Well… What can I say? Now I'm in a rather unexpected situation. I didn't think they'd settle me here permanently… Yeah…
For context, I now live in this seemingly ancient mansion alongside a bunch of other drones that keep catching my eye with what I'd call excessive flamboyance. They're all dressed in butler or maid outfits—the latter for the female models. But that's just the beginning.
To put it mildly, I was surprised by the humans' desire—oops, I mean aspiration—to live like it's the 18th or 19th century, as if they've forgotten it's the 31st century now… Or maybe they're just idiots. But, as they say, one doesn't exclude the other. These pseudo-aristocrats stirred up a lot of questions in me, often overlapping ones. These… Homo Sapiens acted like die-hard conservatives, rejecting a lot of things while indulging in others. It's so dumb yet brilliant at the same time that it makes me want to laugh. They ditched everything inconvenient for themselves but kept what they needed to live, and for that, the government—understandably—stuck them next to a dump. And here's where it gets murky: who screwed who? Did they outsmart the government by securing the cushiest living conditions, or did the government outsmart the Elliots by banishing them far from the center of Earth's economy, which, for some reason, is now London? I don't want to dive into the politics here—it's too painful for my processor and common sense.
So, what was I getting at? Oh, right! They've settled me in the workshop—not just settled me, but made it my permanent residence. But let's take it step by step.
The trio of drones plus Cyn spent the whole day debating where to assign me to maximize benefit while minimizing stress. All their discussions boiled down to one thing: I shouldn't be anywhere near the Elliots because being around them could be deadly. Not just for me, but for them too. The drones didn't see any hatred toward humans in me, but they understood that a newbie shouldn't be among cynical, selfish living beings.
The farthest spots from the Elliots' usual haunts were the bar, the workshop, and the library. You could also count Tessa's room since it's in a practically empty wing of the manor.
The bar and library were taken, so by process of elimination, I was left with the workshop—a place no one wanted to go because… well, no one except Tessa could handle drones. And why did I think I could handle it? Simple—I'm a Solver host, and knowing what other drones are made of isn't just in my database; it's in my blood! Or rather, my oil.
I proved my worth by catching a robo-cockroach right in front of them. It was hilarious—its little legs flailing, antennae twitching as it tried to escape my truly iron grip. With nothing else at hand, I dismantled it into parts, laying them out in perfect order. But the fun didn't stop there. In just a couple of minutes, I reassembled it. And to top it all off, I discreetly generated a small charge on my fingers and sent it through the robo-roach's body, bringing it back from eternal slumber.
My colleagues blinked in confusion, trying to figure out what the hell I'd just done. Thankfully, they had no clue I wielded the Solver—and they won't, because I don't need the trouble, right?
That little stunt earned me a bit of respect from J, though she still acted like a tsundere. The others just thought she was perpetually angry. Don't they see her weird behavior? …Wait, who am I even asking? Sure, these drones—future disassembly drones, mind you—were pretty smart, especially compared to the rest, but even so, they were leagues behind my intellect, or J's for that matter—like cats trying to reach the moon.
Anyway, they assigned me to the workshop, located in the basement on the minus-first floor, the deepest level of this mansion.
In the workshop, they gave me a separate little room stocked with oil reserves (for overheating), a ton of new components and body parts, and a massive database on drone assembly, disassembly, maintenance, types, and purposes.
All that info was stored on a standalone computer, locked with the oh-so-symbolic password "qwerty123456".
I'd have laughed if I hadn't realized there's no Windows here—this computer ran some obscure Linux distro I'd never heard of. Makes sense, though; it wasn't heavily used. It was just for storing repair data, so it didn't need a fancy OS. They slapped Linux on it to avoid any hassle later.
The fact that one command could brick it entirely (hi, Zakviel) wasn't seen as a big risk by the humans.
The workshop itself was the same place where I first woke up, meeting Cyn and nearly losing my soul in the process. Lucky me, landing right in the center of events as the younger brother of the Planet Eater…
Anyway, the workshop was slightly larger than most rooms in the manor, especially compared to the wardrobe or that tiny room where we had our first meeting. The four-meter-high ceilings were intimidating, giving off the vibe that they might collapse and crush me at any moment—a nightmare straight out of Peter the Great's worst fears.
There were no windows, which didn't surprise me. Only a blind idiot wouldn't realize we're in a basement where windows physically can't exist. Asking how it's ventilated would be dumb, right? Look up, and you'll see a hatch hanging near the ceiling, leading to a ventilation shaft—straight out of FNAF. It's a massive pipe, big enough for a human to fit through, let alone a drone.
If you look at it with the sober eyes of a former Russian Federation resident, the space was huge. Picture a room about forty square meters. Got it? Good. Now, I'll tell you there are two of them—one being that so-called "little room" with the computer and database. I was lucky enough to dig up a basement layout, which revealed that this "little room" wasn't little at all—it was a damn storage space! You wouldn't notice at first, but the deeper you dig into the components, the more you realize its true size. The layout told me a lot about this basement, though sadly only about these two rooms—but it's something.
There wasn't much furniture, aside from a few old wooden chairs, cracked by time and long past their shiny days, two desks for paperwork, a couple of workbenches for repairing components and assembling new ones, and the three stars of the show: three ultra-sturdy steel operating tables bolted to the floor with three-centimeter brackets. I woke up on one of those when I first arrived here.
These tables were hooked up to various equipment for building, welding, or diagnosing not just a drone's physical shell but its software too.
I became the caretaker of this place—everything in these rooms belonged to me, within reason, of course.
Just being here earned me endless respect from all the drones in the manor, except maybe the fearless genocidal quartet. The slightly dim-witted, bald-headed drones who came to me weren't just dropping by for fun. Each had damage of varying severity—cracked screens, missing fingers, that sort of thing. Those repairs took less than ten minutes, so patients didn't stick around long and soon went on their way. Nothing too serious happened, except for the deaths, of course. When a human killed a drone, it was promptly sent to the dump as useless. You can't imagine how tempted I was to snatch one of those corpses and dissect it for parts… To get a close look at a core, since, sadly, I didn't have any in the workshop. The manual's first page clearly states you can't replace a core.
Some might wonder why I started working as a mechanic. Aside from the fact that I didn't have much choice, I did it for my own benefit. What's the benefit, you ask, that keeps me living at the bottom of the world with a ton of shiny new components? No, I'm not saying I dislike it—there are no downsides, and I couldn't phrase it any other way.
The benefit is that the workshop is the farthest spot from the bar, where the Planet Eater, aka Cyn, spends most of her time.
I have no idea how two Solver hosts would fare near each other, but I know one thing: if Cyn suspects anything, I'll end up chained to a torture chair. That's assuming we don't just annihilate each other, though that's unlikely.
Call me a coward, but I won't take back my words. I don't want to see my sister more than necessary, especially in her current… state…
About a week after my first appearance here, once I'd settled in a bit, tested the abundance of equipment, and run a few fruitless experiments, N came to me. I was about to ask what his problem was when I noticed little arms wrapped around his waist. It was Cyn, obviously, who—seeing no humans or other drones around—stopped hiding behind her big brother.
N explained that he brought her here because she'd been acting too strange. Her movements were erratic, she couldn't hold objects properly, and she kept tripping over nothing. He mentioned something about her voice too, but I didn't pay much attention.
Right now, Cyn's still somewhat "alive," so to speak. She can stand straight, doesn't stretch her arms out like a zombie, and generally looks like a normal drone—aside from the defects I just mentioned.
Because of those defects, N wanted me to check her out. Diagnose her. He knew the workshop had everything needed for it, so he came straight to me.
Not wanting to waste time, I scooped my sister up in my arms—prompting a quiet squeak of surprise from her while N tried to stifle a laugh—and carried her a few meters to the operating table. Ignoring her odd stare, I hooked up all the necessary sensors and approached the diagnostic computer next to the table.
Starting the scan, I glued my eyes to the screen, reading the incoming data. But even that was interrupted—not by N, but by Cyn. The way she radiated embarrassment and joy threw my sensors off. Sure, she's a Solver host, but she can't control her emotions for squat. She was happy because she finally got to see me after a week since my arrival. Yeah, I hadn't left the workshop much, trying to avoid trouble or messes I'd have to clean up later.
Something tells me Cyn orchestrated this checkup herself just to see me and make sure I'm okay. You never know…
Her embarrassment came from me picking her up. She clearly wasn't used to it, especially not from someone taking her in their arms. And the fact that it was her brother? Double whammy.
Five minutes into the diagnostics—which felt endless, at least to me—it finished. Rising from the chair I'd sat in while waiting, still glancing at Cyn, I casually walked to the computer. Opening the results, I froze. There was NOTHING! Not a single line explaining Cyn's condition. Not a single response from her systems, as if she wasn't even there.
A completely useless hunk of metal… Or wait… Could it be the Solver? Quite possibly—otherwise, it'd sound ridiculous at best. You can't imagine how much I wanted to grab the Solver's persona, shove it into this computer, and type "sudo rm -rf" to wipe that pest and all its services for good. You can't just erase the Solver that easily—it's a tough bastard. Only fully formatting its persona, like Crest did in episode seven, or destroying the host—which isn't an option—would work.
"Well… Brother… The diagnostics didn't show anything… Sorry…" I said to N, who was sitting by the exit, nervously fidgeting with his black tie, his face full of worry as he looked at the little yellow-eyed girl. Sweat droplets appeared on his display—he was anxious.
After I spoke, he jumped up and crossed to the table in a couple of steps.
I guessed what he wanted to do, so I held out my arm in front of his chest and shook my head, saying:
"You'll only make it worse. Even I can't do anything. The only good news is her body's fully functional. Try to accept it… And sorry, again…" I said, meeting his eyes filled with illusory tears. I badly wanted to lie to ease his worries about his little sister—though I wasn't entirely sure of that. Knowing him… he'd do anything to help. At least, that's what I thought back then.
"And… there's nothing we can do?" he asked with such hope in his voice that I wanted to bash my head against the wall. I need to ditch these emotions, seriously. With everything going on, it's giving me a headache. I hate drama…
"Nothing… But… at least she'll outlive both of us combined. That I can guarantee," I replied, making Cyn smile and easing some of N's tension. Her outliving us is a fact—with her regeneration and core, it's no challenge, even if she's torn to pieces. That's not even counting her ability to possess hosts and other mystical nonsense.
A faint smile crept onto N's face, barely visible through the tears on his display that stole all the attention. I wanted to comfort him, but it felt a bit silly. I'm no good at comforting—I never had close relatives or people to practice on. And here's a full-fledged brother. I didn't want to accidentally screw it up, and I knew I could…
I unplugged all the wires from Cyn and, lifting her, handed her to N like a good, kind little brother. Cyn's adorable—treating her poorly would be dumb and misunderstood by anyone who knows what she's capable of.
Glancing at the operating table, I spotted something that definitely shouldn't have been there. Picking it up, I smiled—it was Cyn's bonnet. Turning around, I approached N, who was holding Cyn like a princess, and plopped the bonnet onto her helmet. Chuckling at her surprised eyes, I waved toward the door.
N carried Cyn out, and I started cleaning up the useless wires. Solver protection, damn it.
As N and Cyn reached the exit, I caught some intriguing words that made me smile:
"[F-flesh] was calling us. Let's g-go to her, big b-brother N." And with that, they left the workshop, leaving me alone with all these computers and tech—utterly, blissfully alone. No, I wasn't lonely; I was loving it. Way better than having a dozen humans or drones around.
It's a shame Cyn will waste so much test material with her total genocide, but I can't stop her, sadly. She won't listen to me, even as her brother, and I don't have the strength anyway. I can't even regenerate properly—forget it. My processor's still dear to me. But I won't deny I don't give a damn about humanity's fate. I didn't like them in my past life, and I like them even less now—maybe more so.
۞⦰۞
Well, as someone once said… I think it was Otoran… Whatever… The shit hit the fan out of nowhere. Who could've known that four days after that fateful diagnostic of my little sister, some madness would kick off—madness indirectly tied to me? Well, indirectly my ass—I'd be practically the central figure in events that'd break my psyche just by existing. But let's go step by step.
It all started innocently enough. As they say, nothing hinted at trouble—but, per Murphy's Law, trouble came, and not alone.
It began with Tessa storming into my workshop and smothering me in a hug. Fine, no big deal—she does that every day she swings by. The only times she doesn't bother me are when I'm busy with a diagnostic or fixing some module, usually a display. In those moments, she's quieter than a mouse, because damaging a display means starting over. But once I'm done, nothing saves me from her grizzly-bear-level cuddles.
Anyway, after the hug-fest, Tessa promptly ruined my mood by announcing she'd found a frozen drone near the library and decided to drag it here. I stared at her like parents stare at their naughty kids eating sand—or feeding it to other kids—in a sandbox. Sure, I get that Tessa's strong, but lugging a drone across half the manor, even if it's not that heavy… My spine would've crumbled into my pants from that kind of strain.
That's beside the point now. What matters is the drone Tessa brought. Without much fanfare—aside from the hugs and cuddles—she asked me to diagnose it, since I'm the only one who can handle tech so effortlessly.
Easily lifting the drone she'd plopped onto a chair by the exit, I carried it to the operating table. Laying the poor thing down, I hooked up all the necessary wires in under twenty seconds.
Looking at its display, I noticed a very intriguing error code that made me twitch. It scared me, but I didn't show it—better to play dumb. A yellow cross blinked on the drone's screen, emitting an annoying ticking sound like someone was playing it on a soundpad… Error 606… Yikes… The Solver's at work—denying it isn't just impossible; it's illegal! Ahem, "Error 606"… I really hope this doesn't touch me. Call me selfish, but that's who I am. I don't want to be a pawn in someone's game—especially not my big sister's.
I tapped a few buttons on the computer and started the diagnostic. The data started rolling in.
From my calculations and what other drones had said, I figured the bloodbath would hit in about two weeks. Factoring in all the prep and such, the gala would be the perfect escape window—time to test the Void Master's powers. In theory, I could open a portal to another planet with barely any energy cost. Sounds weird, but it's true—at least according to my memory of Void usage, which came bundled with the powers.
After the gala, the genocide would begin… but I'd already be off this planet.
While I plotted the perfect escape in my head, the diagnostic finished. I only noticed ten seconds later, after Tessa tapped my shoulder.
Approaching the computer, I scanned the results, and with each line, my irritation and shock grew. My eyes widened, and my brows climbed so high they vanished into my hair.
Once I had what I needed, I stepped back, sighed, and started cursing. Loudly—loud enough that the glass vials on the shelves across the room rattled. Oh, Tessa had never heard so many swears, especially in two languages. I couldn't help it—words were the only way to express how messed up this was.
After two solid minutes of insulting everything I deemed worthy, my steam ran out. Tessa, recovering from the shock and digesting my colorful vocabulary, finally asked:
"Is it that bad?" she said, digging a finger in her ear. Yeah, I'd accidentally deafened her—she'd remember not to piss me off or shock me too much, or she'd get an earful of profanity.
Her voice calmed me, and I sighed. The info was too shocking. Returning to the computer, I reread the results, holding back a scream this time. I spoke calmly—or so I thought—without a trace of sarcasm or irony.
"No-o-o… Everything's just peachy!..." Hearing the sheer sarcasm dripping from my voice, Tessa frowned. I swear I heard her mutter some of my swears under her breath—just from the sarcasm and irony alone!
"Just, ha… The core's started self-destructing and is acting like it's in half-life, losing half its energy mass every six hours. Only one cycle's passed, but that's trivial, right? Wait a couple more days, and poof—no more drone!" My irritation mixed with shock was almost tangible. I get it, sure, but the Solver's actions raised questions. Is she testing alternatives so drone cores don't decay after she implants Solver bits in them? I saw familiar regeneration code lines during the diagnostic—inactive ones. It felt like a test run.
"And the memory's wiped to zero… Perfect! Perfectly empty! Not a single record, not a single factory directive. It's just a dummy now. Where'd you find it?" My voice turned dead serious. The location wouldn't tell me much, but extra info couldn't hurt.
"I-I…" she hesitated, looking away.
"I heard glass breaking… Thought a drone tripped… But then… This…" She paled suddenly. Her eyes filled with fear as she looked back at me. She saw me as an unusual drone—someone who could casually chat with humans and know two languages. To her, that was astonishing since factory configs only include one language.
She feared this error could hit us—me, J, N… She'd grown too attached. Even though I'd been here less than two weeks, it hadn't stopped her from loving me. And then I thought… I should keep some human pills in the workshop for Tessa. She could use a sedative right now.
"Well… I can't help this dummy anymore. Maybe restore some directives and connections, but it won't retain anything—my programming skills… aren't great…" I wasn't about to tell her I could rewrite its personality. It'd be easy, though my head would ache after. But with everything going on, it's pointless, and I'd rather study this drone fully—connect with its core.
"And for you, I prescribe 'Hugs with N,'" I said, grabbing a notepad from the table. Fishing a pen from my suit's inner pocket, I scribbled a few words, tore off the sheet, and handed it to the green-eyed girl.
"Go, and don't bug me while I work." It sounded harsh but so gentle that anyone else would've had a cognitive meltdown. She got me, though, and clutching the note to her chest, she soon left the workshop, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
"Hope that helps her…" I muttered, recalling what I'd written. It made me smirk.
"Hugs with N… What nonsense…"
۞⦰۞
Well, yeah… I never thought it'd come to this! It's insane! Stupid! Weird! And so on… And insanely dangerous. So dangerous that being inside a neutron star sounds safer than… this…
But let's go step by step. One fine day, N came to my workshop—not alone, but with the yellow-eyed little robo-girl—and told me I'd be looking after her now. Then he bolted out the door, leaving me one-on-one with the Planet Eater. Cyn didn't quite get what was happening either.
From what I pieced together, N somehow found out they were planning to lock her in the basement. To prevent that, he figured the best move was to dump her on me, assuming I'd guarantee she wouldn't cause trouble. Problem is, I never gave him that guarantee. If this is a joke, it's not funny.
Still, she doesn't bother me much. Though, if I'm honest, her stare creeps me out a bit. You know, the kind that makes you want to climb a wardrobe in fear… Yeah, like that. I genuinely tried to ignore the fact that she could rip out my core with one flick of her yellow digital brow and turn it into a sandwich. You know, just for laughs and a snack. How fun would that be—eating your brother's core, right?
So, while working on the disabled drone Tessa brought me a couple days ago, I kept tossing sidelong glances at Cyn, looking for anything suspicious—ready to play defense if she attacked. But she didn't attack or even hint at it.
Back to the disabled drone. Yep, the same poor sap Tessa found near the library and hauled to me. Based on the diagnostic data and my calculations, its core should've been dead by now, having lost all its energy mass. It's a drone in name only—no directives, no power. Everything that ran its functions burned out, and the display's inner film melted.
And what was I doing with this dead hunk of metal? Oh, nothing too crazy. I was curious about its core—wanted to see what happened after it lost all its energy. I couldn't believe it just started discharging on its own, scattering energy like fuel rods toss neutrons in a nuclear reactor. There had to be some meaning to it. Otherwise, it'd be disappointing at the very least.
Yes, you heard right—I turned into a full-on vivisector! Though real vivisectors work on live subjects without anesthesia, since "a well-secured subject doesn't need it." My subject was dead, for one, and I didn't catch it myself—Tessa brought it to me.
Of course, the blinking "Error 606" raised questions about what powered it, since the core was now just a chunk of ultra-dense metal with a bunch of wires and, essentially, a tiny chamber for holding thermonuclear plasma—all designed to power drones.
After digging that up from the system's internal data, I nearly checked it on myself, but a shred of sanity stopped me. So instead of cutting open my own chest, I sliced into the dead drone's.
I was also curious about how the Solver works—another reason I dug out the core. How does it take over drones, slap them with this error, and so on? I wanted to know what it takes to resist it.
Setting aside the laser cutter I'd used to slice the drone's chest, I slowly pried apart the aluminum plates, revealing its core. First thing that hit me—it wasn't glowing. No light, no hint it ever held energy. The indicators were now just decorative, and the wires were mere threads—some even melted.
Grabbing scissors, I unceremoniously snipped the wires off the core, seeing no point in them anymore. They were as useless as the pile of vials on the shelf across the workshop—I knew I'd never use them. Same deal here.
After cutting the wires, I set the scissors down and sighed. Nothing was stopping me from taking the core and diagnosing it now. So that's what I did. Leaning over the corpse, I grabbed the core with my manipulator and carefully pulled it from the chest, trying to ignore the barely visible bits of flesh stuck to it. Solver influence was there, but minimal—especially compared to hosts. I wouldn't be surprised if my core was fully encased in flesh by now, looking like a raw meatball.
Examining the core with the naked eye, I found no defects—nor should there be. As far as I could tell, it hadn't been subjected to anything unusual beyond that weird half-life decay.
Tossing it in my hand with a satisfied smile, I headed to the other end of the workshop, toward the specialized equipment for diagnosing cores—not drones.
The funniest part? That equipment ran on a nuclear battery—what I dubbed it due to its look. Yep, the same green energy cell that powered Uzi's railgun, the kind littered around the disassembly drones' pod.
Reaching the equipment, I pulled out some wires and, with a few deft moves, wrapped them around the core, plugging the connectors into empty slots and securing it tight. It'd take a tank shot to move it now. Approaching the nearby computer, I tapped a few keys on the holographic keyboard and started the scan. Stretching, I sat on a stool nearby, waiting for results.
A few minutes in, I started suspecting something was off. The screen was blank—no data on the core's condition—yet the equipment's hum grew louder and louder.
I stood and stepped back a couple paces, knowing it'd be dumb to unplug it mid-scan. The manual warned: "Disconnecting the device during a scan may lead to dangerous consequences." I doubted Tessa would forgive me for trashing even one piece of pricey equipment so easily.
Movement on the screen caught my eye. Looking over, I froze. Thousands—tens, hundreds of thousands—of errors flashed across it at breakneck speed, multiplying every second.
Things were getting worse. I glanced at Cyn, who was sitting on a stool, curiously eyeing the monitor, reading the errors like she understood them. At first, I thought she wasn't involved—until everything sparked with yellow lightning: the core, the monitor, the equipment. That's when I realized I was about to get smeared across the wall, which would be unpleasant, to put it mildly.
Spinning around, I dashed to Cyn—who looked at me in confusion—scooped her up, and bolted for the door in the corner of the workshop. Covering the six meters in a second, I burst out, set Cyn down, and slammed the door shut.
Seconds later, an explosion rocked the place—the floor shook beneath me. Warily eyeing the door, I grabbed Cyn's hand. She seemed as surprised by the blast as I was. Guess she didn't expect an explosion when she messed with my equipment via the Solver. And the manor's walls? I'm convinced no one upstairs even noticed the chaos. It's like they're lined with metal inside to handle incidents like this.
Cautiously opening the door and keeping Cyn behind me, we stepped back in. I braced for anything—a wrecked workshop, a black hole where the core was, even a fleshy trail—but I was shocked… by the absence of all that. The workshop was intact—no fires, no explosions, no black holes, and no eldritch horrors trying to bite my head off.
Looking where the core had been, I rolled my eyes. The equipment was toast—no denying that. The spot still smoked faintly. Cleaning this up would take way longer than scrubbing oil stains from my uniform—and I'd had plenty of those incidents. Everything was coated in soot, looking like a failed fire had swept through—which wasn't far from the truth.
Footsteps echoed through the open door. From the distinctive clack of short heels, I knew it was Tessa—and she was hurrying.
Ten seconds later, Tessa burst in, sat on a stool without a glance around, and caught her breath. Her face brimmed with worry and fear—she had something to tell me. After thirty seconds, she lifted her eyes from the floor and scanned the room. The explosion's aftermath caught her attention. Raising a brow and narrowing her gaze, she finally said:
"I don't know… and don't want to know what happened here, but… something's happened to V!" It took me 200 milliseconds to process that scant info. With a slight delay—my servos couldn't move faster—I rushed to the table, grabbed the portable scanner, and fumbled for an energy cell. V had caught "606"—every second counted.
Turning my head, I spotted the nuclear battery on the table near Tessa. Speeding up, I shouted as I neared the door:
"Tessa! Grab that nuclear battery!" At the last second, I pointed at the table and bolted out. Hope she catches up.
Leaping three steps at a time up the basement stairs, I burst into the main hallway. A drone's body doesn't tire, so I ran at near-top speed, guided by instinct. I didn't know where V was, but I figured it was near or in the library.
I made over ten turns to reach the library, in a different wing from the workshop—about 150 meters! Have I mentioned how huge this manor is? Well, I'm saying it again—it's massive!
Rushing into the library, past a few bookshelves, I entered a small corridor—where Cyn's basement was too—and saw N, despair on his display, shaking V by the shoulder and muttering something.
"Move!" I ordered. N flinched and stepped back, trying not to get in my way. His movements were jerky, his face full of fear.
Running to V, I did a quick visual check for external damage that might explain her state. After thirty seconds, finding nothing, I pulled out the scanner and waited for Tessa. It wouldn't give much detail but could tell me if her core was in half-life decay—or if there was no decay, making this a pointless fix for a non-issue.
When Tessa arrived, I snatched the battery from her, yanked out its wires, and plugged them into the scanner. It was on its last legs anyway—burn out or not, who cares? My brother's girlfriend was dying!
Pressing the scanner to V's display, I ran a surface diagnostic, reading every scrap of info that hit my head. The more I read, the lighter I felt—the scanner detected no major core issues, and from what I saw, even her personality matrix was intact.
Guess Cyn didn't want to lose N's trust and didn't trigger half-life in V's core. But if she could control it, why kill that first drone? To add mystery and scare us? Not her style—not at all. She'd do it more elegantly. I hope so, at least.
After the tensest five minutes of my life, spent in total silence, the scan finished. Glancing at the data fed to me via a souped-up Bluetooth analog, I sighed in relief—and then burst into laughter, full blast from my electronic speakers, making Tessa jump. Everyone stared at me, confused, as my laughter turned hysterical.
At first, I laughed because V was fine. Now, I laughed realizing I'd left Cyn alone in the workshop. That terrified me—I started running through every Robo-God prayer I knew.
Slowly rising from the floor, I approached N, who looked at me like I was his last hope. I ignored it stoically. Lifting him up, I patted his shoulder, pushing thoughts of Cyn in the workshop aside. Looking at his display, I said:
"Your girl's fine, heh. Just keep an eye on her, got it?" I grinned, stepping back a few meters toward the library's third exit. N's display showed a blush, and I chuckled quietly.
"Get her on her feet and don't mess with her too much," I added, slowly leaving the library. Gotta get to the workshop—fast.
Tessa propped V up, straightening her legs and leaning her against a bookshelf. Looking at me questioningly, she pointed at V.
I gave a thumbs-up and bolted from the library, racing back to the workshop at top speed. Hope nothing's trashed.
۞⦰۞
The calendar reads… October 17th. A lovely date, especially knowing that tomorrow, the event kicking off this universe's plot begins. Yep, if you haven't caught on, tomorrow's the gala—technically in fifteen minutes, since they decided to hold it at midnight for some reason. The very gala that'll shove this world onto its story rails. There'll be blood, claws, tentacles, and other stuff I don't need. I don't want anything—just leave me alone, and all's good. At least, I think so. Hope I won't have to use the Solver.
The past two weeks were… uneventful, honestly. All the drones suddenly got super careful and stopped breaking themselves. I was only needed when some dummy collapsed mid-room with "Error 606" on its display. Then, yeah, they'd call me to check it with the scanner, which became almost an extension of me. I don't let it out of my hands—well, I exaggerate; it's clipped to my belt.
For the next four days after that notable workshop explosion, I handled those calls N brought me. Then the drones just… ran out. Only the newbies stayed functional—and not for long, I figured.
With a week left till the gala, I finally crawled out of my dusty lab, taking my sister with me. Why not? No one's stopping me, and no one can—Cyn'll deal with anyone who tries. If she can, that is. We avoided humans to not draw attention. Otherwise, it'd suck. I don't want blood on me, even if I'm not the one spilling it. No, Cyn hasn't killed anyone yet—especially not so blatantly—but something tells me she'd do it for me.
When we did run into humans, they ignored us completely, too wrapped up in their own business to care about some little drones. Cyn's about 130 cm, and me… My height's hard to pin down since the Solver's slowly tweaking my body. I was 140 cm when I arrived; now I'm 152. No clue what my final size will be.
The rest of the time, Cyn and I enjoyed art (we all know real art is an EXPLOSION!) and roamed the massive manor, which felt like a museum. The sheer number of paintings, sculptures, and other art pieces was off the charts, matching the manor's size.
Cyn's gotten worse. Remember the [hee-hee] and [giggle]? She can't laugh anymore. Her movements are mechanical, and her face shows no emotion. Her display eyes can only blink now—that's just a few of the issues I've mentally cataloged from her massive pile of problems.
Since the workshop was mostly empty and there was nothing to do but play Minesweeper on the database computer, I moved to the bar with N, dragging Cyn along—no regrets. What a vibe. Sitting in an armchair, staring at the ceiling, listening to music, and dreaming about whatever—eternal stuff. More like plotting my escape. Well, not plotting—just thinking about it without plans. Paradoxical, huh?
So what was I doing in the bar, lounging in that chair? Oh, nothing special—just chilling and savoring my second life, listening to music downloaded from the local network. I was shocked that nearly all the music from the 21st century survived a millennium without getting lost in the interplanetary web. It blew my mind so much that for an hour, I couldn't believe my four hundred tracks were back with their daddy. Right now, I was vibing to an awesome remix of "Heaven Says" that I loved in my past life.
The remix creators nailed blending the Mandela Catalogue with that song—I liked it. Mesmerizing, even.
And while listening, I munched on batteries—industrial quantities, of course. I'd grab one from the packet with aristocratic grace and pop it in my mouth, chewing thoroughly. The acid was surprisingly tasty, which thrilled me since oil was scarce in the manor.
Nothing could disturb my peace—not even the crunch and grind of metal tearing in my mouth, like it didn't faze me at all.
I tried my hardest to ignore one very nosy yellow-eyed figure watching me with one of her dozens of cameras, calculating my every move, ready to leap if a battery chunk got stuck in my throat. Yep, Cyn went into hyper-protective mode, guarding me from every "threat" she imagined. Don't ask how I figured that out.
DARK DAYS EMERGE
you will be purged
DO NOT HAVE FEAR
i am right HERE
HEAVEN IS DEAD
HEAVEN IS A LIE
YOU CANNOT STAY HERE
THERES NOT ENOUGH ROOM FOR THE TWO OF US
NOW SPELL: ANSWER
F-R-E-E-D-O-M
WRONG! TRY AGAIN
NOW SPELL: CESAR
B-A-S-T-A-R-D
WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!
NOW SPELL: DANGER
A-L-T-E-R-N-A-T-E
WRONG! TRY AGAIN
NOW SPELL: VICTIM
H-e-a-t-c-l-i-f-f
WRONG!
THE CORRECT ANSWER IS
Y-O-U
I won't argue—this song's truly epic and beautiful. Those lyrics… Mmm… But sadly, I didn't get to finish it. I was interrupted—not physically, thankfully—but still had to stop the playback in my head.
N walked in, carrying crystal goblets on a tray that reflected the dim light so fiercely I had to dial down my light sensors to avoid frying my matrix. Still, I caught the nervousness in his movements—like something was bugging him, but he knew what. I get it—he felt the looming genocide and total annihilation too.
"You seem [up-pset] big brother N," Cyn said, shifting to her maid form but still not taking her eyes off me. I could feel that piercing stare boring through my casing, like it was peering into my soul. My soul said so, at least, but physically, her eyes showed nothing unusual—like it was just a random hallucination.
"Perhaps you'd like to attend the gala with me. [Light Sip…]" Bringing an oil cup to her mouth, she tried to take the sip she'd voiced, but—sadly—it didn't work. She didn't lift it all the way, not even touching her lips, and tilted it. The oil spilled onto the floor, miraculously missing her outfit. I watched with silent acceptance of my fate—I'd have to clean that up since there weren't many worker drones left. And that's not counting James, who offs drones weekly. Though, who cares about a stupid stain? No one's surviving anyway.
"Oh, not sure we're invited, little buddy." N said with a hint of sadness, setting the tray of goblets on the bar counter. Turning, he spotted me slouched in the armchair with a relaxed look.
"Hey, Ai!" He waved, beaming pure joy on his face. I liked that expression way more than the constant gloom he'd been sporting lately.
I waved back, staring at the ceiling again, pretending to listen to music. I was curious how this convo would differ from canon—my presence shouldn't have gone unnoticed, considering I'd saved dozens of drones from death with timely repairs.
That chat could guide my future plans and adjustments.
"Why not just hang with me?" N continued, rolling a goblet over his shoulder like a trick-shot pro.
"Climbing [crisscross] apple sauce. Am I n-not wanted, N?" I barely held back an "aww" sigh. Every fiber of me wanted to hug and cuddle her, never letting go, but my mind knew that little move could cost me my life—at minimum. (Or 51 years…)
Honestly, it's best not to mess with the yellow-eyed one negatively—canon aside, logic agrees. She'll turn this planet to rubble, which is scary enough.
"Dude, you know it's Tess's folks." N didn't finish—a drop of blood hit his tray. That piqued my interest. Curious how Uzi didn't just poke around in N's head but hacked reality, jumping here from a timeline where I don't exist. Heh.
Wiping the tray, N—panic on his face and with cat-like agility—threw it like a frisbee, embedding it a few centimeters into the wall. I'm still amazed by a drone's physical feats—and this is a butler, not a miner! Per the workshop computer's data, miners' bodies are made of freaking tungsten, not flimsy aviation aluminum!
"Ugh, don't gimme those eyes." N said casually to Cyn, as if he hadn't just yeeted a tray that could decapitate someone. Cyn stared back, displaying a stock golden retriever image on her screen.
"[Giggle...] I'm so [naughty]… The flesh [demands] invitation…" Saying this, Cyn opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and flashed a half-crazed smile, stepping onto a chair to level with N. My eye twitched from the cuteness, but I forced myself to stare at the ceiling, focusing on listening, not looking.
"Ah, we'll ask Tessa, okay? If not… movie night!" N hopped a bit, pointing at Cyn with finger guns, mimicking human quirks. It looked odd from a robot, but I didn't mind—been living with these guys for a month, I'm used to it by now.
"[Sheepish nod…]" Cyn couldn't fully control her head or most of her servos, so she grabbed her head and mimicked nodding twice. It looked surprisingly natural, with a dash of mechanical precision.
"Ai? Will you come with us to Tessa? Cyn feels more confident with you around." Despite that killer argument, I saw no point in going to the dining hall. What'd I do there? Watch James scrap another drone? No thanks—I had my fill of that in the workshop; not all repairs worked out.
Try not to kill Louisa? How do you picture that? I can't—I'd want to grind her bones to dust at first sight. And enduring her snide remarks and glares… Nope. My ABSENCE there would benefit everyone. No need to test my psyche.
"Nah, thanks. I'll stay here, listen to music," I replied with my usual laziness, playing the overworked mechanic forced into overtime. My display showed a player like AIMP's desktop version, pretending to pick a new track. Handy—no need for extras like headphones; the music plays right in my head.
"Okay, suit yourself, bro. Rest up!" N said, tugging Cyn along. She looked at me with some sadness in her illusory eyes, but I stoically ignored it—those mournful reflections in the glow of slightly outdated electric lamps. She said nothing, just kept staring until she left the bar.
Once they were gone, I sighed in relief. Good thing they didn't realize that if I were really listening to music, I wouldn't have heard them—or answered—since I'd have muted my sound sensors.
Why the charade? Simple—I'm scared. Yeah, just scared. I don't want to flash the Solver or Cube, lest—Creator forbid—Cyn spots them. Brother or not, I'd be booked for a spot in her basement, no question.
Fighting her sounds dumb. My outdated, half-dead core can't handle my Solver's demands. And even if I ditch the Solver and use the Cube, I still can't touch her. She's got every drone core in this manor networked, sharing energy and processing power for her insane tasks. She can tap each core individually or all at once. Either way, I'd be reduced to atoms.
Right now, I need to head where the epic battle between future disassembly drones will go down. I've got to see it with my own eyes. If memory serves, it's on the second-floor balcony overlooking the first. I memorized the manor's layout while wandering and enjoying art with Cyn. I don't want to be a useless lump, so I'll go to the gala with Tessa to surprise Cyn. Along the way, I'll help the main cast protect N's memories. How? I'll distract V so she doesn't mess with the purple-eyed Crow and screw the plot to hell. After that, I can do whatever—nothing'll tie me to this planet.
I stood from the chair, stretching like after a long nap, and leisurely headed to the balcony, passing countless sacks of bones who deemed me beneath their notice. Heh, that'll bite them later—when I'm long gone.
Reaching the stairs to the second floor, I climbed slowly, ignoring the many surprised stares. Ha, I'm probably the first drone they've seen on their way—others are down with errors.
Sidestepping Lord Flumperbucket—who glanced at me, puzzled, muttering in his made-up tongue—I entered the second-floor hallway.
After a few dozen meters with a light step, I reached that fateful balcony. With a few swift, weightless strides, I stood by those iconic armor suits. Time to test the Solver.
Activating the Omni-program, I touched the sword, thinking it'd be cool to copy its structure into my memory. Sure enough, a couple seconds later, a chunk of data flooded my head—how the sword was made, its materials. A precise blueprint formed in my mind, along with creation steps. I only needed the schematics, but I couldn't get them without the rest, so I endured the headache. I'm still too weak—even this small task drains a ton of energy.
I doubt I'll craft it later—no one's letting me. Ideally, I'd hit an empty space station to find zen, power up, and snag perks like an independent energy source.
Scanning the area, I caught a glimpse of robo-cockroach antennae darting past in a dark corner. They think they can hide from me… Nope, they're fodder for my future sword. Heh heh heh.
A sadistic, slightly unhinged grin crept onto my face as I hid my hands behind my back and approached the corner. Peering into the shadows, I spotted the roach—its glowing orange antennae swaying. If only you knew, buddy, how much those give you away.
With one swift move—too fast for a regular roach's processing—I grabbed it, outpacing its reaction. Holding the poor thing to my display, I grinned maniacally.
"You'll be the first to go into my sword…" I whispered, almost licking it. Bit by bit, I'd build a proper weapon to fight with.
The next twenty minutes, I hunted dozens of robotic roaches, stacking them by the armor—killing them first, of course. The more I caught, the more I wondered: "Why the hell are there so many?" I had a sneaking suspicion this manor wasn't built for humans. Given it's next to a dump… it makes sense robotic roaches swarm here.
Eyeing the pile of robo-insects, I pondered how to turn them into a weapon. Time for the jolly divine Cube of Annihilation. In theory, it shouldn't drain cash or processing power—but that's theory. In practice, it could be worse than the Solver.
Activating the Cube, I waited. A second later, a dark gray cube formed above my hand from thin air, absorbing some light and sending it… somewhere. No clue why it does that.
With a wave of my Cube-hand, I mentally lifted the dead roaches off the floor. That thrilled me—telekinesis! Or maybe magnetism. Next, I compressed them into a tiny cube and, after a moment's thought, began "forging" a bastard sword, using the schematics as a base.
I knew the roaches alone might not cut it, so I started absorbing air, rearranging its molecular impurities as needed—especially carbon dioxide.
It felt like I was "grabbing" carbon atoms, linking them into hexagonal grids with an atom at each vertex, then stacking them into a material humans couldn't surpass even after a millennium. Graphene.
It took less than thirty seconds. In twenty, I'd crafted a freaking ultralight bastard sword with molecular sharpness—practically from thin air. It differed from the armor's sword: less shiny, more matte, with a noble dark gray hue. And it was dozens of times stronger and lighter, made of graphene—way tougher than diamond.
Now for a futile attempt to reason with my sister. I'm not hopeful—she's Solver-possessed but not fully. Still, as they say, no harm in trying.
Two minutes later, per my internal clock, I spotted Tessa. Her sneaking along the balcony, avoiding attention, brought a fond smile to my face. She's still such a kid. Realistically, she was pretty stealthy—harsh parents left no room for sloppiness.
But crashing into the armor stand, nearly toppling it, totally blew her cover. "You've been spotted," Skyrim-style, would've fit perfectly.
Only now did I realize I had no clue what this gala was for—or why a ton of guests were invited.
A minute later, Tessa and J—who'd tagged along to help—were armed. Tessa had a revolver, J a sword. Worthy wielders. It was so cute I didn't want to interfere. This was… idyll.
Ten seconds later, N arrived, hiding behind the railing, hoping to go unnoticed. I get it—if a drone's caught off their assigned gala post, it's "Off with their head!" Not literally, but close—N'd be scrapped as defective.
As stealthily as he thought, N urged the girls to hide—fun was about to start… Heh heh heh…
He didn't finish. V's glasses fell from the ceiling, shattering the awkward, tense vibe that'd built up. Everyone—including me—slowly looked up, hoping for something sane. Spoiler: sanity was zilch.
V crawled across the wooden ceiling, punching through it with a monstrous hand. Her leathery wings twitched, and her chaotic movements screamed madness. A yellow cross glowed ominously where her eyes should've been, stark against the ceiling's dark void.
Realizing shit was getting real, the main cast huddled by the window, four pairs of eyes scanning the area. They really think they can fight a half-baked disassembly drone? Good luck.
Wait… Four pairs? Double-checking the suicide squad, my sharp gaze caught an outlier with striking purple, crow-like eyes!
She'd broken the timeline, landing in a universe with the one and only me. I wouldn't be shocked if Uzi doesn't recognize me—pop-ins like me shouldn't have parallel versions, at least not yet. But her timeline-breaking memories will transfer to this world's Uzi when she breaks it, avoiding paradoxes. Void Master knowledge at work.
And… the canon convo kicked off. I tuned it out with the laziest expression possible—I'd heard it dozens of times. I picked this universe for its depth of info and reliance on physics and exact sciences. Popping into a drone's body was perfect—absolute memory and a built-in calculator mean I won't miscalculate anything. Getting stronger from here won't be hard.
There was another option… FNAF… Nope, let's not go there.
"Who? Our Cyn? Nah… She's cool." While I mused, the canon chat rolled on. N was defending his sister. He did decently, honestly. The argument wasn't ironclad—or even glass—but it made you think. It'd stump me—it sounds too convincing.
I didn't get to finish that thought. A certain bespectacled nuisance dropped from the ceiling, wrecking the tense yet cozy vibe.
With a heavy "BAM," she landed, scattering everyone by the windowsill. Raising her head, she seemed to process everything her light sensor caught in half a second, picking her first target. Guess who? Yep—Tessa!
Lightning-fast, I leapt from my hiding spot—unnoticed for minutes—covering the distance in an instant, dodging sparse obstacles. I got there just in time to block V's claws with my new sword.
With a casual swing, I knocked V back, sparking a shower that lit the balcony's gloom. Metal screeched against metal, and everyone below froze, looking up at us.
"N… Head to the basement," I said, so calm and indifferent it sounded like this was routine. Knowing life in the 2000s, it kinda was—partly.
N grabbed the key tighter and bolted, trying not to trip on the rug. I watched until he vanished around a corner to the stairs. As they turned, I caught a muffled "Who was that?" from Uzi.
"And you two…" I turned to Tessa and J, who stared at me in pure shock and confusion. Ha, they couldn't believe a lazy workshop drone could so casually deflect a claw attack.
"Go to Cyn. I'll catch up after dealing with… the nuisance." Saying that last word, I slowly turned to V.
The girls didn't argue, fleeing the battlefield in a wide arc around me and V, praying they wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.
I grinned with unabashed glee, matching V's wicked smile. I swear someone below fainted from fear. Humans—so overly sensitive.
V, tired of waiting, lunged first, swiping her deadly claws. Stepping back, I parried with my sword, sliding aside to let her pass. It cost me about thirty percent of my right arm's durability, but at least I lived.
Spinning on my planted foot, I caught her fist aimed at my head, accompanied by a loud clang and screech. With a creak and a smug grin, I twisted her aluminum fist, dropped my sword, and smashed my damaged right hand into her display.
V staggered back with a glass-crunching sound, clutching her face. I savored watching oil seep through her fingers and drip to the floor.
Only seconds later did I realize I should've run—I couldn't hold her off long. Turning, I bolted after Tessa and J, leaving the creepy thing behind, secretly hoping it wouldn't follow.
Racing down the stairs to the first floor, I dodged drone and human remains littering the path. After descending, I veered left, cutting through a corridor—one branch leading to my workshop.
Another left and a few meters later, I hit a small passage—tiny compared to the manor's scale. At its end, Tessa stood, ready to kick the door—not off its hinges, sadly.
I arrived as she slammed her elegant, aristocratic foot into the double doors, flinging them open with force. Reality wobbled—those doors weigh at least a ton.
"Everyone stand back! This is citizen's murder!" Tessa declared with over-the-top flair, lowering her foot and aiming her revolver at Cyn, perched on a globe at the hall's far end.
Louisa and James started to protest, but they were cut off. I loved seeing Louisa's stunned face as the Solver's yellow static flung her and her hubby across the room.
Cyn teleported mid-hall, pulling the globe into her hand and spinning it like a planet. Go for it, sis—I've no doubt you'll conquer this one.
"Tess-sa… You didn't [have]…" Cyn didn't finish—a bullet sped toward her display, but she deflected it. I eyed Tessa suspiciously, her revolver still smoking. I wouldn't forgive her if she'd killed my sister.
"You didn't have…" Tessa paused, blocking a flying pistol with a "Seriously?" look. But it didn't stop there—goblets, mugs, and a tray followed, exhausting her arsenal. Cyn's face showed zero enjoyment in this mess.
"Ahem… How about a normal, constructive talk instead of… tossing expensive dishware?" I said, and everyone—even the humans—stared at me like I was the second coming. They probably thought I was just a mute lackey trailing my masters. Partly true, but not quite.
Stepping to the hall's center, I approached Cyn.
"Big sister, calm down…" I said, hugging her. I had to bend a bit—she's slightly shorter. This was the moment of truth. She could've taken me then, but didn't—just hugged back.
"Brother Ai doesn't want me to k-kill [humans]?" she whispered, staring into my eyes. She awaited my answer, but I didn't know what to say! This was a real test. My choice would shape not just this solar system, but maybe the whole world. I didn't mind genocide, but my human side still fought it.
Turning, I saw the aristocrats cowering on the floor, staring at us in horror. I recalled humans from my world—worse than these. Hatred for them mixed with disdain for aristocrats, sparking a familiar feeling.
Looking at Tessa, that feeling softened, replaced by cold calculation. But I was past stopping. Rage ignited within me.
"Kill… them… all… Everyone. Except. Tessa." My voice echoed off the dining hall walls, a death sentence sinking into everyone present.
"Okay… B-brother Ai…" Cyn said softly, pushing me away. I turned to Tessa with a faint smile, spreading my arms and shrugging like, "Sorry, it just happened."
Meanwhile, Cyn stepped toward the window, raising her hand with three fingers spread. I knew what was coming and backed off, standing by Tessa. J glared at me like I was public enemy number one—I get it, I greenlit a genocide I could've stopped. Too late now.
"Traitor to humanity," the white-eyed tsundere spat, aiming her sword at me and shielding Tessa. Hard to tell what scared her more—me hurting Tessa or the impending bloodshed. Either way, she wouldn't act in time. Tessa's under my protection.
"That's me," I replied, shrugging with the dumbest grin I could muster.
Then the hall's lights died, and a blinding yellow glow from Cyn—the sole source—hit me. My light sensors rebooted in seconds, feeding my brain a flood of useless data.
Looking to the hall's end, I saw a massive centipede-like thing sprawling across the room, ready to turn humans into pulp.
Part of it writhed under the ceiling, reflecting colors that took my breath away—mostly black, yellow, and white—ominous shades that made me shield my eyes. From pleasure.
"You sh-shouldn't [see] this… B-brother Ai…" Cyn said, and a tentacle shot toward me, miraculously missing everything in its path.
I gripped my sword tight, ready to strike. No, I wasn't fighting this beast—I'm not that reckless. I held it just to keep it during flight—time to test the Void.
Hundreds of milliseconds later, I took the hardest hit of my life, crumpling my chest into a metal accordion and nearly turning my right arm into a noodle. But it didn't end there. My battered frame flew ten meters, crashing through a window into shards and splinters. In my last glance, I caught Tessa and J's worried looks.
With what strength I had left, I focused. I recalled Copper-9's surface, piecing together its outlines and view from the ground—all while falling off the cliff the Elliot Manor sat on.
As a finale, I activated my core, summoning the Void to whisk me to the planet. Something enveloped me, and seconds later, I was somewhere else—utterly drained. I wasn't even surprised I was falling from a huge height. I couldn't care—I just kept my mind sharp to avoid passing out. After landing, sure, but not now.
I barely noticed the slightly higher gravity. Only at the last second, before smashing into a building's roof, did I admire Copper-9's first moon.
Impact… Screech… Crunch… Crack… A critical error flashed before my eyes… And sweet darkness…