each landing... shining worse than before. Are they mocking me? How do you ruin bulbs in a few months?
After over three minutes, we reached the bottom—the work area with Sentinels. Despite being a high-tech office, it felt cozy and warm. I wasn't lying about the warmth—sensors showed a divine 29°C for an underground complex. Not enough to melt gallium, but still.
We walked slowly toward the elevator, barely making a sound on the perfectly smooth floor, free of sand or debris. A sterile complex, from my perspective, though I don't know much.
Bright lamps lit our path, casting grid-like shadows from their protective cages—likely to prevent them from falling during an incident.
Hermetic doors parted as the goon swiped his pass. It felt like he was the manager, not that cowardly old man. Though, I'm exaggerating—both are cowards.
After passing through more sliding doors, we reached the elevator, surrounded by deactivated Sentinels looming over the shaft like they were praying to some unknown god.
The light here was dimmer, offering a sense of calm and confidence. It was pleasant to be here—not in the empty office or on the stairs, but here... in even greater warmth. I'm rambling nonsense...
The goon reached into his jacket pocket, rummaged, and pulled out a neon-green robo-cockroach. Yes, that reprogrammed cockroach with pseudo-intelligence, used as a keycard.
It didn't struggle in his hand, standing calmly on its silver legs, twitching its antennae as it scanned its surroundings. It couldn't react to danger but could comment on the environment.
Looking at this undeniably cute creature, I chuckled softly. Funny, I thought humans would have specialized modules for calling the elevator, but no—they use cockroaches. I assumed only drones used them due to cheap production... but no, everyone does, and it's surprising.
The goon let the cockroach touch the scanner. It cautiously stepped onto the glass surface, letting itself be scanned. Illusory matrix grids passed through it, verifying its purpose. Once confirmed, the grids vanished, and the cockroach returned to the goon's hand.
About fifteen seconds later, the elevator arrived. I say it like there are others... Anyway, it blocked our exit, and a hatch in the floor opened to prevent the elevator from hitting it. Where the hatch goes with the steel cables, history doesn't say. Probably doesn't stay at the "bottom" long, so no one bothered with the system.
We entered the tiny cabin, which would terrify a claustrophobe. The walls, made of wood once covered in tacky film during construction, gave the illusion of escape. But knocking on them revealed the sound of metal—likely an osmium-tungsten alloy. Impossible, you say? Ha, it's the 3000s, baby. A time when humans mimic the 18th century, using square monitors from the 2000s. But that doesn't change the fact that they've mastered physics and chemistry, turning the impossible osmium-tungsten mix into a true homogeneous alloy!
They even named it Ostvol. Melting point over 6,000°C. A super-heavy metal used in monumental structures like orbital rings or Dyson spheres, which exist in this world—at least on Alpha Centauri C. Not for nothing did I spend time in the Manor's library, having my brother fetch me books on tech advancements.
Now, imagine this elevator's walls are made of this wonder-metal. A damn coffin disguised as a near-normal elevator. The goon doesn't even suspect it. Poor guy.
The steel mesh cut off all escape routes, leaving me with the goon and a lone bulb. We began our descent in a slightly... tense atmosphere. While I didn't care much about the surroundings—more concerned with the wall material—the goon seemed wary of my presence.
The descent took just thirty seconds, a relief for the goon, who stopped pressing against the wall and hurried out, continuing at a slower pace. I gave him an odd look but caught up and matched his speed, weaving through narrow cave passages that had changed slightly.
It was cozier now, with warmer, softer lighting making the gray stone shimmer with shades of yellow. The supports holding the ceiling were no longer creaky wood but Ostvol—tungsten-osmium alloy. The ceiling wouldn't collapse unless the planet split in two. Maybe not even then.
The floor was covered in sand from intense tunnel drilling. They found no use for it, so they left it as flooring. The risk of radioactive metals in it? Doesn't affect me—I'm a damn drone. It's their problem.
We continued through monotonous caves, not exploring new rooms or objects. The goon grew increasingly nervous, so he likely decided to skip detours and take me straight to our destination. What scared him, I don't know. I didn't even threaten him today! Well, I did, but only a little!
I had no idea where we were going. It wasn't toward the crates, based on the map I'd made last time. We were heading in a different direction, and suspicions crept in about our destination. My thoughts leaned toward another test to gauge my reactions to stimuli.
Imagine my surprise when reality shattered my expectations. No underground testing ground, no steel cell, not even a lab (though it depends on how you look at it)—a damn church! Sure, I recall it from episode seven, but that doesn't make it less bizarre. Why is it underground? Who rents it out? Why does it have its own cloud? So many questions about every detail of this place.
We passed through a massive natural cave where the church was built. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, centuries or millennia old. Stalagmites dotted the floor, two with Sentinels tied to them, lying peacefully. The sound of lightning and bright orange light didn't ruin the aesthetic—it enhanced it. Our steps echoed like in an amphitheater, the sound reflection uncanny. Surprisingly, we heard nothing from inside the church, making me marvel at the soundproofing. But I didn't rule out the possibility that the place was just empty.
"Ahem... G-go in... I don't have clearance for... the lab," the goon said, stopping by the massive doors. His voice held nervousness and... anticipation? I get it—he's one step from passing me off to others, one step from not fearing for his life.
I glared at him, but he didn't bother looking at me. Sighing in disappointment at being ignored, I strode past him, giving a suspicious glance at the last moment. He ignored it, as expected. Rolling my eyes, I kicked open the door. It flew aside, hitting a column, causing it to crack slightly and raise dust, which quickly settled.
Imagine my shock when everyone inside turned to me. It was soundproofing, not a lack of activity. The attention froze me for a second as I tried to process why so many beings were here, but I shrugged it off and walked in calmly. Everyone fell silent. Humans looked at me like I was a ghost. My legs stopped clanking, and I glided past these idiots, ignoring their stunned and confused stares.
Only some wore masks or gas masks; most had open faces and seemed unbothered. There were far more unmasked people, including Intern Mitchell and Dr. Ridley. The latter froze when she saw me but then spread her arms, saying:
"So, you're here for our girls?" she asked, leaning to peer at my clearly displeased display. My displeasure didn't last, as her words gave me a blue screen. What does she mean, "our girls"? It feels like this isn't a lab but a damn brothel...
My thoughts must've shown on my display, as Ridley chuckled and pointed to the back door of the church.
"That way," she said, looking at me. I couldn't see her face behind the mask, but I sensed she was smiling.
Shrugging, I leisurely headed to the back exit. Reaching the door, I opened it carefully and slipped through a small gap, stepping out into... a street, I guess.
It was another cave, a hidden part of the massive one we'd entered with the goon. No grandeur or epicness like the church's main entrance. The sounds of lightning and thunder came from behind, infernal light didn't reach here, and it was quieter compared to other areas, except the church's interior.
"Hey! We're here!" a familiar voice called, and I couldn't help but smile. Turning, I saw three familiar figures from the series. Surprisingly, I'd already met one of them.
As you might guess, they were Eve, Nori, and Alice. Eve hadn't changed in the months since we last spoke. I hadn't seen the other two, so I couldn't note much about their appearance. They wore decent-quality lab coats. That's all I could say. Eye and hair colors weren't that interesting.
I'm not sure what surprised me more: that they were let out or their friendliness toward me.
First, it's illogical to release two potentially dangerous Solver hosts who could be taken over by Cyn at any moment.
Second, I expected coldness from Alice and Nori, since they don't know me and should've wanted to vet me. Apparently, Eve talked their ears off about me breaking into a guarded facility. At least, that's my guess.
"How's... everything?" I asked, approaching the trio. The rough stone floor trembled slightly from the lightning on the other side of the church. The area was filled with static noise, overwhelming my sensors and isolating me from the outside world. Poor girls, living here permanently. But even that didn't wipe the soft, warm smile from my face, which warmed their cores.
"Everything's fine, as always," Yeva replied, spreading her arms and smiling. The other girls giggled at something only they understood. Hearing their laughter, Yeva blushed—odd, considering her red display, but it was a blush, no other explanation.
"Seriously, though, it's pretty good. Sure, it's not a private room like that office cell, just cramped lockers, but it doesn't stop me from playing Tetris," Yeva explained quickly. If I didn't know what those lockers looked like, I wouldn't have understood. I'd live in one myself—my abandoned school's getting old.
"And... I need to thank you..." Yeva said, quickly approaching me. Her actions made my eyes nearly pop out, and I stepped back. She raised an eyebrow, confused. I was one step from drawing my sword and taking everyone out. Nori and Alice were laughing their heads off, trying not to fall. I had no idea what was happening.
"You're not my type..." I blurted out, the first thing that came to mind, not thinking of the consequences. Realizing I'd said something stupid, I saw Yeva's gaze sadden. Nori and Alice fell silent. The static noise faded, overtaken by the endless tension between us.
"Ahem... I meant to thank you for giving me my voice back," Eve said, looking at me blankly. Wait, I actually upset her? Was she... in love with me? Insanity. And what's this about giving her voice back? More questions.
Swishing her lab coat, Yeva turned and walked back to the duo. The tension didn't lessen, now joined by Nori and Alice's suspicious, judgmental glares.
"Ugh... We thought Red-Eyes found herself a guy. But no. The guy's not just a blockhead but an idiot," Nori said, shaking her head with an exaggeratedly sad tone. My irritation was readable on my face. No one's ever pointed out my lack of skill in relationships—I avoid them, as I've never felt "love." Even as a human, I never felt attraction.
"Sorry, when my own sister's hunting me, I don't have time to think about your 'love,'" I snapped, crossing my arms and making the most convincing face possible. My words held no lies—if they don't believe me, that's their problem. I still don't know why they arranged this pointless meeting.
My words piqued Nori's interest, and she stepped closer, deep in thought. I sensed a barrage of questions coming. I wasn't wrong.
"So, you're scared of your sister hunting you? How scary is she?" she asked with a sly smirk, making a vein bulge on my visor. Her smile widened at the sight.
"You know her. Object-0," I said with complete indifference, ignoring her smirk and struggling to keep a calm face. My words contorted all three of them, and they stared at me in shock. I tried not to laugh. That info was moderately surprising, apparently. Two questions answered at once.
But I couldn't hold back a smile. Yeva conjured a knife using basic Solver matter transmutation and pressed it to my throat. Nori activated her Solver, sprouting tentacles, and Alice pulled out a rebar from somewhere, positioning for a precise strike.
The tension shifted to them, and I was having fun. I wondered what they'd manage to do before Cyn took their bodies—if she did. She probably has bigger things to do.
For safety, I activated my Solver without visual signs and teleported a few meters back to avoid becoming a victim of Alice's rebar. The teleport cost me another core, which quietly shattered in my backpack. I'd have to clean it again. Only fourteen cores left—plenty for a fighting escape if needed.
"So, Cyn's your sister... Wonder how she'd react to her 'little brother's' death?" Nori asked, grinning half-madly. Despite the context, I wasn't scared. My death would only make things worse for them. Cyn has no backups of me—I'm sure of that—and my death would break her, as odd as that sounds. Her grief would overwhelm even the Solver, destroying it with her emotions. Then she'd go on a revenge rampage, killing everything in her path. She'd feel my death, no denying that.
They'd bring death upon themselves—or worse.
"Go ahead, darling, kill me and see the result, if you're so curious," I said, stretching a creepy, crazed smile across my face. My eyes turned to zeros with tiny dots as pupils, like an analog horror character.
"I'd love to watch Cyn take your bodies, tearing you apart from the inside. She'll come to this planet and torture you all at once. You won't resist her as she avenges her little brother. You'll suffer. I guarantee it." My display came close to Nori's, whose face showed endless horror and realization of what she'd said. She fell to the floor, crawling away. Eve dropped her knife, staring at me in fear. Alice looked at her rebar, then at me, and tossed it aside, hiding her mechanical trembling. So easy to scare them.
"S-sorry..." Nori whispered, closing her eyes. She lay on the floor, arms spread, still trembling. I'd scared her good.
Yeva raised a finger to say something but changed her mind, sitting on the floor and burying her face in her knees, muttering something I couldn't hear over the static.
Alice sat cross-legged in a lotus pose, resting her head on her hand, staring at the floor. All three were deep in thought, and Yeva might've been crying—she was shaking hard. I forgot they're just kids, though it's hard to apply that to drones. Yeva's the oldest, maybe twenty-five...
"When are they treating your Solver?" I asked, returning my face to normal. The zero-eyes and toothy grin vanished, leaving a mask of indifference.
"You used it so casually, I thought you'd already gotten the 'patch,'" I said, leaning against the wall and looking at the trio with icy calm. Even losing a core wasn't a big deal. I'd scared them enough.
"When the Solver grows strong enough to start taking us over. As the scientists, especially Dr. Ridley, say, only then will the patch's effect be noticeable," Yeva replied, lifting her head from her knees and looking at me sadly. Her display showed animated tears and sweat—I'd scared her plenty.
I suspect the scientists don't have the patch ready, hence the vague timelines.
"Something good, at least... Alright, I'm out," I said, waving to the trio and heading to the church's back exit. I didn't want to talk anymore, especially with the static noise grating on my nerves. After a few steps, Yeva's voice stopped me:
"Wait! Stay... with us..." I turned and looked into her red display. She turned away, but I saw fear—not for her life, but for me. This led to some grim conclusions, which I didn't hesitate to voice:
"Is this a trap?" I asked, eyeing the trio with indifference. The idea intrigued me. Using these poor girls as bait, staging it like they wanted to meet me. Though, it could be simpler—they might've genuinely wanted to meet, asked management, and management agreed on their terms: delay me as long as possible. Here I am, waiting for a trick.
Instead of an answer, slow, loud claps cut through the tense silence, like hammer strikes on an anvil. I braced for any attack. Turning slowly, I saw someone emerge from the unlit part of the cave, clapping and terrifying the girls. The sound echoed, drowning out even the static noise.
The shadow parted, revealing the old man who interrogated me months ago. His white hair was longer, like fresh snow. His face bore a wicked smirk I'd never seen or expected. Last time, he feared my every move, word, and glance. Now, he stepped out calmly. This "old man" had changed.
"Bravo, Object-1..." he said in a hoarse, almost broken voice. His hands went behind his back, hiding his actions. He could have anything—a knife, a gun. I had to stay alert.
"I never doubted your intelligence. Surprising, though, that you fell for such a simple trap," he said, leaning forward, his smirk growing more sinister. His blue suit was slightly oil-stained, and his eyes gleamed with a hint of madness. A man to watch carefully.
"It'll be much easier to get rid of you," he chuckled, spreading his arms, revealing empty hands. That surprised me most. Was he coming at me barehanded? No way.
"You sure about that?" I asked, reaching over my shoulder. Grabbing my sword's handle, I slowly drew it from its magnetic mounts, pulling it upward. Spinning it in my hand, I made a test swing, striking the ground softly. The stone parted cleanly, revealing a perfect cut. A bright ring from the sword faded quickly. The sword clearly enjoyed the action.
"Absolutely," the old man said with infinite confidence, crossing his arms. Five more people emerged from the shadows behind him, holding unknown weapons. Their bodies were clad in heavy Ostvol armor, its dark blue hue unmistakable. Looking at it, you saw its monumentality and slowness—Ostvol's density is about 23.1 grams per cubic centimeter. I don't know how they move in those "suits."
Outwardly calm, my internal processes were in overdrive. The moment they appeared, I knew fighting was pointless, especially with their weapons' properties unknown. The manager posed no threat, but underestimating him would be disrespecting myself. I had no desire to attack them—it'd be a waste of time. I needed to run, fast.
With a rough plan ready, I looked at the trio of drones with disapproval. They hit a new low in dejection, avoiding my gaze. Sighing softly, I turned to the manager, glaring at him:
"This is entirely your mistake—attacking me. Farewell." I waved my hand and smiled. Unhiding my Solver, its symbol spun rapidly in my eye. The old man's smile vanished. He tried to say something, but I didn't hear.
With the pop of another core, I tore through space with a singularity, landing on the surface. Why not use the Void? Simple. When I used it at Elliott Manor to get to Copper-9, it obliterated several percent of my core's condition without draining my energy. The Void is powerful but demands an equal exchange. Using it would kill me quickly, and I can't offload its effects onto other cores.
Scanning my surroundings, I froze warily. I was focused on escaping efficiently, but this would complicate things. Standing tall, I gripped my sword tighter and made a test swing, producing a whistling sound. Disabling all defenses, I stared with slight madness at what seemed to be the leader of the army surrounding me. These weren't the amateurs from my last visit but real soldiers. Their Ostvol-plated armor could withstand a weak railgun shot or, for Americans, several M16 magazines, leaving only scratches and dents.
Their weapons, like those underground, had unknown properties I didn't want to test. The black metal gleamed under the light of both moons. My sword felt warm and lively, like a living creature. I was ready for anything. All their sights were on me.
Calling them an army was generous. Far from "My name is Legion," but thirty heavily armed humans were a serious threat, not just to me but to some Solver hosts.
Dramatically raising my sword before my display, I waited. For what, I didn't know—maybe the first shot, a spontaneous attack, or something else. My tension was so high that, looking closely, you could see space between my finger segments glowing from energy flowing through nanotubes.
With each second, the urge to slaughter them all grew. I didn't want to, so I started planning an escape. Then a crazier idea hit me, one worthy of my genius, making me want to roll on the floor laughing.
"Who needs this damn plan?!" I shouted, throwing my arms wide and slipping my sword back onto its mounts. My voice made the soldiers flinch, but they kept their sights on me. I grinned like I did when scaring Nori, my toothy maw terrifying them. Chuckling lightly, I raised one hand and flashed a peace sign. The soldiers didn't get the joke and were about to act, but I vanished, leaving no trace of teleportation—except a small oil puddle from the destroyed core. At least, that's all I noticed.
I appeared on an unknown street and ran in a random direction, hoping to find a safe haven and rest from this crap. Humans, the hunt, everything—give me a break, or blow up the planet's core early if my request is impossible.
Returning to the abandoned school makes no sense. The chance of an ambush there is 2.0 out of 1.0. Inevitability doubled...
I hope finding a haven is worth it, or I'll be slightly "displeased."
۞⦰۞
Date: July 7, 3049
Time: 11:45
My new haven became... a forest. Never thought I'd willingly live with nature as a human. Now, it's a forced measure to avoid being dismantled. At least, I thought so—it could be worse, but that's what I've got.
Conveniently, the forest was two kilometers west of my abandoned school, in sector 18.
It was charming—birds flying, singing, doing their thing. Tree leaves glistened from a recent rain, casting glints on surrounding plants. The grassy underlayer, mixed with moss, was soft, cool, and pleasant. Beauty, serenity, and no exhaust fumes. Though, there aren't any in the city either, since vehicles here use Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generators (RTGs).
...
Who am I kidding? Those RTG engines use strontium-90, constantly emitting radiation, contained by shielded containers. Beta particles are easy to block—easier than alpha particles—but it's still radiation. If a car crashes and damages the container or, robo-god forbid, the RTG, it's a mini-technological disaster with a radiation leak.
As noted on JCJenson's servers, they considered americium-241 for stabler decay and longer use. But they abandoned it—americium was too weak for vehicles, requiring 700-800 kilograms, not counting energy for its own mass. It could run engines for centuries, but the reason for abandoning it is clear.
Still, the forest was pleasant, mentally and physically, even if my tactile sensations came from data packets, not neural signals like humans or other creatures.
I couldn't believe how happy I was that the sun didn't harm me. That I could lie on the grass and enjoy it... But that joy crashed against the reality that I needed a proper base, not to live under the open sky.
No doubt the special forces have tracked me, sitting in the branches like Naruto's ANBU, watching my every move, word, and glance. It's undeniable—I've gone through all stages of acceptance. I can only hope these humans have some honor and won't snipe me during a walk.
The worst part? I can't get rid of them. Not because of some mental block or high morals. No. It's simpler—I have no idea where they are, how they're armed, or other danger factors. I don't even know if they're in this forest.
Enough complaining. I need to build a shelter to extend my life and stay unnoticed, though that's pointless. What's stealth worth? Nothing but problems. Living like this is impossible now. After the core explosion, maybe, but now it's a foolish endeavor. I don't believe the special forces lack equipment to find my sorry carcass among branches and dirt. Even if I cover myself in filth, they'd find me. JCJenson's server data doesn't lie—I'm not counting on it.
Sighing through my teeth, I scanned the area and spotted a sturdy-looking branch. Picking it up and twirling it, I stabbed it into the ground and started digging. At first, it was tough—the grass and its roots made the soil hard as stone. But the deeper I went, the easier it got. Soon, I was flipping chunks of sod at record speed. Worms and occasional ants crawled over them. I didn't expect insects on this colony, though it's over a century old. Young for a planetary colony, but long enough for insects to evolve from those brought by humans to thrive in cosmic soil.
An hour later, per my interface clock, I'd dug a one-cubic-meter pit. Plenty for me, since I'd only stay here one night before building a proper shelter or tent for comfort.
Jumping into the pit, I curled up to fit in this small dirt hole. Just one night, and it's over. Covering myself with my backpack of humming cores, I closed my eyes and activated sleep mode as evening set in. With empty thoughts, I sank into darkness.
۞⦰۞
Date: July 8, 3049
Time: 7:06
The next day, I woke up, loosened my stiff servos—locked like old door hinges during sleep—and set out to explore my new territory.
Climbing out of the dugout, nearly collapsing its walls, I began my search. The morning sun tickled my display, sending data packets. The grass under my feet gave strength and calm. Dew on the grass glistened, sliding off and soaking my shoes. It didn't stop me from enjoying nature. I hate humans, but nature isn't human, so I'm more than kind to it.
While inspecting my domain, I gathered branches, leafy twigs, and tall grass. I considered dragging a fallen tree but didn't want to burden my hands. Despite my superhuman strength, my storage isn't infinite, and my backpack's full of cores.
After a couple of hours, I'd collected enough resources for a shelter. I wasn't leaving unless angry special forces with guns evicted me. They likely know how dangerous Solver hosts are, not just in strength but intellect. Ha, what's kept me alive? Brains! Without them, I'd be dead. Probably.
Back at my one-night dugout, I laid out the materials and planned. I'd never built shelters, rarely venturing into nature, especially with pesky humans around. I hoped I could make something worthwhile.
What's a shelter? A small structure, usually with three or more supports, covered with debris, tarp, leaves, straw, or sod. I don't know how to build one—or any structure—but I understand its mechanics and have a solid mental blueprint. I'd build it using physics and science, ignoring "if it stands, it's fine." No, it's not fine. It needs an intellectual approach.
Strength, weatherproofing, stability, and soil pressure. Given the local soil, pressure was the least concern. I picked up a thick, knotted branch and examined it. In three seconds, my processing created a perfect shelter-building guide, factoring in soil and other variables. Smiling, I stepped onto a flat area between pines and drove the branch into the ground at a 45-degree angle, securing it with a rock. I grabbed two more branches, planted them perpendicular to the ground, and stomped the soil for stability. Kicking another branch, I caught it and used it to connect the perpendicular ones, tying it with grass and flexible twigs.
Using more grass, I tied the angled branch to this rectangular frame, forming a crude parody of soccer goalposts.
Satisfied, I added two more branches like the angled one. The result: two perpendicular branches holding a third, connected to three angled ones. Ugly? Absolutely. Stupid? Sure, but it's damn sturdy. Now, to add leaves.
The roof's first layer was leafy branches too flimsy for the base but large enough to cover the gaps between angled supports. The gap was under a meter, and the height was 120 centimeters—enough for me.
After laying the roof frame, I piled on leaves and moss to create a water-resistant surface for rain. Sod topped it off, completing the structure. The triangular shape would fend off rain, and sturdy supports would withstand wind. Efficiency-wise, it was perfect. Beauty-wise, an ugly duckling. But I didn't care about looks—it'd be bad if it collapsed under its own weight.
Wiping animated sweat from my brow, I sat and admired my creation. It felt quick, but three or four hours had passed unnoticed. It was early afternoon, and I didn't want to do anything, so I lay down, arms spread, soaking in the sunlight on my display.
Wait... soaking?
I checked my logs and found my display doubles as a small solar panel, an energy source if oil or batteries run out. Drones recharge with oil or batteries, but I hadn't figured out how it works. I will, when I can breathe easy.
Hunting's unappealing—my cores will last if I avoid using the Solver, Cube, or Void. Otherwise, I'd be torn to atoms with no recovery. That's certain.
Returning to Cabin Fever's a bad idea. After my escape, they likely activated the Sentinels. I wouldn't get far without ending up in those six-eyed velociraptors' jaws, stuck in a reboot cycle.
I need materials for a computer, blueprints stored in my head. If I can connect it to the internet, it'll be perfect. I'll learn to use my sword, knives, and other weapons—my current skills are lacking. Back at the Manor, I nearly dropped this graphene thing three times. I don't know how I held my own against V.
Tomorrow, I'll tackle that. For now, I'll lie here, rest, enjoy nature, and take a break. No vacation yet, sadly, but I can relax now. I guarantee it.
۞⦰۞
Date: July 9, 3049
Time: 6:56
Leaving my new shelter, grabbing my backpack, I headed out of the forest. I needed resources, and the city had walking repair kits—drones—easy to grab and "privatize." Except I'd be grabbing and killing.
For the computer I want, based on the blueprints, I'll need... a lot, but most parts are in a worker drone's corpse, except the monitor and internet adapter. I can repurpose a drone's display for the monitor, but the internet's a problem... Hope I can solve it.
Leaving the forest, I walked in a random direction, ignoring suspicious and slightly disdainful looks. Understandable—I was covered in dirt, oil, and other substances, looking utterly unpresentable. My blue-tinted suit now resembled military gear caked in mud and leaves. My hair lost its shine, hardened by dirt, like it could kill.
I was completely exposed, but so what? Days ago, I feared breathing too loud and attracting special forces. Now, I strut through the city like a mud monster.
Too confident...
But not a problem. Not yet. Not until a railgun barrel's pressed to my forehead. Then it's a problem, but not now.
Turning a corner, I began hunting my victims. Instead of drones, I found a depressing urban alley. No lighting, just darkness and vague shapes. A rat scurried by, eyes glinting, diving into a trash bin, rustling chip bags and junk. My eye twitched. Fine, I'll search another sector—this one's too much hassle.
Back on the lit street, I shook off dirt clumps from my suit, gripped my backpack, and ran in a direction only I knew. I was in sector 18. Sector 17 had nothing but my abandoned school, but sector 16 might have something interesting—I'd never been there. Time to catch up.
As I said, I didn't care about stealth anymore. Anyone could find me with satellite footage. Nowhere's safe, but the special forces aren't acting yet. Giving me a head start, or they haven't gotten orders. Could be either.
Five minutes later, I crossed sector 17 and reached sector 16's border. A cute metal arrow sign read "Sector №16." Adorable. Nothing more to say.
After ten minutes of leisurely walking to the sector's center, I hid in a narrow alley and leaned against the wall, waiting for my first victim. This alley looked maintained and used, so I didn't think I'd wait long.
Sure enough, within five minutes, a worker drone walked right into my grasp. You'll be a sacrifice for something great, friend. No escaping your fate... Ahem, got carried away...
With a soft metallic hum, I drew my sword and spun it. Lacking skill, I swung, slicing a clean cut through the drone's neck. Its head flew up and landed in my hands, splattering the wall with oil and leaving a deep gash. Didn't expect the sword to cut through metal and concrete so easily. Impressive.
Spinning the drone's head, I set it down and dragged the body deeper into the alley to avoid discovery. A lifeless drone is suspicious, right? Thought so.
One drone's enough for the computer, but I'm paranoid. I need a couple more corpses for spare parts in case this one's components are damaged. I'm a bit... nuts.
Calmly, I left the alley and crossed the street to another. Few cars were around, parked by the sidewalk, not bothering anyone, including me. They looked futuristic, like solid metal chunks, not segmented machines. Given the RTG's heat, I understand the lack of seams—heat shouldn't escape, likely channeled through special tubes. Just a theory; I found no such info on the servers.
In the next alley, I was pleasantly surprised. Two drones of my kind walked toward me, oblivious to each other. No need to hunt long—these two would finish my collection, and I could head home.
"As they say, no hard feelings," I said, spinning my sword—nearly dropping it—and rushed the two. One precise swing sliced their heads in half, which slid off and hit the ground with their bodies. The alley was drenched in oil from the poor things. Couldn't be otherwise—the best outcome for them. Heh, they didn't even notice me.
Seconds later, I realized I'd screwed up. Looking at the halved heads, I sighed and crouched, examining the oil-soaked circuits turned to salad. My eye twitched.
"So many components... wasted," I said, picking up one half, from which wires and a processor block fell, splashing oil. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the processor block and inspected its casing. Finding no cracks, I shook it for foreign sounds or sensations. To my surprise, nothing. My brows vanished under my bangs, and I opened my backpack, tossing the block in with the cores.
In ten seconds, I had the second drone's intact processor block. Good news—I didn't ruin vital resources, which I likely won't need 90% of the time. Oh well.
Looking at the two corpses, I sighed and left the alley. Their cores weren't necessary—my backpack was full, looking like I was on a long trip, weighing half a ton. Unpleasant.
Crossing back, I returned to the first corpse, still headless. Picking up its head, I attached it to my belt with a wire from the other drones' heads. Then, I turned to the body. Glancing at my hand, I plunged it into the drone's chest.
Oil poured out, but I ignored it and yanked out the core of the once-living drone, now scrap by a dumpster.
"Thanks for... the help," I said to no one and bolted. Leaving the alley, I turned left, ignoring startled looks. A trail of oil from the severed head followed me, each step clanging like a hammer on a pan.
Ten minutes later, I neared my forest, reluctant to leave but forced by circumstances. Dodging trees and leaping stones, I skidded to my shelter, leaving a visible trail. How I kept my balance, history doesn't say.
Inside the shelter, I sat, opened my backpack, and pulled out the processor blocks. I untied the head from my belt and set it before me. Sadly, my tools were at the abandoned school, so I'd have to crack this skull manually. Hope I don't break anything.
Grabbing a small, sharp stone glinting in the sun, I pressed it to the drone's display, seeing my reflection. Ignoring it, I wedged the stone into the seam between the display and casing, moving it like a knife. The chances of success were... dubious, and I risked damaging the display. But knowing their design—thanks to the Manor's workshop—a few dead diodes wouldn't matter much.
For fifteen minutes, I tried to pry out the damn display. The work was intense, but calming forest sounds and butterflies landing on me turned it relaxing. It felt human again, sitting outside, enjoying nature. The task went from monotonous to soothing... until it wasn't.
The display clicked and came loose, revealing a mess of circuits and wires inside the drone's head.
I flinched, not expecting it to end so suddenly. Setting the stone aside, I held the display in one hand and unplugged its cables with the other. Damaging a cable would ruin the display or part of it.
After detaching the cables, I gently set the display on the ground, covering it with leaves for cushioning... This is becoming an obsession, not care. Good thing I didn't start cuddling it, though I wanted to.
Back to reality, I continued with the head. Parting the curtain of wires, solder, and compound, I reached the processor block. Oh, I didn't explain—a small black box, like two matchboxes stacked. Despite its size, underestimating it is risky. No quantum quasi-particles or topological superconductors, but it doesn't need massive energy or ultra-low temperatures. Just silicon, outdated here but revolutionary in my time. For Solver hosts... it's nothing. Dust. Even after blowing out the complex's doors, my head ached like I wanted to bash it against a wall.
Inspecting the components, I grinned and rubbed my hands. This was usable, heh heh...
I'd use the head as the computer's casing—it already had the needed wires and components. I just needed to remove half to access the file system, then install an OS. A stylized computer.
I began cutting, pulling, and yanking unneeded wires. Despite half the head being mechanical, not electronic, there were plenty.
First went the mouth-movement wires, then the neck ones, and a thick wire—part of the drone's oddly designed spinal cord. Like a human's, but I didn't need it.
For five minutes, I removed every wire I saw, tossing them aside as useless. What remained were the computer's core components.
Sitting on the grass, I wiped my hands on it, cleaning off oil and fluids from the disassembly. The setup was ready—I just needed to reattach the processor block, mount the display, and power it with a core, which I'd need to feed oil.
I forgot cores can "expire" without fuel for fusion. Drones consume batteries and oil to sustain their core's fusion. Dead drones' cores must be destroyed or recycled, or a drop of oil could restart them.
My backpack held over a dozen cores craving oil. Without it in weeks, they'd shut down, and restarting them would be a pain. Here's why.
Cores fuse light nuclei—deuterium, tritium, sometimes strontium or lithium for stability. The energy keeps a drone's systems running, from basic data processing to movement and complex feats.
But it needs fuel. Cars use RTGs, but drones use special oil—a mix of deuterated hydrocarbons and stabilizing isotopes, perfect for core activation and efficiency. Without it, the reaction slows, and plasma loses temperature. Regular oil can maintain the core, but if it shuts down, I'd need the special oil to restart it. Stealing it is impossible—nobody uses it, feeding drones regular oil. So, I'd have to manually refill my cores with regular oil to extend their life.
Arbitrary core activation is rare because special oil isn't lying around on dumps.
Done musing, I grabbed the core from the alley drone and returned to the head-computer. Pushing aside wires, I activated night vision and precisely reattached the processor block, connecting all ports. Then, I grabbed the display, reconnected its cables, and set it back without securing it—I might need access later.
The computer was ready. Smirking, I took the drone's core, pulled out some wires, and flipped the head neck-up. Connecting the power wires, I made the machine work. I crossed my fingers.
For a few seconds, nothing happened, and I itched to check the internals. But then, an infinite loading symbol appeared on the display—success! The head didn't detect the missing body and worked as a computer. Not complete success, but close.
Grabbing a spare wire, I connected it to my head with a click, like an HDMI cable, and did the same with the drone's neck. I fell into a trance, feeling, seeing, and hearing nothing. Absolute silence—no static, hums, or rustling leaves. This was the head's file system, empty, clean, untouched... Well, not quite. Action logs, directives, and key memories were there, but I didn't need them.
Opening my file system—three thousand times larger than the drone's by memory—I pulled a Linux distro stolen from Elliott Manor, a mix of Kubuntu and Mint.
Funny, the galaxy uses Linux. After Microsoft's latest Windows flop, everyone switched in 2075. Linux is so optimized you could run it on a potato. Literally.
Like DOOM running on everything, Linux is a full OS here.
With a casual thought, I transferred the distro to the drone's head, wiping its unneeded data first. Like at the Manor, I formatted the first drone's memory. Same here—everything gone. You'd find nothing, even if you tried.
The .iso file fit perfectly, like it was made for it. True, I built the head as a computer, not some perverse way to run Linux on a bacterium. Like the meme: "Windows requirements: 4GB RAM, 12GB disk, internet... Linux requirements: Electricity (optional)."
Nodding to my thoughts, I glanced at the drone's empty memory space and disconnected, leaving the wire. It'd control the computer's actions, crucial to this complex scheme.
The rest was technical. Using thoughts, not re-entering the memory space, I managed the distro installation, monitoring the terminal for errors. None, thank the Machine God.
A small data stream flowed through my processor, causing no discomfort but providing needed data for the installation.
For fifteen minutes, I sat still. Passersby would've seen code snippets, terminal commands, or translucent images on my display as I configured the distro and set wallpapers. Everything was set, but... no internet. Some things never change. Activating internet on Linux always requires acrobatics, not due to missing terminal commands but the obvious: no adapter.
Without one, this computer's a fancy paperweight with decent hardware. Useless without data. No solution? I don't know... Can't think of one. I need to clear my head and think rationally. A city walk will help.
Unplugging the wire, I scanned my shelter for anything odd. After ten seconds, I found nothing, thankfully or not. Paranoia's stirring, craving more info. I get it—hunters could strike anytime, making life tough.
I stepped out from my shelter's shade and wandered "wherever my eyes looked." No clue, no understanding. The risk of a deadly situation grows, but I won't let it get that far.
I also need a new backpack. The old one's reinforced but unwashable—disassembling it, removing cores, and wires is too much hassle. Easier to steal a new one than wash this in a mini-lake.
Let the hunt begin—not for drones, but... ugh... an adapter...