Snow fell softly from a gray sky, burying the dead world below in a silent, frozen blanket. Metal skeletons of old buildings clawed upward like forgotten gravestones. The planet was once full of life… until the humans ruined it.
Now?
Only machines remained. Well two types.
Deep beneath the surface, within the remains of a half-frozen bunker, a rusted instructional screen flickered to life. A boot-up message in bold red text blinked:
"WELCOME TO METAL-11 WORKER ANDROIDS HABITATION ZONE."
The screen played a crude, pre-recorded video. A cheerful human voiceover contrasted sharply with the bleak surroundings.
"After the humans destroyed a planet that was 44 billion light-years, we, the brilliant minds at DFDynamics in space, created fully autonomous two different types of machines like to continue extracting natural resources from other planets."
A Android passed the screen, its eyes flickering dim yellow. Its body was humanoid—metal limbs, a jetpack spine, and a glowing core in the chest.
"With no humans left to manage them, our androids have become self-sufficient. Isn't that just neat?"
But the upbeat tone died with the static. The room returned to silence.
Then…
A distant, high-pitched noise.
A scream.
Inside a repurposed industrial hallway, a group of Worker Androids huddled together. Their expressions—animated LED faces—were twisted with fear.
"Another one's gone," muttered one of them, his voice shaky. "That's the fifth this month."
"I saw it," another androids whispered. "The eyes... they glow red."
The name passed between them like a curse:
"Eradicator Robots."
Machines built to murder other machines.
Outside, beyond the bunker, a single Android sprinted across the frozen landscape—her metallic feet crunching through ice and snow.
She was different.
Her name was Colo.
She wore a black snow jacket, dark grey winter pants and winter boots. Her glowing Green eyes were narrowed in defiance.
She was no ordinary Androids.
She didn't run from the Eradicator Robot's. She ran toward them.
Inside a secret room filled with scavenged parts and weapon blueprints, Colo tossed her backpack to the floor. She pulled out a rifle built from scraps—barely functional, but hers.
"This time," she said to herself, "I'll get them before they get us."
Suddenly, a loud banging echoed from above.
Colo hand gripped her sick homemade green electric rockstar guitar tighter.
"They're here."