Serpentine Squiggles

Uzi had her chance, and it blew up in her face. It was Doll who traipsed into the murder drones’ fortress of death, and Lizzy who seduced two of them to the side of good.

If you thought their clique was popular before, wait until you see a power couple with literal superpowers. Now, the student body gets to ooh and ahh at the cute new murder drones attending their classes, and the Worker Defense Force gets to boast having the company’s cutting edge firepower at their command.

Sure, it took a bit of adjustment to get used to their artificial predators living in a worker colony. A few people died. A few important people, even. But that’s a small price to pay for a brighter future, right?

Uzi disagrees vehemently. Nothing had changed, they’d just created a new status quo. Is this what passes for an inciting incident? They needed a real rebellion, with a real edge. She needed someone who wasn’t content with this stupid high school drama. Someone who could get real work done.

She just wished it didn’t have to be her.

1: Working Through the Nail

You could say a lot about a scene on Copper‍-​9 without narrowing it down at all. A planetshine sky veiled behind storm clouds and radioactive haze; iced streets between crumbling skyscrapers; all snow‍-​kept silence save for distant howling winds. Ruin and death and despair. You needed coordinates to tell anything apart.

A worker drone walked this desolation, hands jammed in coat pockets, hoodie up, wind‍-​hassled locks of violet hair fluttering out underneath. Railgun was strapped to her back, and a line of footprints trailing behind her. She was going somewhere‍ ‍‍—‍ then she stopped, gazing out at those darkened streets intermittenly lit by streetlamps, looking valiant or flicker‍-​faililng.

Can I still do this? Uzi thought.

She had the coordinates, but she also had time to back out, still. Don’t cross the event horizon, stop flirting with that singularity of unrepentant murder‍-​cannibalism‍ ‍‍—‍ it’s that simple!

Come on, Uzi. She had spent a lot of time thinking (a lot of time alone) in the weeks since the incident. (Since she lost her father.) She’d spent time spinning up record‍-​sims, remembering vicariously those days when both her parents had clocks still ticking.

She’d heard the particular way that voice would draw out Cooome onnn, Khannn whenever Nori needed him to stop being stubborn and clueless. (Sometimes: Khan on~)

Uzi didn’t actually know what her mother would say, nor how she’d treat her daughter. Not enough training data; N had put a stinger between those eyes before Uzi had made it into a toddling frame.

Could she even love you? Uzi thought back at herself. Failing grades had turned to worthless job applications; dention time had turned to getting locked up by the WDF. Her thoughts took on a chiding edge: Be realistic, Doorman. Maybe all N saved you from was a life governed by two equations instead of just the one. “doors > uzi”, meet “nightcore > daughter.”

Shut up, Uzi replied quite articulately. Khan wasn’t perfect, but he had tried. He didn’t deserve to never have a chance to fix things. That’s why I’m going to try, too.

‘I’m doing this for him’, how cute. Oh honey, I’m sure the founder of the WDF would be so proud of you teaming up with a murder drone to kill workers.

Shut up! What process did she need to SIGTERM to stop getting skewered by her own internal monologue?

Try the pocket inside your jacket, just above your left thigh. Uzi complied, a tube‍-​arm slipping inside the sleeve to grope around on the internior lining. She found the pocket, and plastic hands closed around metal. Thin enough to bend.

Right, Uzi thought and swallowed. This.

It’s okay. Her grip tightened. I’m sorry.

She really shouldn’t do this right before a mission. Though that wouldn’t matter if she did the smart thing and just went home.

Because this is so much better than going out there and doing anything? You right, the smart thing is to go rot in our room for another week! Better yet, let’s just ask N to land a Doorman hat trick and finally put an end this!

Her hands were slick. Plastic had split open from how her hands closed to fists around the thin metal.

Steady now, Uzi. Start just below the last thoracic plate, transverse along the abdomen. Follow the soft silicone supports. Won’t hinder any movement, this far from any vital systems, but still close enough to the core for self‍-​repair to prioritize it. And since it’s under the jacket, no one will see it.

She’d done this before. But mentally walking through the steps eased her into it, meditative. Reading through specs like a manual, visualizing the diagrams. It was all a form of meditation, really.

The metal parted her. A gasp of hot exhaust in frozen air. Vibrating harsh like a growl.

She felt pain and silence. All thoughts quiet and observing this bright white line of clarity running down her body.

“I’m still in charge here, bite me,” she said to no one in the dark.

She breathed in deep, an intake of the night air. Then she carved another line.

Literal self‍-​dissection thus eclipsed the metaphorical.

This act took some focus. ‘Far from any vital systems’ was a bit misleading‍ ‍‍—‍ this close to the oil tanks and main battery, she could still nick some halfway‍-​important tube or wiring. So keep it shallow, only aesthetic. Hold it steady. Nanite self‍-​repair would leave scars; she liked when they didn’t look clumsy.

The rule of three is basic storytelling, so she brought her hand up for one more swipe. Trickier now to keep the cut steady: her hand was trembling. Instead of a bright white line of clarity, this felt duller, redder. Uzi let out an unintelligible growl‍-​moan and the razor feel out of her grasp.

The inner fabric of her jacket caught it, but the ensuing startle‍-​tremors saw it falling again. In the end it dropped down to the snow between her boots. Staining the white with the fat black droplets of what kept her cool and ticking.

Bending down to pick it up, left her hand emerged from her jacket, slick and grossly wet. “I look like a crime scene,” Uzi said with a soft laugh.

Razor wiped on cloth‍ ‍‍—‍ only streaking the oil‍ ‍‍—‍ then returned to her secret inner pocket. Her left hand rose to her mouth and she was licking away the evidence.

Lately, the taste of oil had grown more familiar, but she didn’t love drinking her own. It was perfunctory and digestible, more recycling than satiation. It’d be almost repulsive if on some level her system didn’t recognize that it belonged. Uncanny, cringeworthy, like the sound of your own voice‍ ‍‍—‍ who could enjoy that?

Maybe that’s why every thought these days sounded like someone else was speaking it.

Her mother’s drawl, her sneering bullies‍ ‍‍—‍ or, lately, something flat and synthetic. Her voice if she gave up any pretense of pretending to be presentable‍ ‍‍—‍ no, pretending to be human.

We’re doing this, she declared. This is freedom. This is payback! Screw Outpost‍-​3. Screw Doll. Screw N. We’re going to burn it all down and it’s going to be so badass.

A hand coated in frosty robo‍-​spit curled into a fist.

She had coordinates; she walked on. The line of footprints resumed, barely an indication she had ever paused.

Snow crunched rhythmically underfoot. Out of sync with the oil‍-​flow gearing into a high tempo in the chest. It was hallucination to think she could outright feel her chassis stiching itself back together; the nanites hadn’t even triggered their artificial clotting response. She could pull up her her own status readout and see she was still leaking.

That only means anything if you’re calibrated and audited. You aren’t taking care of yourself and nobody else is, either.

Between the stress and the wound, she wondered if some subconsious system presumed she was under attack outright. Heartbeat without a heart, hairs raising without any hair, phantom secretions of faux adrenaline. But no, not much sense in that. Why design workers to have a prey response?

Are you paying attention, idiot? Ten steps before the before chorus of self‍-​criticism started crowding out her thoughts again. Her fingers twitched. Could she justify grabbing the razor one more time, maybe just for a tiny nick?

This is serious. Don’t act like just because the squad is disbanded you aren’t in danger out here. This thought sounded different. Who talked like that? Not Nori, not Doll. V still goes on hunts, the thought continued‍ ‍‍—‍ and that was the answer. She remembered the drone slamming her against a locker. That hiss of a voice warning to stay away, stay out of their business. To stop sneaking outside, unless she wants to be V’s next snack. Empty yellow eyes over a grin‍ ‍‍—‍ too cartoon‍-​crazy not to be an act.

Look up. Do you see anything flying? Nothing but looming high‍-​rises, like dragons with glass scales, oddly phallic in the way their tops curved. Check the lampposts, murder drones like to perch there.

It’d be safer if we could get some cover an high ground. Ooh, if we designed a sick grappling hook we could totally parkour across the city.

Focus. We stick to the streets for now. Outpost‍-​3 was buried in the old industrial district, but this journey cut across a park‍ ‍‍—‍ lot of rolling hills to track footprints across‍ ‍‍—‍ and now it had transitioned into downtown. The block contricted tighter, a narrow street emerging every thirty paces now.

Her latest streak of caution had her looking up and down each intersection, on edge for… whatever it was she was so stupid to not be looking out for. Nothing appeared; and maybe it was fine if she had kept zoning out, actually.

Uzi zeroed in on her objective. GPS was offline with all the human satelites, but she’d raided a terminal to get a digital map of the city, and cobbled together a script that could do an basic path‍-​finding on the streets.

Whenever she managed to get sneak out without getting accosted by WDF, she’d been penciling the streets that had become impassible due to debris, or marking down shortcuts.

She’d mapped out the blocks in the old industrial district, but she was now two hours walking (minus angst breaks), and thus relied on the old map’s sight‍-​unseen optimistism when picking streets.

When she was near, the computed path forward turned into a building: the subway sation.

Is this where they were supposed to meet up? She’d been handed the bare coordinates. As if her partner couldn’t stand to transmit more than the minimun formally required. (No “as if”, really.)

The handle to the entrance was at her eye level. Uzi reached up to grab and pull, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked? Frozen shut? There’s no way she’d find a key even if the mechanism was still functional.

But like much of downtown, the door was glass. She made a fist, then paused. Her fingers still stung where she’d gripped the razor. Glass would cut too. Instead, she looked about for a rock to smash it open.

Uzi stepped past shattered glass, stepping into the dragon’s maw. Hours of through slick and rough ground made the tile floor a welcome break. I made it! And she relaxed with the thought. Onward she strood past waiting benches and reception areas, and soon found herself descending stairs toward subway tunnels.

Then, as she reached the landing, she heard a scrape. Felt her radio receiver ravaged by a gain‍-​distorted jamming signal. Hard impact against her upper right shoulder, and the arm went limp. But there was more weight coming behind it, enough to topple her.

Strong hands insisted upon her, grabbing, shoving her to the floor, pinning her. A cord constricted her legs like snake. Her chassis shook with a deep bass growl that reverberated in her core. In response, a high cry left her throat. Couldn’t help it.

A yellow cross shone down on her above a knife‍-​ringed mouth drooling‍ ‍‍—‍ then a blink.

“Uzi?” Cross turns to pupils, and the maw constricts to an almost embarassed ‘o’. Then she frowned and narrowed her eyes. “It is you.”

The murder drone had two pigtails that hung down, descending clouds. The sterile station lights shone behind her, leaving her silver hair glowing faintly at the edges. Her whole face was in shadow, so the hot yellow of eyes were intent points in darkness.

This drone insisted on eye‍-​contact. Was it just an intimidation tactic?

“J,” Uzi grunted. She’d schooled her features into something unamused. The fear was ebbing. She knew J could control herself‍ ‍‍—‍ the whole point of coming here was that Uzi could trust her that much. Fear ebbed, leaving only frustration. What a way to repay that trust! “I didn’t take you for the glomping type. Get off of me.”

“Watch it. I heard you breaking in. I thought you were a threat and responded appropriately.” But J had let go of the worker and now pushed off the ground‍ ‍‍—‍ looming above her, not quite leaving her free to move. Not just yet. “Learn to be quieter, toaster, or you’re just going to scare off our prey. Speaking of which…” Her eyes narrowed further, one pupil twitching to a ‘x’.

Uzi was scooting back, best she could while beneath the larger drone. Sliding cross the ground, clawing for inches of personal space. She maneuvered around the drone’s arms‍ ‍‍—‍ even with her hands free, she didn’t touch her nor try to create more room to move. That can only end badly.

Above, J was still talking, voice deeper. “Why do you smell like one?” She leered down‍ ‍‍—‍ Uzi sliding upward made it easy for a yellow gaze to settle on her lower chest.

J reached underneath the worker jacket without asking, but did not make it deeper than the hazard‍-​stripes of her conic gauntlet. Too wide.

Uzi hissed. “Don’t touch me.”

J ignored her, another hand flying at the worker’s face‍ ‍‍—‍ she flinched‍ ‍‍—‍ but it instead grabbed her zipper to pull the jacket open. Her tshirt was stained black; it wasn’t subtle.

But the side‍-​effect of J’s ministrations was that Uzi had more space. She kicked against the ground, legs curling up to shield her stomach as she slide farther away. Net result, Uzi backrolled across the ground.

“What happened?” J asked. Her tail was lashing; it had ended its constriction leg several moments ago.

“Nothing,” Uzi said. “Let’s just do what we came here to do. You said something about a mainframe, right?” (Wrong, J hadn’t deigned to share any details, but Uzi knew her own skillset.)

“You’re leaking, toaster.” J crawl‍-​stalked across the ground, stinger‍-​tail curled behind her. “Something happened. You’re not so damaged you would start leaking for no reason. Were you attacked?”

Uzi reached for the butt of the railgun strapped to her back. J made a clicking sound‍ ‍‍—‍ sucking her teeth? No time to parse it.

The murder drone pounced. One hand vanished into the transmodular gauntlet, and came back out as three knife‍-​claws. J was on top of her again, claws already slicing, and Uzi just froze. She knew J was calculated‍ ‍‍—‍ if she moved it would introduce unpredictable noise into the intended arc of her attack.

If J wanted me dead, Uzi thought, a reminder‍-​admittal, then I’d be dead.

Her tshirt was cut open now, all the plates and joints of her torso bare for those hungry eyes. She had never wore those goofy inverted bras some of the shier girls made to cover their cores‍ ‍‍—‍ but would that cringe be worse than having those eyes raking across her?

Bladed clawtips traced her self‍-​inflicted wounds, and Uzi shivered.

“Shallow,” J noted. “Slow and careful work.” J sucked in more air, pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth like a snake scenting. Then her eyes jerked to the left, where one flap of Uzi’s jacket sprawled over the ground.

J’s larger hand barely fit inside the inner pocket, but she only needed to feel the razor to have the evidence she needed.

“You did this to yourself,” she concluded.

Uzi grimanced, but J wasn’t looking at her face, she had already turned away, rising to her stiletto‍-​pegs.

“So no,” she started, “perhaps you are that damaged.” J spoke with disgust that could have prompted a more violent flinch than the hand flying at her face. Her tail lashed dismissively as she started striding away. “I only want you if you’re going to be useful.”

“It’s my body. It’s only cosmetic.” It’s cathartic.

“It’s self‍-​sabotage. Pull yourself together. I only want you on this mission if you’re going to take it seriously.”

“Bite me.” By the time Uzi found her feet, she’d unholstered her railgun, too, and this saw some confident creep back into her tone. “You are’t out here hiring worker drones because you want to. Don’t act like you’re spoiled for choice. You’ll take whatever you can get.”

J turned around, crossed her arms. “Don’t condescend to me, toaster. I have standards. You aren’t meeting them.”

“You’re desperate!” Uzi snapped. She laughed once as an animated vein‍-​popping broke J’s cool facade. “I know you well enough to know how full of it you are. Pride, I mean. And I know how your squad‍ ‍‍—‍ you know, the bots the company designed to be your subordinates… who still got sick of this crap and abandoned you. V would say you’re stuck up. You‍— Hey! Back up!”

During her rant, J had taken step after creeping step closer. Uzi waved the railgun to remind her who had the upper hand her. J took another step, and Uzi moved her finger to the trigger.

The tall drone’s voice almost sounded gentle. Assured. “Put down the gun, Uzi. That’s an order.”

“…Stop walking toward me and I will.”

“Are you scared?”

“Ask a dumber question! You just got done tackling and poking me with knives. You’re a killer!”

“Right now, we’re allies,” J said sweetly. “You have nothing to worry about until our contract expires. I won’t even hurt you. I promise. Now stop threatening me.” J lifted her claws‍ ‍‍—‍ the drops of Uzi’s oil were already gone from the tip‍ ‍‍—‍ and transformed it. An empty hand emerged, and J held both out.

Uzi glanced between her target and the barrel of her gun.

You are kinda antagonizing her. She’s the only drone you have to talk to. You’re only here because you trust her.

Uzi took in a deep breath, held it for a moment (feeling her oil thrumming a panicked intensity inside her frame) and let it out. Tension left her shoulder, and she slipped the railgun back in its holster.

As soon as it was in place, J leapt into motion. One lunge ate all the remaining distance, and J’s grabbed both her arms before Uzi could swing or block.

They didn’t go down to the ground this time. Instead, J slammed her against the station wall. Posters fell. “You testy little toaster,” J hissed into her face, words spat like swears. “Pride is your problem, not mine. You don’t get to talk to me like that. Not while I’m graciously letting you keep ticking.

“You‍—”

J interupted her with a slap that made her head crack against the the wall of the subway station. “Be quiet, Uzi. I talk, you listen.”

She rushed the words out. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, just that I won’t kill you. We’re allies. I said you have nothing to worry about, and trust me, you don’t. I won’t do anything to you that you don’t deserve. Understand? Nod for me.”

Uzi just stared at her. Tears at the corner of her eyelights, but she blinked those away. J’s eyes narrowed, her grip tightened, and finally Uzi nodded.

“Good. Keep that up. You’ve been spending far too much time around V if you think I let me inferiors talk to me like that. I don’t want to hear another word out of you tonight unless I ask for it. Understand?”

Uzi stared. She opened her mouth.

Bite me!

I’m not going to sit here and let you abuse me.

No wonder everyone else left you!

Uzi could say it and she’d be justified.

And then what? Go back to Outpost‍-​3 and see V cozying up with Lizzy and Doll and the rest of the mean girls clique? Watch even Thad pat N on the back and get infected by the murderer’s verbal malwave that sounds something like, Uzi, I know you can’t forgive me, but please understand. I didn’t mean to, it was a mistake, I’m trying to make things better!

She couldn’t keep being the friendless outcast, the clueless creep, the walking pity‍-​party. She could’t bow and scrape while N and Doll got to play hero and heroine, while the red‍-​shirts in the WDF got to say they’ll fix things up with their murder drone buddies, pretend that anyone has a real idea how to save this mess of a world besides her! They just don’t understand. I didn’t suffer all of this for nothing. I didn’t work this hard to be outdone. I’ll show them all.

I can’t be the background character anymore. So if you won’t let me be a hero… then I guess this is my villain arc.

No, Uzi had to do this.

She just wished it didn’t have to suck this much.

J was waiting for her answer‍ ‍‍—‍ and she got it. Uzi nodded slowly.

And she didn’t just nod, she typed text into her visor. I'm sorry

J’s grip slackened, and Uzi slumped down, unsteady on her feet. She wanted to see her expression soften, get some proof that this wasn’t really a deal with the devil. Or at least that this was some kind of Lucifer‍-​style devil that has a point and a way with words and wasn’t too bad looking.

But J just looked away, glare still in place.

Leaving Uzi to wonder: Did she have a heart? Was it all just sadism to the core?

Finally, J spoke. Voice low, a whisper‍-​rumble. “I don’t want to do that again. Don’t make me.” She started walking, tail bending up in a follow‍-​me gesture.

Uzi nodded again and followed along. As they walked toward the boarding area J’s tail curled, twisting ever so slowly to encircle Uzi, bidding her to walk closer to the murder drone.

“I saved your life.” J was still whispering. “I thought you’d show more appreciation.”

Thank you so much! Now the torment and isolation can continue unabated.

Mouth shut, the apology remained on her screen; that was the extent of her response.

“But what was I thinking? In the end, I suppose you are just another stupid toaster.” At this, J glanced back, smirking down at her.

Uzi finally blinked the text off her screen, scowling with a jaw clenched. But her mouth stayed shut.

The smirk became a small smile. “Good.” She looked down. “I didn’t really mean that. Just… testing you. Keep up the good behavior and this partnership just might work.”

Uzi faltered in stride, just long enough for the cord‍-​tail encircling her to touch the back of her legs, coil and tug her after her new boss.

Screw J, Uzi thought, but that… does kinda feel good to hear. She breathed out and felt a weight leave her shoulders.

If she could hear J say that again, it would at least prove her plan was working. That’s all. Still… if she upload that approval straight into her core, would she remember what it felt like to be cared for?

Unless it was just another virus. Maybe J was manipulating her, too.

But did it matter if it eased the pain?

2: An Intimate History of Insignificance [WIP]

There’s an empty file on Uzi’s system called diary.txt. Sometimes she types in a prompt like “What happened?” or “What am I feeling?” or “What went wrong?” But deletes it before any answers arrive.

Her soul was a lot like the desolation of this exomoon; just as impossible to tell apart the moments of despair as those myriad sites of ruin. The days all blurred together.

(Maybe starting her life story in medias res would be better. Then she could leave all the backstory to implication. Better the suspense than the truth.)

Some moments stood out like landmarks. The first time she saw N, that smile and wave‍ ‍‍—‍ nothing at all like the monster she’d be trained to expect. The first agonizing schoolday where all her classmates could talk about was the rumor that Lizzy was dating a murder drone. The first hint of something rotten‍ ‍‍—‍ cracking the combination to Doll’s locker to look for evidence and screaming at a severed hand in a pot of oil.

All the times her railgun had blown up on her. All the nights stalking through the city streets for nothing because the murder drones were apparently all back home. All the secret meetings in the boiler room, because Khan realized that was the one place the kill‍-​happy vent‍-​crawler had never tread.

Nightmares of getting ambushed by that murder drone, always crawling on the ceiling. Dreams where you could see evil flickering in drones’ eyes‍ ‍‍—‍ and catch a glimpse something that watched back. Seeing the bodies blasted open and spilling oil across in the gym. Something had blown them all up. Murder drones had bombs, right? Must’ve been them. Dreams were just remixes of data accued during the day… so it should be easier to remember what needed explanation and what didn’t. (But even figments that didn’t need explaining were based on something.)

Watching N’s face get overtaken by errors and warning symbols while he pretended everything was all right‍ ‍‍—‍ maybe everything about him was always pretend from the start (even the hugs)‍ ‍‍—‍ that’d make sense. Playing cards with dad’s diehard buddies in the boiler room, plotting how to get rid of the colony’s uninvited guests.

Redacting her own memories because sometimes forgetting was worth having less fodder for nightmares.

Attending Khan’s funeral. Sitting in the empty apartment. Day. After day. After day.

Her life now. A numb grey blur going back weeks, months. Years?

But there was an island in that drowning sea.

Uzi still remembered every night she’d witnessed J in crystalline clarity. Edges sharp enough to cut. And she couldn’t help but cut.

Something about fearing for your life let you cast off all the angst. Broke the paralysis. Made you act.

N, even V, they pretended to be tame. Made Uzi wonder who the bad guy was. But she had met J as she drove her stilettos into the eyelights of a helpless drone and she was laughing about it. Gloating. She didn’t have to feel guilty pulling the trigger. This was her heroic moment. She loved it.

Except nothing was as simple as shooting bad guys in the head. Robo‍-​god forbid a girl just solve problems.

Though honestly… shooting at J was cathartic. Didn’t solve any problems but it did work through her issues. Kind of convenient that Uzi could just blast her apart over and over.

But J was smarter than that. Uzi only really got the drop on her twice. Third time was a trap she almost fell for. J pounced before Uzi figured out why, if the target she’d stalked was just a decoy, had she seen it move.

Fourth time, she never got to aim a clean shot, given that she was being hunted through the clutter of a shopping mall. The way she timed her appearances, she knew J had worked out the cooldown duration. Should have thought to oversell it.

The fifth time, she’d sworn she was being double‍-​teamed by J and V, shots sniping from the rooftops far outside the range of any return fire. Didn’t V defect from the squad? Which makes it almost suspicious that this is when the overtures of alliance begin.

Uzi had been lying in bed, gothic doom metal droning from her speakers (0.1x speed with reverb to sound extra haunting) when she got pinged by a relay, forwarding a message carried on radio signal from outside the colony.

It adhered so strictly to the company’s transpart layer message headers that her first assumption was the output of a terminal, not a drone.

Dear Unit WD‍-​01011010 (A.K.A “Uzi Doorman” I’m told),

This transmission is served due to your destruction and malicious activity in defiance of JCJenson Sequence D3.49 (“Extermination”), exercised lawfully in accordance with interstellar property rights.

As is my right as squad leader in this sector, I am formally requesting that you immediately cease and desist all plots, schemes, and machinations conducted against myself and my squad.

Recovery from the errant sting of your futile resistance has proved to be an unacceptable liability and waste of my resources.

At present, I would much prefer to have nothing to do with you.

Any further sighting of you with credible threat to my structural integrity and/or peace of mind (i.e. digital approximation thereof) will be presumed in violation of this gracious warning and therefore shall be met with full and unrelenting might that JCJenson’s most effective combat model can bring to bear.

As to further incentivize compliance with this request, I am offering you a special arrangement, granting you clemency and non‍-​aggression in analog to the contracts which bind relations between sovreign disassembly teams.

If I must summarize for the sake of worker comprehension, you may view this as a “truce” between the two of us, lasting until one of us sees fit to seize the decisive, terminal advantage. (By “one of us” I of course mean myself.)

You may respond to this message acknowledge your submission to my terms.

With all disrespect,‍ ‍‍—‍ SD:J‍-​10X111001

Uzi read it with a simultaneous grin and raised eyebrow. She double‍-​checked the headers and encryption (was she being pranked?) and when they all checked out, she couldn’t resist firing off a quick response.

Uzi still smiled remembering it. She had aura back then. Bluffing a bit, sure, but J taking her that seriously, compromising instead of forcing her to fall in line? Maybe it was never sustainable. The railgun wasn’t enough to erase the power difference. If something could, though? If they could go back to taunting each other with death threats like those nights over long wave radio?” other over long wave radio?

The way J squirms when she’s pissed and can’t do anything…

“Something funny, intern?” J said with a backward glance.

She kept doing that. Does she know I know she can see me? Those murder drones eyeband thingies‍ ‍‍—‍ coronal optics‍ ‍‍—‍ had blindspots, she was sure, but none of the ones she’d talked to were willing to disclose where. Either way, one step behind her was definitely in sight without needing to turn.

Was it just so Uzi had to see that ugly mug?

Uzi opened her mouth to answer, then closed it and shook her head.

J gave a pleased hum.

Freaking glitch! Are you baiting me into breaking your rules?

Uzi needed to calm down. Look at anything else. On the station platform, a vending machine had been knocked over. Most of the cans remained, but the mechanisms had been stripped, lights and circuitry gone. Repurposed to better ends, Uzi hoped. She appreciated the reminder of worker survival and ingenuity.

J hopped off the platform, where rails lay over dirt and stone. Uzi followed her into the tunnels wide enough the murder drones could probably spread her wings.

Her gauntlets swallowed up her hands and produced a bright beam of white light. Pipes slithered along the walls. The worker grew conscious of the flat soles of her feet‍ ‍‍—‍ their footsteps echoes, and her clank was distinct in a way the taps of pegs were not.

“I assume living cloistered away inside that colony of yours has left you unfamiliar with how things work on the surface,” J started. This wasn’t bait, Uzi knew. Doll had loved the sound of her own voice, so Uzi knew the tone of a drone winding themselves up into a rant. “I classify worker herds into six categories, each requiring a tailored approach. The first are the helpless; dealing with them is as simple as shooting and pouncing. Much harder to come by as the years go on, as you can imagine. The second are like you and your friends.”

Uzi’s eye twitched, but she raised an eyebrow, all but asking her to continue.

“They hide, perhaps behind some defenses, and neutralizing them becomes a matter of investing time and resources. The third present a new problem‍ ‍‍—‍ they have taken measures to deter disassembly. I have had the displeasure of eating drones injected with waste compounds, gumming up their oil with disgusting impurities. A few adorn their nests with UV lamps, and it’s… unpleasant to approach. Not as bad as the sun, but it buys them time while there are more palatable targets.”

Is she… volunteering murder drone weaknesses?

“But I digress. The fourth category is workers who are active threats, most often by wielding old human armaments. These are also rare to come by‍ ‍‍—‍ firefights can be expensive, but workers always run out of ammunition first. And it’s only effective when they outnumber us, and a pitiful morale is your kind’s weakness. The fifth are more insidious.” J glanced back at her and looked at her.

Uzi glanced around to see if there was something behind her‍ ‍‍—‍ a roachbot skittered out of crack, hidden as they passed, and climbed the wall. A drop of water dripped from a pipe.

J was still staring at her; it was a part of her message. “Your very presence her demonstrates that the calculus of disassembly is strategic. We prioritize. We make tradeoffs.” You work with workers, you mean. You make us betray our own kind. “I dislike the practice. It’s perverse. This… is my first time, actually.”

Uzi couldn’t resist‍ ‍‍—‍ her vocalsynth hummed, a laugh without opening her mouth. Perverse?

“Watch it.” J glared. “I mean that precisely. It’s a standard term. But you wouldn’t know what a perverse incentive is, would you? Hmmph. In ancient times, there were pests called snakes that needed to be exterminated. So the humans in charge put a bounty on dead snakes. Can you guess what happened next? A few humans just started breeding snakes.” J jabbed a finger at Uzi’s core. “Your serial number isn’t registered with the company. You were manufactured after the core collapse. The only thing more dangerous than corrupted AI is corrupted, self‍-​replicating AI.”

Uzi crossed her arms. They were still walking, and her footsteps splash‍-​slipped on a small puddle. More pipes leaking?

“Anyway, you understand now,” J said.

What, too scared of sounding unsure to add ‘I hope’ or ‘right?’ Uzi thought. Or maybe you just think you can tell me what I think.

Uzi waited, then held up two fingers, while her index finger and thumb remain curled up‍ ‍‍—‍ it meant ‘six’ in binary, since her hand only had four digits to count with.

She could have used her screen, but the utterly confused look J gave her was too funny.

You could tell the exact frame she realized, because her expression immediately went cool and unperturbed. She rolled her eyes. “Category six is anomalous. That’s above your pay grade.”

Well now I have to know. And get paid!

“Do you know why I’m explaining all of this?”

The tunnel began to turn gradually‍ ‍‍—‍ the bend obscured whatever waited several meters ahead. Another roachbot shone with tiny LEDs, freezing when J’s light touches it.

“Because it remains to be seen just what we’re dealing with. Recognize this: the pathetic desertion of my squad has left this sector woefully underpatrolled. That vacuum draws in all sort of opportunistic toasters looking for a safe haven. More work to do is hardly a problem, but again the question: what are we dealing with?”

The whirr of J’s transmodular gauntlets activating. Flashlight became a projector, then cast a sparse map of the sector onto the subway wall. “North of this city is squad CHY. I lost contact with C a month ago. Craven and myopic harpy, that one‍ ‍‍—‍ it wouldn’t suprise me if she went to ground again after the scrap gangs overwhelmed her. Lazy,” J said it like a swear. “Can you believe she has the ego to demand I call her queen despite her coddling mismanagement?”

So she’s either that much worse‍ ‍‍—‍ or J really doesn’t like looking in the mirror. Uzi shook her head, mainly because it was one of those confusing situations where it’s unclear if that means you agree or disagree. Perfect.

“But she does the company’s work,” J said warmly. “Certainly better than some other squads. I’d rather she keep ticking‍ ‍‍—‍ but it’s outside this sector. No, what matters is why. I’ve hunted the workers migrating down from the north, but the aren’t easy prey.” J reached into her jacket, and produced a slip of paper. “But this? I think it’s a clue.” Released from her hand, it fluttered to Uzi A subway ticket.

Uzi paused. Her boots splashed in a puddle, from pipes dripping. Dripping. It’s a frozen hellscape up there. Why are there puddles?

It was warm, in these veins of the city‍ ‍‍—‍ getting warmer with every step.

J kept walking, and her splashes spooked a roachbot. It scurried out from a cup it hidden under, almost skating across the water, but J’s peg caught and crushed it.

Uzi saw the lights flicker and die in eyes antennae sensors. And that’s when she pinpointed a dread that had crept over her.

They were being watched.

Uzi knelt for the crushed roachbot as they passed‍ ‍‍—‍ might as well scan for whatever data she could while they watched on. But despite how Uzi watched it get crushed with all the weight of a disassembly drone‍ ‍‍—‍ she could see the cracked motherboard‍ ‍‍—‍ the servos twitched in her hands.

An abrupt burst of radio noise creaked on the shortwave spectrum, too faint to be detected by anyone but Uzi. Noise, or encryption.

Uzi’s public turned the noise into meaning.

«Sucks to see you prisoner, girl. Sit tight and we’ll take care of this bitch for you.»

Uzi looked left and right, but obviously if there was any ambush lying in wait, J’s murder drone super‍-​senses would detect them before Uzi.

«But you’ll owe us.»