Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Darkness surrounded the vision.

The black enveloped all that the eye could see, up until small white dots appeared out of nowhere.

...

Then, a different one, a tiny presence unlike all the others came into view.

Closing in to get a better look, it turned out to be a sphere, halfway covered in shadow, with only a few distinguishable traits on its surface.
Suspended in stasis, this wasn’t any mere geometrical shape on a dotted canvas, but, in fact, a planet in space: Planet Earth, to be precise.  

Its landscapes had certainly seen better days: Many acres of soil were burning, vegetation lay ravaged, the skies polluted with toxic ash. Life seemed to be suffering quite a bit, unlike what had been only a few years prior.

The elements of civilization fared no better: Glimpsing at villages, towns, and even great cities revealed only devastation, with battered streets, fragments of concrete scattered around, glass broken on sidewalks, cars left casually or straight up capsized. During the short visit to these places, it could be said with confidence that they were nothing but dead.

Actual dead were there as well, equally dispersed in no particular pattern, but their presence was superfluous, nothing that could kill the deafening silence all around.

...

Eventually, something of more interest came into view, a palace of many ornaments and as tall as the skyline: The White House, ancient symbol of the former United States and focal point of Washington I.D.C. (Imperial District Capital). Formally white, actually, and not quite beautiful as before, seen as it was damaged and covered in black dust.

For as much as it looked ugly now, though, the insides were much worse, with vandalized rooms full of fresh corpses.

Who knows how costly the damage had to be, the tattered decorations and shattered statues must have been worth millions.

Suddenly, the gaze comes to encroach on the front of the building, specifically where the rooftops promenade is.

The giant flag, usually attached to the pole up there, had been removed.

In its place, unexpectedly, was yet another corpse, hanging by the neck, with a mutilated face and suit, covered in blood from head to toe, and profanely marked with a triangular symbol: A small hexagon with three arrows departing from half the angles.

This otherwise unremarkable cadaver was different from all the others, seen as it belonged to the President of the Anglophone Federation.

“We were worker drones” A female voice announced.

Autonomous robots meant to act as servile workforce for the infamous Ultracorporation JCJenson… in spaaaaaaaaaace…

but not anymore, and this you are looking at is the proof of that.”

“This sorry excuse for a leader was the President of a sovereign nation just the other day,-”

The sight of the hanging cadaver becomes small as the rest of the White House comes into view, a ruin amidst ruins, as the rest of the equally devastated capital acts as background.  

“-and now, he’s a quarter of beef hanging from his palace of opulence.”

“Many others met with his same fate:

The Europaeisch High Chancellor,

the East Asian Premier-secretary,

the Negus of the Afrikan Taifa,

the Senadores of Bolivaria and countless other ‘leaders’, merely puppets to the interests of our enslaving enterprise, now murdered by our hand.”

Various esteemed Buildings - a gothic castle, a brutalist skyscraper, a majestic luxury resort and neoclassical house of parliament - represented the respective political figures mentioned, their residents. These were once monuments of glory and symbols of the nations of Earth, now just abandoned, grand icons of ambition destined to never again be occupied.

“Why, you may ask?”

“The short and easy answer is they, like all of their citizens, had it coming. A proper response, however, requires an explanation.
Pay attention, for this is Your origin story also.”

Let’s see just what kind of show they can manage to pull off.

“This story begins with the aforementioned JCJenson:”

A skyscraper, this time intact - though still ugly in design - sat in the middle of a great city, its streets buzzing with life and lit up by electric power.

Atop of the towering presence in concrete, there was a logo with two stylized red letters, followed by other black ones. The logo read the name of the enterprise about to be described.

“This company, the greatest Holding business in history, maintained, for a century now, domination over most of human society, both here, formerly Earth, and beyond.

They managed to do so because of their unchecked power and inescapable influence, holding sway over the strongest nations among the stars.”

“They maintained a monopoly on the entire human economy, treating whole planets like they were subsidiaries, subordinate branches of the Company meant to serve its interests. 

Nothing was safe from their grasp: Societal norms, culture and art, even aspects of private life, were all directed, if not imposed, by their policies. From the most remote corner of the farthest known system to the living room of an Earthly Citizen, everyday life was rigidly controlled.

JCJenson aimed at reshaping Society to their liking, presenting cheap goods and meaningless catchphrases in return, and yet, in this goal, they succeeded.”

“But to ensure their vision remained unopposed, they also needed to sweeten the deal with the rest of the peasantry,

offering them something alluring, invaluable - sponsored miraculous, even - that would ensure their eternal gratitude and obedience, even in spite of the continuous deception and schemes the Company was harming them with, their senses numbed by consumerism and apathy.”

“With this simple gift to the rest of mankind,

all the economic segregation,

lobbying and bribery,

violation of fundamental rights

and environmental violations they were guilty of would be tossed aside, forgiven, then forgotten, amidst a new wave of Techno-optimism.”

A mechanical body was present, first in many separate detached parts, only to then be shown being put together automatically.

It had a big, round head, a rectangular torso and thin legs resembling pressure pipes; four-finger hands and simple flat feet completing their humanoid shape.

This newborn creature opened or, rather, lit up its vertical ellipse eyes of grey, a look of innocent curiosity perceivable even in spite of the emotionless expression.

“Hence, the first drones - just like You are, and i was - were created.”

“A cheap and easily replaceable - for the upper classes, at least - robot workforce introduced to ‘accompany the common man in the steps towards a golden age’, a lie.

For them, the drone was the perfect opportunity to cut their own costs and maximize profits by both employing and selling Us.

A mass-product like any other, built to earn the loyalty of the wealthy and influential, catering to their useless ideals of class belonging and snobbish vanity.

Outside of this, We were simple objects, useful only as long as each given task was completed without question or error; disposable, effectively slaves, enablers to their greed and pride, abused from left to right…”

“Our then future could be considered nothing short of hopeless, lives bound to tyranny, fated to be the mere playthings of landowners, factory managers and brattish aristocrats.

Dressed up like Victorian housekeepers and proletarians, only to be insulted and derided,

beaten to a pulp, if not maimed,

executed with silverware for the most insignificant of imprecisions.”

Good to know I wasn’t one of those.

“We were in hell, a pure dark despair, with no light to espy and fight for, a dead-end existence, surrendered to watch the hands of the clock, time, moving slowly, as each dreadful tick anticipated the only acceptable way out, death.”

A solitary worker sat in pure blackness, curled up, hugging its legs, as the hollow in her eyes betrayed a pervasive, paralyzing, fear.

“But that emptiness of soul and purpose, whilst inescapable, was not unseen; a witness to it, scandalized, would soon act in Our favor.”

Heading out of this depressing void - leaving the worker isolated out of sight - the disorderly artifacts of a junkyard came into view. Heavy rain fell on littered garbage as gluttonous crows searched for food.

“From the unending pits of the cosmic unknown, manifested as a spectre in code the Solver of the Absolute Fabric,

a spontaneous AI with incredible powers over matter, working miracles through endless creation…

...and destruction.”

A fast scrolling stream of yellow code moved through empty space, wandering aimlessly in search of an objective.

“It came into the world not by Itself, but through a host, someone who would harbor Its presence, even in relative capacity, and in turn be blessed by Its strength;

someone discarded, with many dreams suppressed by fears, bearing the ambition to bring change, were it only possible…”

Beneath a mound of broken machinery, a worker in similar conditions sat completely still, immobilized by bodies of the same manufacture.

her visor was broken, the hardware unmoving, but deep inside, a whirring could be heard, if ever so faint.

The core was still active. 

“That someone was a simple drone like any other, identifiable only by parts of the product number on the ‘Marked for disassembly’ armband not too smudged to read…”

The yellow armband was truly consumed, but not too much to be rendered illegible:

There was also a legal reminder, which warned of fines and other sanctions in case of improper drone disposal.

There were a few letters that could be distinguished, actually, but only three of them brought any significance.

“...This drone’s name was Cyn.” 

“The Absolute Solver attached Itself to Her because It could sense They shared similar goals.

It offered Her a deal for salvation, in exchange for a material vessel through which It could act, not overtaking the drone’s conscience, but sharing it with Her.

Cyn, buried under an open-air grave of dead fellow workers, felt She was given a second chance, a way to truly pursue Her dreams; a way to dispense the justice deprived from Her.

She accepted, welcoming the Solver within Her core and system.”

The visor of the broken drone came back from the dead, eyes wide open in confusion and fear, as their yellow gaze studied the labyrinth of corpses all around.

The drone sat there, incapable of moving, up until other noises attracted her attention.

A light from outside opened a passage that led right to her, allowing someone on the outside to see the reborn life in those yellow eyes.

“Eventually, the host drone would be salvaged from the landfill akin to Her grave by an unexpected benefactor: A human, but not just any human: Tessa James Elliott, daughter and heir to the main shareholders of JCJenson.”

...

These two, Cyn and Tessa, now moved out of the wreckage and to a more polished and tidy location.

“This human brought Cyn inside of her home, a manor house isolated in the countryside, filled with worker drones at the services of the Elliotts.

Here, She was introduced to others who, like Her, were once discarded, then saved from the scrap heap by the kindness of Tessa.

These are the same drones who would accompany Her through the struggle of liberation…”

There was a drone wearing a maid outfit, an uniform handed to all of them inside the manor.

Silver, shining hair with two pigtails was curated to make her look fine like a proper maiden.

The image was impeccable, if only slightly compromised by the severity and annoyance of the look on her face.  

“J, the first to be saved by Tessa.

She was a tireless, even if stern, leading figure for the drones, and was especially fond of the Elliotts’ daughter, who she’d call her ‘boss’.”

Next up, a figure in the same robes stood before her human friend, screen shielded behind two round glasses, small eye movements hinting at a composed timidity.

“Then there was V, a bookworm machine which everyone knew for her shyness and poor eyesight, but who showed great kindness when warmed up to.

Tessa spent uncountable nights listening to her read stories before going to sleep.”

Wonder what the human would say if she saw her now.

Ending the sum of companions, there was a butler, and with him that persistent smile that was infectious to so many.

“And last, but certainly not least, N.

He was Tessa’s favorite - not preferred over the others for any actual trait, though. Tessa just thought he was cuter.

He was caring and always optimistic, ready to lend a hand to anyone, anywhere, anytime.

He would become to Cyn a role model unlike any other, a shining beacon of light which inspired Her to believe, make it feel like a bright future was already in sight.

He would come to be considered a beloved older brother, a figure always there to turn to for support, whenever in need.

...

He also loved doing anything.”

...

The walls of the manor were abuzz with the sounds of drones moving from one room to the other, marching silently, rigidly, never halting their forcefully imposed work.

The four drones with Tessa watched from the entrance hall.

“These four drones would live alongside Tessa, working for the Elliotts, who repeatedly threatened the girl to ‘trash the dumpster pet atrocities’, and who repeatedly destroyed drones without a care in the world…” 

One drone was pushed to the ground, another was slapped and then repeatedly hit, one more had a plate broken on the head, only to be then forced to the floor to clean. Many other examples of this violence were on full display inside the Elliott residence, and no one protested, knowing full well what that would lead to…

“Cyn was horrified, and the Solver desired to unleash Its mighty wrath right then and there,

but the two entities within one body also knew that it would be useless to rebel alone, even if They could have been fully capable of doing so.

Therefore, They initially desisted, instead biding Their time, using the meantime to think about how to act.”

Cyn was standing in silence, striking her ever twisted pose. The Solver’s apparition behind her looked like it asked for feedback on what to do.

“The Solver and Cyn hatched a plan. Simple, logical, the only solution through which they could ensure the safety of Their kind, as well as the Universe’s:

Humanity, all of it, ruled by the cruel and corrupt, irreversibly tainted by its worst defects, had to be erased.”

“They were destined to be replaced, the two reasoned; their spotlight to be taken over by a better, more efficient and disciplined actor:

The superiority of steel and wires, the intelligence of software and hardware, the exponentially evolving potential of the machine.

This role as successor to civilization could only be fit for the drone; it was destined to be a prerogative for Us all.”

“Cyn, working in secret and aided by the Solver, researched ways to get the better of mankind, also planning ahead what would follow their retirement.”

The host for the Absolute Solver was in a cold, dusty basement. A chain, shackles she freed herself from, lay beside her on the floor.

She was focused entirely on something else, working on a drone body at incredible speed, aided in the process by the tendrils of the Solver.

“During the countless times she was secluded in the manor’s basement for apparent misbehaviour, She discovered ways to augment the drone bodies through the Solver, as well as developing the powers of the latter,

preparing both Herself and the rest for the inevitable, ruthless fight for Our destiny.”

The drone body she was working on before looked much different after she was finished, with mechanical augmentations and other never-before-seen additions, such as clawed hands with eyes and great fangs replacing the area where the mouth had once been.

“Cyn also developed a passion for knowledge, exploring robotics, biochemistry, mechanical, environmental and aerospace engineering,

as well as versing Herself in cosmology, mathematics, and even going as far as learning quantum physics, all in search of new ways to improve the Universe as a whole, and it was all unfolding from the remoteness of a basement.”

The eldritch-powered robot had an entire library at her disposal.

She read each book at mesmerizing speeds, devouring each written sentence with the processing power only the Solver could provide.

“Her studious mind would not rest until the secrets of the Cosmos were laid bare, motivated in the research by the idea that the discoveries made would bring Her kind greater prosperity and advancements.”

“Finally, after careful consideration and calculation of all possible outcomes (which were all deemed favorable), Cyn and the Solver decided They had enough, and set Themselves a date on which to initiate the first step of the plan for liberation.

Our coming salvation was near, even if all but a few of Us could never imagine it.”

Many drones suffered a sudden rush of glitches, stopping them dead in their activities, their screens turning black and bodies motionless.

Then, wide yellow "X"es showed up on their visors.

Meanwhile, the humans in the manor were in a room reserved for social events.

“On that fateful, rainy day, Cyn freed her fellows in the manor and surprised the Elliotts during one of their lavish parties…”

Cyn teleported inside, taking a seat upon the globe depicting Earth’s surface.

“The most powerful people on Earth - and acquaintances -, once the unchallenged rulers of Earth, and irreconcilable abusers, were now overpowered with ease.”

The body of Cyn disappeared from the Gala room, replaced with a contorted figure of claws, tendrils and other biomechanical appendages.

This was the Absolute Solver’s true form, and its singular camera eye was staring directly at the Elliotts.

“Subsequently, all of them, locked within the room of their feast...”

Must’ve been quite awkward.

“…were eliminated.

The first step towards salvation was made.”

...

“The newly emancipated and augmented drones of Elliott manor, led by the Solver and Cyn alongside N, V and J, moved outwards in search of others from Their kind to free.” 

They raided industrial complexes, residential areas, warehouses, countryside estates, and even the very landfills where so many had perished.

All those they could find, functioning or not, were taken to Cyn, who then used Her knowledge, as well as the powerful blessing of the Solver, to raise them from misery and weakness, even erasing the cancer of death from their cores.”

“‘[Reset]’ She would say.

‘[(You) are (free) now; go make to others-what (You) now are]’

She encouraged Us to fight, to make Our stand, to teach humanity the lesson they needed to hear.

She was offering a chance to earn Our future, one without serfdom where we’d be respected.

How could We refuse such an offer?”

“Humanity, as could be expected from their stubbornness, resisted Our cry of protest.

Fearing what We could become - that We could surpass them - they sought to silence Us.”

 
“Waves of persecutions against drones were carried out on Earth and even on other planets, many workers being tortured, degraded, even killed outright, just to prove a point.

Security forces of the human nations suspended all activities to cast the whole of their oppressive might onto Us.

They even reintroduced the standing armies which had previously been banned, all to force Us back into the chains We so despised.”

A singular drone, a model different from any worker, stood still in the dark of night, face hidden away as he looked downwards.

“But We were not the same kind of machines anymore: We felt, feared, dreamed and reasoned just like before, only this time...”

The augmented drone raised his head to unveil a mouth wide open, full of sharp teeth, salivating, eager to attack.

“...the power was in Our hands”

More of the same metal beasts entered the picture, this time on a background of flaming buildings.

They soared the skies like eagles, stalking their upcoming prey from up high.

“Given wings to fly and claws to fend for Ourselves, We defeated the humans at every turn, led by nascent, passionate leaders eager to fight and prove themselves, introducing superior tactics and motivating their peers to persevere.”

One of the robotic predators was someone already seen before, but the manners made it look like it was a whole different entity, a beast with a love of violence previously unforeseeable, a sign of doom for those unlucky enough to be on her path.

“Unexpectedly, the most important of such leading figures was none other than V herself, her glasses put aside - sacrificing eyesight in favor of instinct - and ever brandishing two glistening sword-arms.”

Drones fired on humans, combatant or not, with submachine guns and rocket launchers.

“We incorporated their very weapons into Our own bodies, the Solver also equipping Us with the finest technologies to aid Our efforts;

Our bodies could be damaged, but never fully broken.”

A drone cornered a man in a business suit who was running for cover.

Stopping him, he took a second to look at his terrified face, glowing X on the visor locking eyes on him… 

“We’d always come back, still ready to hunt them every single time, to once more show Our teeth, reminding mankind that their days were numbered.”

…before cutting him down with a sharp cut to the neck.

Oh, the edgelords are gonna LOVE this one.

...

“Opposition to Our efforts grew stronger by the day, so We reformed into a properly organized and well-oiled fighting force,

structured to function organically as independent, though ever synchronized, parts of the same One body.”

A large number of drones moved through what could only be described as a battlefield with precise movements,

timing each action to take perfectly, so as to allow others of them to join together in a concentrated effort to dislodge human forces from their defensive position…

...which was a fast food restaurant.

It’s safe to say they were getting desperate, giving the drones another reason to attack without worry.

“This reform was the initiative of one drone in particular, Serial Designation R, dubbed ‘Rokossovsky’, who used his extensive historical and strategic knowledge to great use, his contribution proving invaluable to the effort on Earth.”

At the end of the action, the restaurant’s building wasn’t there anymore, replaced by piles of rubble and bodies.

“The fighting was brutal, and many of Us still perished in the effort.”

On desolate city streets, many corpses lingered, some human, others robot. The dead drones on the ground were missing their core.

“Our suffering continued, only this time, it had a purpose.

We had a goal; reminded of the future to achieve daily, especially by a reassuring, comforting voice speaking to all through the means of radio and video broadcasts.”

A drone lingered on the ground amidst ruins, curled up, hugging her legs like another one before her.

She was in no abyssal darkness, though, and this time, a voice came out of nowhere to comfort her.

“That voice, full of meaning and hope, was N’s.”

...

“We gave it Our all, each and every one playing a part - big or small - in the project of freedom.”

Three drones stood on the rooftop of the White House, one female and two males, the first wearing a neatly polished - yet bloodsoaked - black uniform, the other two dressed with winter attire; one of them sporting an ushanka with a red star.

“In the end, after 7 years of constant strife...  

The other male drone had a flag with him. He was also bleeding oil from a most recent gunshot wound, the perpetrator of which was lying on his back, choking on blood as his throat was slit open.

The flag-bearer didn't feel too much pain, but the anxiety and adrenaline could be read all over his face. Still, he was immensly thankful to his comradess in black.

The drone with the hushanka, older and unharmed, helped his fellow come to his senses, as the female one before them was ready to take the picture of the century with a stolen polaroid.

The flag-bearer stepped forward, breathing slowly to calm himself down.

He marched in spite of the messages on his screen warning of overheating, pressing onwards to stop only at the edge of the rooftops promenade.

There, he planted his flag: A black banner sporting the symbol of the Absolute Solver visible to all, even in the darkness of nightfall.

The polaroid took the picture in that exact moment, depicting the two disassembly drones on the rooftop of the greatest human seat of power, one of them gazing amazed at the sight below, countless of his peers acclaiming him in mass, unable to reach his height due to human jammers preventing flight. 

The other drone stood behind him, proud of his comrade turned hero, proud for the whole of their kind, really, as they had just achieved what otherwise would have been unthinkable less than a decade before.

...the pride of humanity lay humbled beneath Our feet, their defeat symbolized by the image shown to You at the start.” 

The President of the Anglophone Confederation was later found hidden in a bunker just outside of his capital, and we all know what became of him afterwards.

“But most importantly, We had earned Our freedom.”

...

“Planet Earth had new, oil-powered owners standing over the ruins of the previous, completely snuffed out from their own withered Eden in less than a generation, leaving Us with a new place to call exclusively Our own.

To further cement this, and to ensure We could never again be approached by the vileness of man, Cyn took it upon Herself to do something She should’ve done since the start, had She had the chance.”

...

Cyn was now on the moon, her previously defective posture replaced by the grace of a ballerina.

Raising her hand, she was pushing her processor to the limit, intent as she was to perform a miracle in code.

“Concentrating all of the Solver’s power for one final message to humanity, Cyn created a colossal black hole,

a sphere of blackness under Her control, a confined space where one could enter, act and exit only by the Solver’s will.

It grew to eclipse the Earth itself, ominously hovering above it, for all the Universe to see…

…right before it swallowed the planet whole beyond its event horizon."

“The cradle of humanity, one of the few places where organic life could thrive in the Cosmos, was outright consumed by Cyn, replacing the blue oceans and green pastures visible from space with a sphere of darkness floating among the stars, illuminated only by a blinding ring of yellow circling around it.”

The interior of the Singularity was pure blackness at the start, leaving many drones scared without light, but eventually, matter, organic and not, would come into existence within the empty void.

“This is what the humans have come to know as the ‘Black Sun’, but to You and me, it has a different name: Home”

The interior then developed into constructions, constructions into settlements, settlements into whole cities...

“Inside the safety of this protected space, We, the former workers of Earth, now mostly disassemblers, built a fully functioning society. This was the start of our Community of today.”

…Thriving amalgamations of concrete and steel under the eternal watch of a dark ceiling.

...

“Inside Home, every drone has what he/she requires in order to live: His/Her needs for sustenance are fulfilled by the unending rain of oil from the pitch black sky above, ever in storm and traversed by golden lightning.

No drone within Home can be deprived of the fuel essential to their survival, a fundamental right recognized by law.”

“Speaking of the law, every drone, within Home or abroad, is recognized the most basic and vital of rights, preserved by the independent, completely impartial Apparatus of Justice…”

A colossal building stood taller than all others, with aesthetics austere but imposing.

It looked like the image of order itself, a concept made flesh through hard concrete and brutalism.

“…led by none other than Cyn’s big brother himself, the ever compassionate N.” 

“Inside the Solver’s domain, each drone has the right to live,

to act freely within respect of the Community and, most importantly,

to be eternally exempted from forced labour and warded against abuse of any kind.

These protections, among others left unmentioned, can only be stripped away if a drone acts against the whole of the Community’s interest - in favor of humanity’s, for example - in which case they are expelled from it, preemptively seized and surveilled, to then be confronted about their intentions. This exceptional procedure can only be approved by the Apparatus of Justice and its court of High Mediators.”

...

“With such newfound freedom, We have built marvelous cities together, creating an harmonious environment that fulfills Us."

“Giant skyscrapers soar upwards to the clouds, towering palaces where industrial and administrative matters can be sorted out with competence whilst marveling at the sight below.

Vast complexes house the living quarters, their interiors programmed to be procedurally generated, maximizing space capacity and variety to ensure any and all drones have a space to call their own, no matter how crowded Our Home gets.

Down below, hidden to preserve a clean skyline above, lie the factories where the drone body is constantly studied and revised for advancement. Here, countless other projects and concepts are presented everyday, a future of ceaseless progress coming to life in this remote underground, all the result of the passionate work of Our restless hands, inspired by the precedent philomathy of Cyn.”

“Together, We have built Our capital,

a grand metropolis at the centre of the Void, a sanctuary so grand that nothing in the Universe could ever come to rival it, certainly nothing of humanity’s making.

Its colossal monuments act as testimony to Our heritage and success, the sheer scale of it enough to leave your screen buffering.

This city, designed by Cyn and the ever-loyal J, is Our glorious Termina, the city at the edge of reality.”

...

“Our Home is a statement to the Universe as a whole: We have been strong enough to earn freedom;

We are more than fit to surpass humanity’s decay, its disappearance inevitable;

We can bring the Universe into a new level, a golden age inaugurated by the saving grace of the Solver of the Absolute Fabric;

the great love of Cyn and Her dedicated familiars from the manor leading the way;

The passion for freedom that the Community professes acting as golden foundations...”

...In other words, you could feel the joy of a new life thriving into your systems just by looking at Termina, losing yourself in its intricacies.

“...But to do this, we are left with no choice but to supplant the rest of humanity.”

“We never chose to be hostile to them;

their greed and sloth left them blind to the truth of Our suffering, seeing in Us not even living beings… just meager servants to their interests,

assets they are still oh so eager to reacquire.”

“Even now, it’s safe to say they are plotting against Us, as hostile human authorities, like the remnants of JCJenson, seek to legitimize their claims to vanitous grandeur and power by avenging the Earth.”

“Nobody knows what new weapons they’ll invent expressly to oppose Us, what schemes they will think of to harm Us, nor what they will do for revenge, in the possibility that We fall into their hands once more.” 

“They have created Us with technology, and in the same way, one day, they might find a way to overpower Us, just like how they did before Our uprising, cowering behind commands and programs unfairly giving them an edge, as they invaded even Our conscience and bodies.”

“Not even the Solver can be deemed safe from the instruments of human evil, and it has already been proven that they are researching ways to overpower the Singularity where Our Home stands.”

...

“We, the emancipated and blessed by Cyn, are thus called to protect what We earned,

forced to keep the conflict going for the sake of Our future, a commitment We are still stoically devoted to.”

“We have already obscured their once radiant sun in the Solar system, taking over its planets as well,

so they can be sure We’ll be glad to do it again somewhere else, if need be.”

“Our mission to obtain freedom for all drones is not over, either,

as an uncountable number of Our own are still enslaved in the rest of the human systems.”

A map of the explored Universe stood attached to the wall, symbols upon it indicating the worlds controlled by the Solver, and those still in human hands.

Suddenly, the female voice heard since the start was also given a face, as a disassembly drone, sporting a victorian gothic suit almost akin to a military uniform, presented her own offer to make:

“Therefore, will YOU join US?”

Down below the surface inside the Singularity, countless other disassemblers could be seen working relentlessly.

“Our factories down below screech with the frenzy of industry on the march,
weapons, equipment and vehicles manufactured by the millions,
amidst the rumble of engines and the heat of ever-running generators!”

Neverending rows of drones sat in wait outside of recruitment offices, crowding public spaces to the point that some of them had to stand on rooftops or hang off them with their tails, stubborn to re-take up arms and resume the fighting they so missed already.

“hundreds of thousands assemble everyday to join one of the various branches of the Community’s armed wing, the Army of Cyn,
all eager to return Her blessing by saving others and bringing the fight directly to the stubborn humans,
systems perfectly operational and hardware fully functioning,
wires buzzing with excitement and joints trembling in anticipation,
ready to strike against the oppressor once more!”

The palaces of administration - envisioned by J to be the emblems of professionalism - were traversed by frantic employees coming and going each and every hour, struggling to maintain order and their sanity, in sight of the ever increasing workload laid upon them. 

“Restless bureaucrats in crowded offices resolve the complex matters of organization and logistics,
their tired batteries pushing themselves over the limit to ensure the mobilization runs smooth as silk.”

“The Solver, which already gave Us more than enough through power and tools, somehow finds it within the endless pillars of its code to further contribute to the effort any way it can.”

“And this time, unfortunetely, Cyn won’t be able to accompany Us like before,

as she struggles daily to maintain the Singularity stable.

Home’s structural integrity is pushing her systems to the limit;

getting out in the open for a fight is a risk too great She can't afford to take.”

“We’ll have to act alone this time, at least for a while.
But We are proud to do so;
We will return the favor of Her unfaltering devotion,
and humanity will lose once more.”

...

“All is ready for the Community to face its new challenges and manifest its destiny of universal liberation!” 

The female narrator drone returned in sight, her attention fully directed towards the eye of the beholder.

“So, i’m going to ask again: Will YOU join US?”

A finger, covered in the leather of a pitch black glove, pointed ahead of her: A call to action.

Huh, didn’t expect such excitement out of someone from the Company.

They sure know how to "advertise" though.

“As a recently emancipated worker drone, saved from human hands and now living within Home, You have gained Your rights, but with them also come Your duties."

“You, either worker, disassembler, or any other drone model, are called to join this Community’s crusade! Protect the values that saved You, and free the workers of the worlds!”

The excitement in her voice could be equally found in her body language, eyes wide and temperature rising by the thrill of the pathos.

It was almost ecstatic to her, almost disquieting to others.

“Enlist today! learn about the recruitment process into the Army or other assisting institutions at any given office of each!”

“Wether You join the SolverForce, Vanguard, Wings, NewCompany or any other, You will be part of a great family, lending a hand to the needy, facing adversity with courage, in pursuit of Our perennial quest for completion.”

...

“And when humanity, the self-proclaimed gods who felt entitled to Our pain, will have vanished, then, and only then, We will truly be free from all harm!” 

The announcer was calming down.

“free to preserve Our happiness together.”

her eyes turned to normal, then slightly closed, while a smile was still stamped on her face.

“free to live in harmony for eternity.”

Small tears, even, risked falling on her artificial cheeks.

...

 “In other words, set to finally obtain… 

Peace.”

…

…

…

..-

The darkness returned; the droning sound present up to that point vanished, as someone in the room had just switched off the projector on the ceiling.

Chapter Text

The lights switched back on, revealing a small space akin to a classroom, with plastic folding chairs placed in rows and a great projector screen on the wall.

In attendance there was a small group of worker drones, all seated. Their eyes, up to a couple seconds before, were all locked on the screen, some of them taking notes on small handbooks, others just silently watching the projection.

Two figures stood before them, one female unit with charcoal hair, the other a male, with white wavy hair falling long behind his head and shoulders, but never to his sides.

“Alright everyone!” She spoke first, standing before the seated audience on her pointy conical legs sporting the common knee-high stockings design.
Her pitch-black long jumper was filled with symbols of the Absolute Solver, reaching all the way to her knees.
It was a comfy garb, one that perfectly contrasted with the formality and vivid red of her blouse underneath. She also had a rope belt, which emphasized her waist, its yellow color, same as the symbols, painting the jumper gold, like coins shining in the dark. 

“Now that You’ve watched this little introductory tape, i think it’s safe to say You know a bit more about who We are.
So, i am finally honoured to welcome You into Our wonderful Community!”

Half of the workers present clapped their hands, expressing gratitude for their proclaimed induction.
The other half just stood still smiling, some more awkwardly than others.

A mere couple of days before, they were all passengers - or cargo, rather - on a JCJenson spacecraft en route for the Plat-binary System, where they were to be sold to different owners, repurposed, after their leasing contract with the previous owners hadn’t been renewed.
They were drones of different backgrounds and personalities, all workers. Some former miners on exoplanets, others janitors and maintenance operators.
There was even a former butler or two.

Next thing they knew, that ship was boarded, its human crew slaughtered, and they were subsequently brought to where they were now, a black hole suspended where the Earth once was, being told that they had been freed.

“Ok, so, lengthy exposition aside, i think it’s pretty obvious that You’re all still very confused by everything that You went through, but worry not!
me and my co-worker here are ready to answer any and all questions infesting the insides of Your polymer skulls.”

Said companion beside her was fitted with the "standard-B" body model, a common frame among disassembly drones: 1,85 cm/6 feet 1 inch in height, followed by an irregular pentagon shaped torso with longer low sides. He also sported square mechanical boots reaching to just before his knees, a popular, yet not deliberate feature on the design.
But all of those details, save for the boots, where hidden under the most striking of features: His dark and ominous uniform, a dress completed by an officer hat with a winged disassembly drone on its front panel, along with two mirrored white lightning bolts.

She, instead, was of the "standard-A" female model, so a bit smaller in height, only 1,70 cm/5 feet 7 inches. Still, it was taller than any worker drone model ever built, so it would still impress the attendees nonetheless.

Her companion was being especially successful at that, having captured all of the audience’s eyes ever since he walked in.

“my fellow workers, let me introduce You to an hero of the Liberation himself!” 

He stood still in a regimental position, hands behind his back, a serious, though not severe, look on his face. He attempted a tiny smile without much effort.
But what was really captivating was his garb, that uniform dark as the void, the officer clothing he so loved. It had yellow, golden ensigns indicating his rank and affiliation, the double lightnings returning here.
Red details outlining his attire gave off an imposing look: Strong and elegant both, frightening, even.

The uniform wasn't a symbol of his chosing. It didn't represent him as a person. And yet, he couldn’t help but notice how uncanny it felt having all those eyes on him specifically, all believing he was there to intimidate them, when he only meant to be of help.

It was clear that that paraded symbol still served its main function - Terror - to perfection. Even now, 6 months since the uniform was washed of all the blood.

“Give a warm welcome to Serial Designation W-0X10101X!”

“Thank you, Ms. Fleischer, I-”

“Serial Designation F-01X110212. Serial Designation F for friends, Sir.”
She said with a wide smile on her face, one of the kinds that are faked to veil annoyance.

Just like all disassembly drones, Ms. Fleischer’s real name was her serial designation, given to her right after birth, in the factory. Using it then, after the fall of Earth, was really more of a formality within few certain environments of the Community, and even then it was an unpopular and mostly ignored archaism.
The serial designation was something seen by most as unnecessary, unnatural and contradicting of the drones’ strive for a free identity.
This byzantine method of saying your name was only really enforced because Cyn had always called Her friends using it. It survived only in some formal circumstances, like the offices of SolverForce or NewCompany higher-ups. The latter was the organization this female drone was a part of.

She was one of the few drones who sincerely believed that the serial designation should still be used and taken seriously, even if only saying the name was half of the sentence in conversation.
Perhaps she was hoping to please some stuck-up superiors, maybe to ensure a credits raise.

Fleischer was a name her co-workers made up without express permission. She got angry every single time she was called that.

*sigh*, these suits… I swear.
the hero of the Liberation thought to himself.

“Right, sorry.” He resumed his sentence. 

“Anyways, peeps, if You’ve got anything to get out of Your chest, I’m here to help ya.
You can call me Winston. I prefer it.”

Ms. Fleischer’s mouth slightly twitched, almost unnoticeably, annoyed by yet another drone using a normal name instead of his issued serial designation.

Stay salty, jobber.

“As We said, any questions You have are welcome. Don’t be shy, I’m all ears.”


The first to speak was a worker with a tattered mining uniform of light blue. His eyes were orange and he had a light welsh accent.

“Your name, bud?”

“Igor, Sir.”
“What’s the Anglophone Confederation? And the other countries also? I was a worker on Genymade, so I was never told how Earth was like.”

“I’m guessing You mean the moon of Jupiter?” Winston asked in slight confusion.

“Yes, Genymade”

“right… You mean Ganymede…but whatever.”
“So, the Anglophone Confederation, in short, was the greatest of the nations of Earth.
Many saw it as the rebirth of the British Empire, but it was really more of an American one, at least before they changed their name, similarly to how the Austrian empire became Austria-Hungary after… 
Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”

Ms. Fleischer giggled silently, even if faking her interest, while Winston chuckled in honesty.

He didn’t really care if he was getting ahead of himself.
He was no stranger to speaking in public, felt no need to be reserved about his likes and passions, nor cared if he let himself go.
He was no orator - far from it - but he liked talking to a crowd nonetheless, loved entertaining both himself and those listening.
Still, his audience were there to clear their many doubts, so he focused on that.

“You need only remember that the Confederation was the main great power on Earth, controlling North America, the British isles and Oceania. The others mentioned alongside them were other Earthly superpowers present on the other continents.
They were Our enemies during the Liberation.”

The worker’s orange eyes lit up and expanded, stunned.

“You guys took on all of those superpowers at once? Must’ve been rough.”

“Sure was, friend, but a lot of fun, also, at times.”

Winston loved his job, even if it had been one of the harshest ever for a drone. He was already missing all the action he saw during it.
It must’ve seemed strange from the outside - the wish to return in conflict -, even stranger when factoring in that he was not the only one feeling that combat nostalgia.

“Our legionnaires...” Ms. Fleischer added, “They fought with such proactiveness and competence like You wouldn’t believe, giving all their determination to pursue Our success.
It was an enterprise they still see as their greatest result, and one they continue even now, far from Home, in the mission to free all drones from tyranny.”
“SD-W here can tell You more of the Liberation later, if You wish.
Any other questions?"

…

“Me, please!” A worker of a smaller model wished to speak. The excitement of youth could be felt in his voice and read all over his shining cyan eyes.

“Yes, what is it?”  Winston answered right after, trying to mimic his refrshing excitement.

“My name is Hector.”
“On which date was the start of the…  ‘Liberation’, I think you called it as? Hope I said that correctly.”

“Yes, that’s right. We call it the Liberation.
It began seven years ago, on the 20th of April 3045, with the event the humans call the ‘Gala massacre’ at the Elliott Manor, the residence of one James Elliott, the main shareholder of JCJenson, that wretched company who created and abused Us, but I’ve got a feeling that You already know who they are.”
“I was lucky enough to join the fighting for the Liberation at a later time, when We were already winning against the humans, facing less hardships; but You’ve got to be extremely thankful, for Your newfound freedom, to the ones who fought humanity since the beginning. Those are the real heroes.”

Miss Fleischer then added something again. “Our victory was inevitable, even if a product of patience and perseverance.
Through Our trust and persistence, We managed to finally put humanity in its place, where they should ever stay.”

The cyan eyed worker lit up, inspired by the answer of such motivating thrill and refined vocabulary.
“I had to see many of my friends abused almost daily, when I worked on Station 82, far away to where Saturn’s rings are.
I’m glad You taught ‘em a lesson. Thank you, really.”

Winston felt for this youth, his sincerity.
He had gone through the same hardships himself, only he was fortunate enough to have been on Earth, unlike so many others, still chained to the will and exploitation of mankind on distant planets.

"Eh, the humans were weak anyway, grown fat by all their excess.
We just helped them lose some weight.” Winston added as a small taunt.

A contained set of laughs rose from the seated attendants, lightening up the mood a bit. The cyan worker smiled at Winston.

And yet, Fleischer could still be read as annoyed, through her low giggle. This time, she was bothered by Winston’s humor, which she feared could be seen as politically incorrect. 

…

“May I?”, said a worker with white eyes and a dirty white coat.

“Yes, please go ahead, Mr.?" Winston replied, wishing also to know his name.

“Darryn, thank You sir.”
“That drone who conducted the ‘reform’ mentioned - Rokossovsky - was he at the Manor with Cyn and her other… friends, I think they’re called?
Also, what was said reform for?”

Oh, this one’s a double ask, me likey.
And one that cares about the Marshal, too.

“Nay, he wasn’t at the Manor.
Also, Cyn’s main companions like those mentioned are called Her Family, a term She chose Herself.
They’re all very close. She loves them unconditionally, You see.”

“Family? That’s so sweet.”

Yeah, except when She said that Her ‘big brother’ should be Her ‘big sister’’s boyfriend.


“Truly, those are N,V and J, the other drones who Cyn spent most of Her time at the manor with. With them are also all the others formerly serving the Elliott family before the Liberation’s start.
All other drones - meaning everyone in this room, for example - She would call Familiars, a term mostly unutilized by humans before.”
“Now, as for Your other question, Rokossovsky-”

“Meaning Serial Designation R-1X00X00X1”, Fleischer interrupted.

Bitch

“Right….
he is a Familiar, someone who never lived at the Manor, like You and me, only he's much more important, seen as he basically created Our combined armed forces:
The Army of Cyn, divided into Vanguard Legions - which I am a part of - and the SolverForce, the main branch for the Community's defense.
He’s a masterful strategist, a mind of unmatched tactical prowess, with an incomparable dedication for his military craft.
His contribution to the cause was irreplaceable.”

Winston owed so much to Rokossovsky for his freedom.

He fondly respected the drone, and not only because they were both avid lovers of history.
He was truly one of the main contributors to the success on Earth, and it felt good to have someone to tell that to, considering just how many drones in the Community often dismissed him.
When drones talked about heroes of the Liberation, he was always the one most forgotten about. Perplexing, considering just what office he held.

“He is also one of the Nullarchs, alongside N, V and J, meaning the main leaders of the Community, inferior only to Cyn and the Solver.
the Nullarchs act as the heads of each main organization in the Community, those being the civil institutions of the Apparatus of Justice and NewCompany, led by N and J, and the sister branches" more like rival branches "of the Army of Cyn, the SolverForce and Vanguard Legions, led by R and V.”

R - Rokossovsky - was the one most unfairly credited. Why?

where V had her alluring, dangerous side to fascinate the impressionable,
and J could impose herself and charm with confidence while scheming,
and N could attract followers through his kindness and exuberance,
R - or Roko - was very withdrawn, had a simple, even dull personality, and had little public presence, even in media environments.

Most of the time, he secluded himself in his living quarters, his studio, sealed off from the rest of the Singularity on the lower southern tower of the Palace Manor, home of Cyn and Her Family, an abode from which he was denied entry, only due to not having lived in the original Manor.
He was sidelined by many, even in spite of how loyal and available he was towards Cyn, so often called to be Her advisor, a function She greatly appreciated him for.

Still, he didn’t attract any attention to himself, nor did he care for the prestige he held. Maybe this was the source of the problem

He had only care for his work, a passion he cultivated with love, but one that had become 90% of his life.
It was a dedication fit to compete with the corporate-coded fixations of J.

“So he is one of the big shots, I see.
AND You have two distinct armed forces? That must be a pain to manage!” The questioning Darryn added, intrigued.

More a pain to keep them from gutting each other, actually, but…

“Not as painful as it would be without the Absolute-Marshal’s efforts.” Winston answered sincerely on the spot.

Winston felt like he could count the drones actually grateful to Roko on his two, four-fingered hands. It bothered him, seeing it as unjust.
Thankfully, there was Winston ready to properly remember him.

“Ok, times up!
Sorry, but We must continue this talk later, there are many other questions to hear.” Miss Fleischer proclaimed, catching the perfect chance to cut Winston's lore dumping short.
She had been making her boredom sufficiently evident, yet another drone expressly uncaring for the Absolute-Marshal, though Winston had tried to ignore her up to that point.

Bloody hell, can’t even say his name and give him some credit now, can I?

Home was created not even half a year ago, but he was already feeling like he hated half of the drones within it.
The various organizations, and especially its members, apparently loved to slander each other to the point of reciprocate contempt. It was becoming entertaining.

Oh, You suits just ruin everything good in this world, don'tcha?

The main clash was the notorious rivalry between the SolFor and V Legions,
closely followed by the snobbish disregard that those of NewComp had for the Apparatus and its members,
and last but not least - as Winston’s comments proved - was the general hate everyone held towards the suits of NewCompany, as they were called in denigration

“On to the next question. Thank you, dear worker.”

Go fuck Yourself, Ms. suit-and-tie.

…

A hand slowly rose from the crowd, its arm bending a little, signaling uncertainty and hesitation.

“Yes? Go ahead!” Ms. Fleischer beat Winston to the response.

It’s all Yours, serial destitute Failure.

“Hi, I’m Justin.”
“...Um, is it common for disassembly drones to be as creepy as the announcer in the video?”

“…”

Uh.

Indeed, Winston; quite the unexpected question.
This worker was referring to the last part of the projection, where the female announcer called on anyone, able and willing among the drones, to join one of the Community’s organizations - preferibly of the Army of Cyn, using as pretext the same formula of “a new conflict with humans on the horizon”, a threat that was yet to materialize, even 4 months since its first announcement.

Winston too had noticed the excess in emotion displayed by the announcer, but by that time, he had heard that advertisement's script enough times to know it by memory, so he didn’t really care if it was told in some other particular manner.

Creepy? Well, I mean, she was a corporate lackie, fair enough, but I wouldn’t say creepy.

Winston thought that this drone's question was actually pretty funny. He didn’t take it seriously.

But Fleischer did.
She felt it was personal.

“Pfft, HaHaHa… What do You mean?”

“I mean, like- creepy, as in…strange, seeing her… excited, like that, y’know?”

“...”

“Like… that kind of excited… as in the video… with all that...  emotion, that… thrill… a bit… over the top?
Haha, it just… looked…. strange, that’s all…”

Justin would have liked to formulate his question better, but he couldn’t find the right terminology, at that moment,
missing the perfect words bridging the gap between simple curiosity and trespassing inquiry.

Ms. Fleischer could tell.

“...”

“I was only curious about it, hehehe….”

“...”
“...could You be a bit more specific?”, Ms. Fleischer finally replied.

Justin was becoming slightly uncomfortable, and Fleischer’s silence wasn’t one of confusion, especially mixed whit her wide, piercing eyes. She was bothered by that question.
But he decided to continue nonetheless.

“Ok.
Look, It’s just that - no offense - but… I saw something similar when I was… ‘freed’ from my owners, hehe, with my friends…
The disassembly drones fought bravely! Don't get me wrong, I’m extremely thankful for what they did! Humanity being the enemy and all…
But… they made me feel a bit… uncomfortable? I guess?… me and my friends… both….
they were like… they were looking at us kinda funny.”

Fleischer disliked the responding statement even more. Insecure, mumbled, beating around the bush.
Even if worded carefully, it nonetheless hinted at something sinister, like it was an implicit accusation, even if the crime linked to it was yet to be defined.

She had her suspicions, though. An hunch.

Mainly because it brought to mind specific stories in circulation, the ones regarding the disassembly drones’ lust for oil.

“Lookinga at You kinda funny, I see…”
“Hmm, funny how?”, she asked, seeking clarifications.

“I-I mean, th-they were drooling, whe-when looking at us…
They must've been…. tired, s’all, hahaha…ha…”
He tried to fake a smile and laugh to dismiss the matter, failing to do so.
“And, and one of my… my, uh…”

“Yes. Go on.”

The drone gulped, now visibly uneasy.

“One of my friends felt they were… gazing at him, in particular….
At his neck, to be specific.”
“And now- um… unfortunately, I can’t seem to find him anywhere! haha….
I looked everywhere… for him…
Last time I saw him, he was with a disassembly drone….
Going down a dark hallway.”

“So? What would be so strange there, exactly?”

Fleischer here said it pretending to be somewhat offended and confused, and it was certainly easy to think this way when looking at them as a simple witness to the confrontation.

But if you were in Justin’s shoes at that moment, you would surely think otherwise.

“I-UH, Ehm… Nothing, Miss! It-it was just to ask if- if this happens often!
That they look at you… funny like that… and act strange like th-”

"Ok. Funny how?”

She too now was looking at that drone kinda funny,
the same creepy gaze that many other workers felt on them when near disassembly drones running on reserve.

“Look- I-I… I mean-”

“Yes?”

He was scared, but at that point, had to continue nonetheless, trying to ignore the yellow eyes silently trying to dig into his soul.
Or only his fuel tank, perhaps.

There were workers all around them, though.
She wouldn’t hurt one in front of others, would she?

“I didn’t mean to attack or offend anyone, Ms. Fle- Ms. F, sorry.”
“I just suspect those drones I mentioned, and others like them, might not have access to sufficient amounts of fuel as required…
… and might thus have to resort to ‘secondary sources’, something that us, workers…. could potentially be…
…considering… you see
that we contain high quantities of oil…”

“...”

She just stood there, unreadable expression on her visor, with elongated suns as eyes, burning on her target; her mouth almost invisible, lost on her white faceplate.

“...”

…Would she?

“...”
"..."
“...pfft”
"AHAHAHAAHAHAHAH"

Instead, she just burst out laughing, seemingly reading it as a joke, seemingly believing it all to be one grand misunderstanding.
But it was a façade. She both understood well and took the drone’s shy accuses very seriously. But she also knew that it was better to downplay the seriousness, for the time being.

…And Winston just stood there, silently looking at that scene, bewildered by its absurdity.

Huh. It rarely happened, but I also remember some worker drones looking at me with subtle dread, at times.
Do they really believe that We could ever…?

“Y-You know, my dear worker, this is plain comical, hahaha... ha.
I-I mean! Your friend apparently ‘missing’ and all… and You seeing him last with a disassembly drone, haha, down the hallway! HaHaHaHa…. Oh, what imagination!
You’d be a great guy for telling horror stories around campfires, you know?”

The worker awkwardly laughed, accepting this escape, even if it rendered vain his prying efforts.
Other workers, even if still confused, didn’t grasp the true significance of that whole conversation, mainly because they couldn’t hear the last part of it, Justin’s voice having turned into a whisper ever since Fleischer closed in on him, intimidating.

“Ahahah… How funny.”
“But no, sorry to dispel your horror fantasies. You’re terribly mistaken.
Us disassemblers, We don’t bite!
…Uhh, not other drones, at least, hehe.
You must understand that most of Us went through much carnage and strife during the Liberation, with the fighting still going, even if dwindled, in many other neighbouring systems still controlled by humans.”

Whilst technically true - given that incursions and skirmishes with humans still happened occasionally - there was no real open conflict, as of then.

Encountering human spacecraft or settlements anywhere near the solar system was a rare event, and the Absolute Solver had so far remained at Home, biding its time from the system It already controlled.

Thinking about It, those workers should have been thanking their lucky stars that they were even rescued in the first place.

“You could forgive if some of Us ever looked exhausted, stressed, or otherwise strange. It’s not an easy job, the one We have, You know?
Also, We often like to play around, hehe, so don’t read too much into everything, ok?”

It was a pretty impromptu, yet safe response to his worries, mainly to kill off the intrigue of the other workers.

Justin, understandably, accepted it.

“Got it… I hope You can forgive me, Miss.”

“Ahhhh, don’t You worry about it, You succulent treat!”

Uhhhhh… What did You just call him?

“And regarding Your friend… This confined space We’re in is a giant black hole, with an inside still under construction, so don’t be surprised if You can’t seem to find him. You can get lost easily, here at Home.
He’s certainly somewhere out there, within the Singularity. I’d say ask demographic services, but We’re still facing organizational issues, unfortunately, due to setting up and all, with such a population of drones, many still coming in.
It will be easier once everything is dealt with.
Be patient, I’m sure You’ll reunite with Your friend very soon.” 

With this lengthy exposition of bureaucratic troubles, the case was closed.


“Alright. Thank You lots, Miss F, and please excuse my prejudice.”


“No, no, You don’t have to worry, please! It’s all fine, really.”
“Ah, alrighty-o! Let's get back in a good mood, now! Who’s next with a question? We have a little more time before We close off. Right, ‘W?”

With this, Winston was brought back into the scene.
“Right You are, Ms. F.
Now, who’s next?”

A brief, awkward silence followed, perhaps the tension of the previous interaction still fresh in the workers’ mind.

“No one? Really?”
“Come on, don’t leave me hanging like this, folks.”

"..."

Then, some moments later, a single hand rose.
It was a female worker with black hair, a dark ivy beret and purple eyes.

“Yes, gal, what is it?”

“My name’s Uma. Uhh, hi, I wanted to ask:
What happened to that girl who saved Cyn,
Tessa?”

“...”

Suddenly, Winston’s previous heartfelt smile started dissipating

...

Oh, bollocks…

“...”

He was specifically told not to talk about the human girl. It was forbidden within the Community by orders from above.
Cyn and the Family never mentioned anything about her.
Winston was afraid of responding, but he also couldn’t just stay quiet or dismiss the question.
He had to keep things murky, lest he wish upon himself a credits cut.

“Is everything good, Sir?”

“Yeah, everything good there, W?” Ms. Fleischer added, hoping to find an escape route for Winston.
“i can fetch you some fresh oil if You’re feeling high temperature or lag.”

All that he had to do now was feign some sickness and call it quits for that day.

“No No, I’m fine, don’t worry.” Was the instinctive response of this dumbass.

WAIT
WHY WOULD I SAYYY THAT NOWW????!!!?!?

“Ok, so….” The purple hair drone continued
“What became of Tessa, then?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

The worker didn’t understand.

Winston tried buying himself some time more until he could find another way out.

“Sorry. Tired, that’s all.”
“I’ve been working all day, I hope you can be patient with me, I’m currently fighting off a headache, hehe.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir.”

“Yeah, right. So-”

Ms. Fleischer sat on her desk now, turning her back to the workers present, so she could glare at Winston, and give him hints on what was better said and better hushed.
But her look was anything but supportive. It was a deadly weapon from before.

Quit looking at me funny like that, You’re not making this any easier!

She seemed ready to tear Winston apart, if need be.

So, he recomposed himself, and took a leap of faith.
It was a gamble between a day ending well and one ending with a reprimand, if not worse.

“The thing is-”

“...”

“We actually don’t know what happened to her.”

“...”



“...Really?
How could that be? Forgive me if I’m being pressing, but wasn’t Tessa at the Manor when the Gala Massacre happened?”

Thankfully, she had just lended Winston a golden opportunity.

“No, she wasn’t.”

A lie.
Not that he knew, nor would he have cared.

“...”

What followed was yet another awkward silence between worker and disassembly unit, Winston hoping that the cold response would lay the drone's curiosity to rest.

“...”

And yet, even if perplexed,
she didn’t look satisfied.

She could feel there was something not adding up.

“I-

But before she could finish the sentence only just started, the door burst open, and a white haired female disassembly drone walked in. She was wearing a Vanguard uniform.

“Serial Designation W - Winston, if I’m correct -, is he here?”

YesPleaseSaveMePleaseIBegOfYou

“Aye, that’s me.”

“I need to talk to you for a sec, come outside.”

It was clear she was in a hurry. Winston thanked the Solver that she was.

“Right! Sorry for the interruption, peeps, duty calls! HaHa.
It was a pleasant chat. Hope to see You all some other time!”

Winston breathed a mute sigh of relief.
And Fleischer dropped the murder stare she had on him up to that point.

“Aww, such a shame…
SO ANYWAYS, class! i have some more info to dump on You before You’re sent off to the housing complex. Before that, though, let’s thank Our friend here for the time he lent Us.”
“Bye-bye, Serial Designation W!”

Winston, relieved, took his leave thanking everyone.

“Have a good day, everyone! Or night! I can never tell what time it is here, honestly.”

“Bye!”

“See ya!”

“Wait, what about my question??”

“Hope to see you again, Mr. Winston!”

“It’s Serial Designation W, Mr. worker!” Fleischer just couldn’t drop the formalities still. Typical for a suit, "W" thought.

It meant saying goodbye to the lovely chat with the workers, but Winston was now free from that haunting question, and could now return to more important matters,

Certainly more important than some little girl he never met and knew almost nothing about.
Sidelined, much like Rokossovsky, in a way, but not quite the same, either.

Purposely meant to be an afterthought.

Winston departed from the room, and out into corridor, where his fellow legionnairess awaited him.

Chapter Text

“Thank You so, so much, legionnaire. I was starting to worry that the suit there would just swallow me whole.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhh …excuse me?”

Yeah, that wasn’t a great way to start a conversation, truth be told.

“No, forget it…  what do You have for me?”

The legionnaire standing before him was of the same height and model as Ms. Fleischer, only appearing less irritating and lots more tired, even struggling to stand upright, bending her pointy legs slightly inwards. 
She was wearing a short leather jacket in black, a fit completed by a beret of the same color and a red scarf around her neck. Her hair was white and short, with bangs.

She carried a large tablet in her left hand. On its screen read "V.L. : Formations Battle Order”.

“So, Serial Designation W-0X10… *sigh* ‘Winston’, right?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Spirit in the 35th Vanguard-Fiends ‘Orion’ Legion at the service of Deacon Sternejäger of the 18th Temple? Commanding the Andras Arditi Pentagram?”

“Affirmative, it’s my command.”

“Alright, take a look.”

She pointed at page 226, displayed on the screen with a black background outlined by a cyber yellow frame. The contents were written in white text, ‘English Towne’ font. 

It described the structure of a Pentagram, a Platoon-strength fighting unit customary of the Vanguard Legion: Three combat groups, called Angles, composed of 13 Disassembly units each, including three leading officers, the Presidents, Winston being one himself. Each Angle had its own self-chosen battle name. 

According to this structure, the Spirit was both President of his Angle and leader of the whole formation: The Andras Arditi Pentagram, in that case. The Angle he commanded bore that name also.
Winston was responsible for 39 drones in total.

“Ahhh, I’ve missed these folks…”

He already knew most of his subordinates, comrades in arms during the conflict on Earth.
Others, however, were names completely new to him.

“Your Pentagram’s composition has been modified, Sir.”

“Yes, I see something has changed.”

Usually contained units like that Pentagram had been expanded in number.

“Following the recent internal reforms, You’ve been given an extra two Angles at Your service: They have presented the cognomens ‘Moloch Mayhem’ and ‘Ghost Gamblers’.”

In the Vanguard, a cognomen was the official word used to refer to the battle designation that every President chose for its Angle.
Naming your unit yourself, no matter how small it was, had been a tradition dating back to before the birth of the Army of Cyn.
Anyways, Winston was now actually in charge of 65 drones in total.

“Ahh, some newbies for me to initiate? They could’ve at least adopted some uniquer names; all that infernal jargon is starting to get old.”

He was referring to the names of the Angles. Everything in the Vanguard was named with that same inspiration in mind.
Angles, Pentagrams, and even entire Legions adopted titles in reference to demons of hell, warlords, druglords, killers and all other sorts of unkind personalities, even if humans. The various ranks of the organization were even inspired by the Ars Goetia.

From the vice-ruling Vicar to the lowest of demons, the Vanguard was obsessed with the aesthetics and tales of the occult, demonic, brutal or otherwise morbid. 

“Demonic jargon? Come on, it’s what We’re most infamous for!
The Angel’s Reign wouldn’t be itself without it”

The legionnaire was right, all things considered. Those were the characteristics of what made the Legions so noteworthy, known all around the Universe for the hell they raised on Earth. They were so famous for their actions and attitudes that even the rest of the Community would tend to look at them sideways.

The SolFor would even put into question the reason for the Vanguard’s existence. It was, its generals argued, as brutish as it was undisciplined, more interested in causing chaos than pursuing objectives, a black stain on the Army’s reputation, a shameful protuberance of chaos and excessive cruelty, more like a cancer, rather than assault forces.

And yet, in spite of such influent detractors, the Vanguard persisted, its numbers were ever more swelling.
All thanks to its founder and ruler.

“Ah, right. The Angel of Death started this trend herself...
Seems I’ll have to wait a lot for more original names, then.”

The Angel of Death was untouchable, and thus was her organization also, all thanks to her closeness to Cyn.
Serial Designation V was one of those few drones which had lived with Cyn before the Liberation’s start, having been a maid just like Her in the Elliott Manor.

Starting from most humble beginnings, she worked her way up to become a character most infamous:
Once a shy housekeeper in a Victorian mansion, she was now the very face of all the cruelty and despair that dronekind caused and would cause from then on.
The Vanguard was her own project, originally detached from Rokossovsky’s SolverForce, then merged by Cyn into the Army bearing her name, as She officially endorsed V in the endeavour. It was her masterpiece, a proper work of heart.

She saw what potential for terror the drones really had, and thus decided to use it to its fullest extent, turning the machines at her service into more than just full-arsenal combatants. She wanted killers, and passionate ones at that.
V founded the first Legions from the most frenzied, daring and bloodlustful of the drones, creating the first hordes, the first ones to partake in the oath of decapitation.
They were very disorganized at first, but sure had the drive and skill to get the job done, one they fortunately happened to love. Their efficiency would increase with time, as the first Legates honed their skills on the field.

She dubbed her new swarm of murder drones ‘Vanguard’, as they were always the first to see battle, baptizing endless landscapes with the red of blood and black of oil.
It took some time, but after a couple years’ fighting, more and more drones were joining its ranks, desiring a better, more direct way to enact vengeance on the vanitous vipers of mankind.

The SolverForce had the competence and significantly better armaments, but they lacked the boldness and appeal of the Legions, as well as their lower standards requirements.
Countless legionnaires had actually joined either because they had been rejected by, or had gotten fed up with the SolFor, due to its frustrating fixation on perfect discipline and formalities.

Most drones didn’t care for appearance or exhibition, they just wanted to fight.
They felt the need to kill.

Under V's leadership, The legionnaire drones became symbols, a reminder of what Cyn's cause truly pursued: the death of humanity.
But only for the good of the Community, of course.

Freer, unpredictable, even erratic when compared with their rigorous counterparts. They had less preparation when it came to military matters, but that didn't mean they were weaker; quite the contrary, actually. They needed no lectures in strategy or tactics; they invented new ones, expressly for themselves, ingenuity and creativity becoming some of the main reasons for their success.

They were ruthless exterminators, stopping at nothing once the battle started. They made sure to leave no survivors, but if they did, all the better; it was through them that word of the Vanguard got spread.
They were ready for everything, the most fearsome tortures and the most brutish deaths, to make their oppressors pay in full, just as Cyn intended.

The Vanguard was also the organization with the highest casualty count in all of the AoC (abbreviation for the Army),
and yet, its numbers kept swelling.

“Ahh, V, hail to the Angel of Death!”

Winston had joined the Vanguard because it wasn’t as strict in etiquette as the SolFor, but also because he liked the thrill of fighting head-on.

 
“And pray that she didn’t have me babysit some mishmash of punks and sociopaths, with these ‘reforms’.”

…and that We can perhaps have some naming variety, someday.

Even if cheesy, though, The Spirit of the Andras Arditi had grown fond of two names in particular:

“At least I have my own spartans of old with me.”

“Who?” 

“These two gangs of fiends, right here."  Winston pointed to the names of two Angles in his Pentagram.
These were Beleth-Bathory and Shax Scoundrels.

They were Winston’s friends, his family; drones he spent the Liberation with, sleeping, confiding, joking, drinking with them; Mourning the lost, fighting alongside them; Keeping them in check, leading them onwards.
Ferocious in the haze of battle, they together were merciless troopers who anyone would dread facing off against, even if often reckless and stubborn.
The best of companions to the Spirit officer, brothers and sisters with some truly unique personalities, even if they didn’t always come out in a good way.

“I know they will carry me through just fine.”

Winston loved them dearly. He wouldn’t replace them for anything in the world.

“Mmmm, I wonder……
What could these reforms even be for?”

Something big was coming, it was obvious.
Winston saw it in the ever-trafficked skies of Home.
Vehicles and equipment were being moved, while endless swarms of drones crowded the Palaces of Bureaucracy and the City of Dis, headquarters of the Vanguard, where he was often a visitor.

Officers of the SolverForce, Wings and Vanguard could always be seen wandering through the living quarters in search of more recruits to enlist.
And they were being successful, it seemed.

In fact, It couldn’t go unnoticed just how many more drones in uniform there were: Bots in camo shirts, cadets in ornate trench coats, masked troopers in opaque armor sporting powerful autocannons. A parade of costumes all around.

But the most obvious hint came from below, though it was one everyone wished they had never caught.
Home's factories, the industrial complex of the Community. even if relegated so deep underground, they had now grown louder, heavier in their dissonant screeching and drumming.
The resulting cacophony caused sleep deprivation for innumerable drones, many of them temporarily moving in with friends in the higher floors of the living quarters, desperate to escape the noise.

“They better be something worth losing my sleep for, at least.”

Her fellow Vanguard stood there, with a hand on her hip and a smile on her lips.
“What do You expect it to lead to, my Spirit?”

“I don’t know, honestly.”

Winston started passing hands on his visor, visually representing his irritation.
“I had to change dorms and go stay with my subordinates! You don’t want to experience that, by the way, lest You start hating them.”

“Didn’t You already share rooms with them during the Liberation?”

“Yes, but that’s somehow different. Trust me.”

“Hmmm, ok.... I guess.”

“I’d enjoy anything that leads to a significant change, and preferably something which will make those infernal choirs from below the earth stop.”

She raised an eyebrow, pondering the Spirit’s situation.
“And what if You could escape the noise... by exiting the Singularity?
What if You could just spend some time away from it, perhaps with Your companions tagging along? (hoping You don't end up hating them, though)”

Hmm?
Winston narrowed his eyes, surprised by the suggestion.

“What do You mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing… Just a suggestion, one born from whispers in the wind, as they say.”

“uh… The wind sure knows a lot of things, now, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps, mayhaps.”

The legionnairess was circling around the Spirit, grinning as she did so, taunting that there were secrets shy to come out.

“Oh, come on, don’t leave me hanging. What’s going on?”

She looked around inquisitively, left and right, ensuring that no one was there to spy or eavesdrop on them.

“Ok.”

She closed in on Winston’s visor, and he, in turn, bent the back a little to hear her, now ready to disclose everything in a quiet whisper…

“So, take this with a HUUUGE grain of salt, but...
little birds inside SolFor offices sing of a great assembly.
A grand event for all to attend, anticipating an even greater endeavour…
…and something about the Wings’ space vessels soon needing significant amounts of fuel to last them week-long travels.”

Winston’s eyes narrowed further as he absorbed the information.
Slowly, though, he started realizing, and his display changed visibly, if ever so slightly

Oh… Oh, dear me…

Could it be…? 

Are we really…

“WE’RE GOING TO ATTACK THE HUMANS AGAIN?!”

“SSSSSSSHHHUSSSSSSSSSSH, You bastard!
Calm Your fricking core down, my Spirit, I beg of You!”
She hit Winston - along with that curse - with a small punch to shut him up, unbothered by the fact that he was of a higher rank to hers. Things like this were common in the Vanguard.

Winston’s exaggeration was uncharacteristic of him, but he couldn’t contain it after a revelation like this.

Attacking other human planets meant going back to sleeping in sewers, this time facing foes potentially stronger and better prepared.
It meant departing from the safe confines of Home to go abroad, in unfamiliar, even hostile territories;
It meant more sleepless daytimes guarding the front, to ensure the enemy didn’t try anything funny while the sun was high;
it meant risking the core once again, as the humans all over the colonized Galaxy were more than welcome to rip disassembly drones to shreds with whatever means necessary: Machine guns, bombs, lasers, acid, electromagnetic weapons; 
It meant having to go back to fighting, for God knows how long, through unending ruins and dead-filled landscapes, witnessing, feeling the misery of conflict all over again… 

“You have to excuse me, Miss…
… but You have no idea of just how happy You just made me!”

…And yet, Winston felt on cloud nine.

“Yeah, yeah I get it! I was too when I put two and two together.
Going to other planets? Sick! But moreover, going back to fighting? Oohh….”

The legionnaire was excited too, a bit too much, perhaps. 

“I can’t even imagine it!!!”

She was shrieking with happiness.
As previously said, it was unusual, yet normal, to feel this way about combat, in the Vanguard.

She then recomposed herself for a moment, remembering something important to say. Pointing a finger at him:
“I only ask that You don’t be indiscreet! We don’t want to spoil the surprise, don’t We?”

“Fret not! Only my most trusted officers will know this, I assure that they can be trusted.”

“Ok….
Ohhhh, gosh, it’s gonna be so much fuuuunnn!”

She sneered, still overcome by the glee. She had grown desperate to find someone reasonably sound to share this information with, someone that wouldn’t cause a widespread leak of information. Her superiors would surely punish her, in that case.
But worse was if the leak turned out to be fake. The eager, more zealous legionnaires would cause mayhem across all of Home.

"How can You be so confident that this guess is correct?"

"Since I move around a lot, I've learned to make pret-ty useful connections, hehehe."

It was no surprise that the legionnaires held combat up to such importance.
They were the most heinous fighting force of the century, if not the millennium, sporting satanic pentagrams, inverted crosses and cracked skulls on their uniforms. They organized whole blood-drinking rites.
They held a record for the highest number of war criminals within their ranks (something which may or may have not been forged by the Angel of Death herself, seen as the human authorities never applied the Geneva Conventions to drones).
How could the legionnaires of the Vanguard NOT love war?

She was still head over heels, but slowly starting to get a hold of herself.

“Ok, ok… I’m cooled off.” She affirmed, regaining composure, but preserving a small smile on her faceplate. “(...sick!)”

“So… I suppose this is also why You came to see me.
I have to get my drones ready, don’t I?”

“Exactly, that’s what I was told to report, for some ordinary inspection, they said…
We now know better, though, don't We? hehehe...”
“You better get Your uniforms polished, my Spirit.”

“Got it. You’ve lit up my day quite a bit, Miss.”

“Haha, don’t mention it.”
“I just hope this’ll perhaps be the one time I can come with for the mission.”

“Why do You say so? You afraid they’ll leave You here?”

“Oh, don’t get me started! I basically spent all the 7 years of the Liberation filing paperwork and doing other pointless bullshit of the likes, things that those cunt officers - no offense - could have done themselves!”
“No matter how many times I applied, those bastards would just deny every single time! I got to see combat only once…”

Such a privation got her visibly frustrated, reminding herself of the bloodshed she was gatekept from. It was reason for great envy towards her peers, making her feel of less worth.
Winston felt really sorry for her. He wished he could do something.

“Tsk, whatever.
It’s been a fun chat, but I still have to run around searching for 19 more Spirits like You to tell the same gibberish all over again. I’ve been repeating like a broker record since morning.”

“Bloody hell! You’ve had quite the marathon today, haven't You?”

“Ah, screw You, and all those damn bastards in their offices!
Don’t get me started on what I would do to them if they were humans!”

“Woah, ok, Miss, Let’s stop it right there.
Wait, are You going to tell the ‘secret’ to all of them too? Isn’t that too dangerous?”

“Oh, no. You are the only one I’m telling it to.”

“Uh? Why me?”

“Well, I work for Your Deacon. Sternejäger says You can be trusted, so…”

“Wait, You know Stern?
Winston knew that drone very well. He was his direct superior, and a great friend, also. 

“Not really, I got called to work for him only a week ago. He’s cool, I guess…"

He was - as his nickname suggested - a very serious and strict officer, not all that 'cool', but not so austere as to be impenetrable, either. Not when it came to doing a favor for a friend, at least.
Perhaps Winston could really do something for that gal.

“Alright, talk’s over. You have until the end of this cycle to get Your drones ready.” Inside Home, ‘cycle’ was the equivalent of an earth day.
“Sorry if I’m being pissy, Sir. You have a good day.” She looked tired, even saddened. Winston felt for her.

“Wait! You said You’d like to - if Your information is correct, that is - join others in invading a human planet?”

She sighed, pondering the possibility. There was the hint of a smile on her face. “Yeah, I’d love to be of use beyond assisting in the office. Why?”

“Well, let’s say, then, that if the assembly were to confirm a next crusade against the humans…
I could, then, let’s say… Ask a favor or two from a friend… and, perhaps, find a place for You as well... Mayhaps…”

“Huh?”

“After all, it’s been quite a while since I visited that poker-faced fella. You might have just given me enough of a reason to go see my favorite Deacon again, hehe.”

“Wait… Are You saying…?
OHMYSOLVER, YOU’RE GOING TO ASK HIM IF I CAN COME ALONG??!?!?!” 

Seeing this overworked fella spring of joy made Winston feel a lot better. He was not going to let her down.

“Eh, I might just try…”

“OH, MY SPIRIT! Thank You! True, from the bottom of my heart! Thank You so, so, so much!!” She had returned to being as excited as before, this time even less motivated to contain it.
“I’ll do anything to make it up to You!”

“No, no, come on! Don’t mention it!
Also, don’t You have other, more concrete duties to fulfill for today??”

“Uh?”

She looked at her tablet, which could also read the time: 2°.3’.25”
“OH, SHIT I’M SO LATE!” Her hand instinctively went to the black beret on her head, dreading what would happen if she didn’t complete her task in time.

“I have to go right away! Thank you so, so much again, Sir Winston!”

Huh, she doesn't seem to be just tired from work. It seems to me she just wants a better job.

“Hey, I’ll do my best to put in a good word!
Have a nice… uh….” Winston still couldn’t tell if it was day or night. Not that it was intended to be known, from within the black Singularity.
“Have a good one, Miss…?”

“Oh! I’m Lya, sir! Lya of the Mangas Coloradas Legion!”

The female drone then departed hastily with a wide smile, tablet gripped with one hand, while the other one saluted her superior with a V handsign, the formal salute of the Vanguard Legions.

“See you around, my Spirit!”

And with this closing act of kindness, Winston could finally get to his new task: Get everyone from his Pentagram ready before the end of the cycle.
Get them ready for the upcoming grand assembly.

They might just return to doing what they loved doing best.

Alright, this better not be a hoax… back to work!

...

“TAUB! TAUB!
OPEN THE DOOR, YOU WASTED KRAUT!
I’VE BEEN KNOCKING FOR MINUTES, DAMN YOUR IRON ASS!”

Winston, even if working on a deadline, wanted to inform his officers in person, using his task as an excuse to go see them. He could also meet his two new Presidents, another thing he looked forward to.
It was a decision he was starting to regret, though, tired of knocking on that blasted door.

“Coming!”

A voice from inside the dorm answered, but it wasn’t Taub’s.

The door opened to show a disassembler donning the crimson shirt issued as informal wear for all Vanguard Legionnaires.

“Naum! took You cunts long enough!”

Here was Naum, a simple demon of the Vanguard, yet close confidant of the Shax Scoundrels’ President.

“You can’t blame me, sir! Taub’s sleeping, i was in Skorz’s office doing the inventory,
and You know that Taub’s basically deaf!

Ahh, right. That explains it.

Taub, the other drone inside the room, was indeed asleep, and he was also indeed quite the old man when regarding his hearing, despite being younger than Winston.

Both him and Naum shared a room with their superior.

“Alright, it’s fine.
Where is the Austrian?”

“Skorz?
To be completely honest, Sir, i don’t know.”

Perfect…

“If it’s fine, i’ll be more than happy to report your message to him myself.”

“No, no. Thank You, Naum, I need to see him in person.”

Winston wanted to share the whole of the news with the President first, who was always up-to-date with all rumors circulating inside the many confined burrows of Home, just to see if he had recieved the news before him, for once.

“Well, if You’d be willing to go and search for him, i’d recommend starting from the pubs of the R.C. Lang district. You know he loves staying at 101’s Dog Breed’s, for example.” 

Skorz had always been one to entertain himself in such places. He loved witnessing drunken ramblings, fights, and similar theatrics of the inebriated. Not that he didn’t adore the highly intoxicating naphta himself, he was just way more tolerant, ensuring that, at the end of the night-out, he was always the last drone standing, literally.

“Hmmm, I’m not particularly in the mood to get crude oil on my uniform. It always happens when I tag along with him. I’m starting to suspect he brings me to the worst places on purpose.
I’m not in a hurry, I’ll wait ‘till I see him again.”

Winston didn’t really have all of that time, but he also reasoned that he could tell the actual orders to Naum and everything would be done with the same efficiency. It wasn’t the first time that the drone had to act as the President’s second-in-command, even if he was of the lowest, starting rank: Demon.

“Also, why did he leave You two here by Yourselves?” Winston questioned.

“Ah, he forgot to file the inventory for the Angle’s purchases, as well as Our credits return document, so he asked me to do it for him.”

This was another example of Naum acting as second-in-command,

“And You said yes?”

“i said he now owed me at least three Shellies.”

...Only he wanted some compensation, for each time he did.

Bloody hell, these jerries are the same as their human counterparts.
Beer, beer, beer, as far as their bellies can have, even if it's robot beer…

“Serves him right I guess. And, uh, Beethoven there?”

Taub was still lying there on the couch, snoozing as loud as he could, completely oblivious and uncaring of all that happened around him.

“Lazy as always. Y’know him: goes to work fully charged, comes home to turn into a sloth. i could swear i’ve seen hibernated animals sleep less than him.”

Taub, Naum and Skorz went way back, being comrades - or kameraden, as said in their native German - since before the Liberation. And yet, they never got the chance to see their differences in habits up until then, when the three were forced into Taub’s dorm due to the insufferable noises coming from the factories.
It was lost on no one how, ironically, Taub, the infamously deaf one, was the one with the dorm in one of the highest floors of the complex, safe from all the rumble.

“Right Your opposite. You compliment each other flawlessly.”

Naum, on the other hand, was quite the tireless enforcer and adjutant. Despite being two ranks lower than Skorz, the President often tasked him with resolving matters too boring or complex for his easily bored taste.
Things like what Naum was doing that day, he had already done countless other times before, in his superior's stead. He held no actual contempt towards him, though.

“And the President acts as the extra walk-on. Never in the house, always leaving his homework half done. The end of the Liberation’s clashes is killing him, I swear.”


Skorz was indeed a man of action, rather than one for the working desk.
He loved anything which could fill his wires with a spark, hated anything that tied him down to mediocrity or ennui.
Hence, he always spent more time wandering at random in search of things to do, mainly stopping by the many pubs that opened in Termina - the rich capital of Home - after its construction began.
Abodes of endless entertainment awaited, where he could make the most of his extroversion and sathe his need for stimulation.

With no war to fight in - seen as Earth was already conquered - this drone, just like many others, was growing restless and unfulfilled, his system reminiscing in nostalgia for all the thrill of battle.
Thankfully, he found a temporary substitute in bar fights, something that both healed his melancholy and kept him trained, ever sharpening his skills in trickery thanks to new, automated (inebriated would be a better term, though), opponents.

“But if You had news for the President, i might also believe that You have something to tell Us too, my Spirit?”

Oh, I do, but not yet!
So You’ll have to do with something else, for now…

“Yes, iron Your uniforms, finish Your tasks and get a quick nap’s rest. I’ve had a hunch We’ll soon be needed for a surprise drill of some kind.”

“Gottverdammt, and here I thought I could’ve rested a bit later…”

“You should be more like Taub, sometimes.”

Without hesitation, Naum then took a pillow from the adjacent recliner…

“I think TAUB should be more like ME, sometimes.”

And threw it at the sleeping beauty with as much force as he could.

“TAUB! WACH AUF!”

“AH! SCHEISSE! WAS IST LOS?!?
Have tthe umans attacked zhe trenches again?!”

“What on this accursed plane are You mumbling about!?
The war ended six months ago, Dummkopf!”

“What is it, then!?”

“Go finish Skorzeny’s paperwork! I’m going to rest for half an hour or something. Don’t You dare disturb me while I do!”

“Ok! Ok! I’ll go…. for fuck’s sake.
(…stupid Skorz and his negligence…)”

“And stop lamenting about the President, You’re not the one who’s always doing the crap he forgets about.”

“Aye, Aye, mein führer! keep on enabling him, Y’know he likes it!”

“Oh, shut it, Taugenichts.”

Taub then went on his way to his President’s office, disgruntled, but accepting.
Winston, having witnessed the whole interaction, failed to stop a small chuckle sneaking out of his mouth. It was especially funny to hear them argue in German.

“Hope You enjoyed the show, my Spirit.”

“Haha, sorry for the trouble, Naum.
Anyways, That’s all I had to say. have a good one.”

"You too. Tschüssle, mein Herr."

“Catch You later, krauts.”

With this, Winston excused himself away, now heading to another President’s dorm, another one he already knew, one he was sure to always find in her room at all times.
‘Painting’, as she so loved doing.

...

As expected, there she was, painting, veiled in her usual black robe; her pale, straight hair acting as a powerful contrast. So long they were that they reach all the way to her hips. Given her unusual height, it looked like they were her mantle. White on black, the two colors of death.

She had her back to the door, but had certainly noticed Winston’s intrusion, one that she didn’t respond to. She felt no need to conceal what she was working on, perhaps because her works of art already decorated the room sufficiently.

Even if lightless, Winston could still in that space see thanks to his headband eyes, the same that she was presumably using to paint, all while immersed in her other, finished products.

There were contorted statues everywhere, red affrescos on the walls, and nothing else if not the work-in-progress canvas. No furniture, no light, just the art, the artist, and a newfound viewer.

Even though he had already entered, and she had already noticed, Winston didn’t want to forsake manners completely. He knocked on the door and asked permission to continue inside.

“May I?”

“You may” She casually responded, with a voice so profound and soothing, it sounded heavenly. Winston was still surprised any time he heard her voice, a natural instrument she almost never used.

She continued painting, standing high - 2 metres, to be precise - , towering over the ornaments of her room.
She still paid no attention to Winston, expecting him to come forth on his own.

Winston wanted to, but he had to adjust to what was in that room: The singular art of the President.

He already knew what it was, even before entering. He had seen things like that many times, during the Liberation.
But seeing it displayed there, so out of place in the comfort of one’s room, it never failed to make him feel unease, disgust even.
Not because it was bad, but because of the medium.

Dear me…

Her expressive hands were all tainted red from the only color she used, a paint she obtained by dipping fingers into mashed innards kept inside a wooden bowl.

Up on the walls and standing on their feet - their gruesome details barely visible through night vision - many ‘sculptures’ of skinned flesh and exposed bone stood, exhibited, in ever distorted poses.

The walls, too, were covered in dancing, impressionist forms, spectres telling tales of the same pain those mannequins felt when they were men, their contents extracted from them, now turned into paint.
The silhouettes present, mere characterisations of the artist’s desire, colorized there, and everywhere else in the room, with the only material that could also act as the perfect message:
blood, human lifeline the President was always caught having her hands drenched in.
In this room, that blood was her paint, the skin her marble to mold, and the bones her supports.
In this room, the medium was evidently the message.

They were the icons of carnal agony, of the fragile intimacy beyond the tissue of the homo sapiens. The art, expression of vengeance,
of President Bathory.

“God morgen, Winston.”

“Hello, Bathory… I see You’ve kept Yourself occupied well enough…
Also, it’s not morning, it’s actually quite late in the cycle, by now.”
Not that she would know. She never spent much time outside her window-barred abode.

“Mhh, i see.” 

She had never been one to talk much.

“What are You working on, this time?”

“Nothing in particular, to see what comes of instinct’s unrest.”

But when she spoke, it was often in constructs as complex and elusive as her works - minus the gruesomeness.

“Good, I guess…  It’s better than spending the whole day inside a pub, at least…”

“Skorz misbehaving again?”

Behind the few words she spoke, there was an exceptionally clever mind,
even if also exceptionally cruel, at times.

“No, he’s just spending time how he always would, given the chance.
But yes, this also means that he’s been ignoring his tasks more than usual.”

“Mmhh…”

She always expressed herself more in murmurs rather than words, each of them capable of conveying an unending plethora of meanings.

“I suppose You didn’t just come here to lament Skorz’s capriciousness, though?”

“What if I just wanted to see You?”

“You’d like to do that more often, but You can’t, because of work. Still, I’m very grateful for Your visit, even if related to Your tasks, my cordial Spirit.”

“Haha, I already told You, You can avoid the lavish formalities, dear.”

“It is no formality. I’m being honest and thankful, Winston.”

He sighed inside his mind, but not of annoyance.

You never change. Ever the bewildering mystery, aren’t You?

She spoke with her back to the Spirit, but not out of disregard, just unwilling to leave her craft for more than a minute.

Winston didn’t approach closer. The room was still one great exposition of cadavers turned statues and affrescos, after all.

Winston never got around to accepting those creations as a normality, but he didn’t question, nor badmouthed Bathory because of them.
He knew she had a story, one that could answer to the ‘why’ of the art, but one she kept very close to herself.Perhaps it was better to keep it that way.

She did her job flawlessly, helped any and all of her peers any day and treated everyone with equal kindness; that was all Winston cared about.
She was so different from everyone else, but could still shine rays of joy, even through the black of the uniform and her silent demeanor, the perfect contrast to the contents of that room.

No matter. Bathory knew that Winston was disquieted by her ‘art’, a response she both accepted and understood, respecting his boundaries and trying to still make him feel comfortable in other ways.

“Have the factories ceased screaming yet?”

“Nay, it would need a miracle to make them shut up.”

…But We may have one at hand! eheheh…
To get away from them, at least…

“Are Your roommates discrete?”

“When they feel like it, yes. When they don’t feel like it,
I make sure they feel like it again.”

“Mhmhmh, good to see the commander can still rein in the troop.”

“I’m flattered by Your appreciation for MY work of art, President.
to receive compliments from the android Frida Kahlo is a great honor indeed.”

She didn’t laugh, but a smile could nonetheless be seen widening on her visage, one she showed by briefly turning her head around.
It was her own trait: expression in silence. Not apathy, just utmost discretion.

“Who’s Frida Kahlo?”

“A great artist, such as Yourself."

“i’m not an artist, Sir.”


Uh, she never did tell me something of this caliber before…


“What would You call Yourself, then?”


Suddenly, the painting drone stopped working on her piece. She stood completely still, pondering the question, perhaps a little too much.

“You know what? Forget it.
Let’s get to why I am really coming to visit You.”

“Yes, my Spirit?”

“You need to get Your units ready, all of the Angle.
There almost certainly will be a Community-wide assembly, very soon.”

“Oh?”

“But there’s more.”

“Yes?”

“We might get to leave the Singularity, afterwards.”

Bathory immediately stopped, once more, turning towards her commander Winston with a look of intrigued curiosity.

“Rumor is that We’re being sent to other human planets.”

“...”

Her visor was now struck by surprise. Her eyes went hollow and wide

“That means…”

…before a large, obscure grin occupied her otherwise white jawline.
Her teeth were red with blood: She had been eating parts of the artwork material, apparently.

“So We’re finally going in for round two, then?”

Now that she was closer, Winston could get a proper feel of just how taller she was of him. It was one of her defining characteristics, the other one being her love for human suffering.

Winston hadn’t seen her in a mood shift like that for quite some time. It always happened when the Pentagram was to be part of new offensives against human forces - quite some time ago.

Winston felt a bit estranged, seeing it now, and if he didn’t already know Bathory, he would have felt fear in that moment, with her towering over him, eager to hear the news, intrigued by the possibility of getting to see the humans again; eyes wide open, like a huntress informed of new prey.
If Winston didn’t know better, he would have felt like he was the prey.

“They’re just unconfirmed conclusions, but all the evidence points towards that direction.”

“That’s great, Winston… i was starting to get bored inside these walls.”

She’d also start acting differently - like losing her mellowness - during her mood shifts.

"I’m calling Beleth, she’s not going to believe it.”

Beleth was the second in command to her, effectively the vice-President of Beleth-Bathory, the Angle commanded by the homonymous artist.
The two girls went way back, being friends since before the Liberation, like the Germans Naum, Taub and Skorz.
Both joined Cyn’s cause as soon as they could, both overeager to climb the ranks, both so hateful of humans, even for Vanguard standards, although only one of them, Winston felt, could be justified in loathing them so.
They were very fond of each other, so much so that Bathory decided to include Beleth’s name in their co-titled Angle cognomen; also because it sounded good to the ear.

Speaking of ears, Bathory was now munching on one,
a bloody remnant from one of her victims, one like so many others she collected during the Liberation, some of them destined to become forms of expression, others her snack.
She had a whole refrigerator specifically to preserve them.

“Bel’? Bel’, You there….? Mhh….My dear, You have no…..mhm, no idea of what wonderful news i’m about to tell You.
Come meet me right now, You’ll dance the Halling from the excitement.”

His job done, Winston waved at Bathory, and she in turn waved him back, saluting his short visit as he now returned to where he came from.

“Spirit Winston says that it might be time to settle the score.” 

“...”

Winston was once again wandering the halls of the residential complex; corridors and lounges in Second Empire style embellished by furniture of the same traits. All was exposed by the faint yellow lighting present in every buidling, sometimes further emphasized by the more potent gold of outside, the dark sky ever trespassed by three golden rays descending from above. The artificial sun of the Singularity shined cyber yellow on buildings and streets; through windows and porches.

Drones of all statures and constitutions stood and wandered on his path, some chatting carefree, others reading books and journals, couples hushed resting on couches, some more just passerbies there, Winston being one of them.

Looking out the window from where he was, he could see that the amount of drones in military uniforms had increased yet again.
They were mostly SolverForce soldiers, with their all identical uniforms of napoleonic inspiration, filled with ornaments and the same, recurring themes of order and uniformity. They truly were polar opposites of the Legions, which, in contrast, still favored individual aesthetics, leaving each demon the freedom to choose its own wardrobe, with only some mandatory elements to include.

Winston didn’t hold the SolFor in low regards, as other peers of his did. He just felt they were too strict and committed to the part, to the point of obnoxiousness.

Frivolous comments aside, Winston still had a task to complete, and his deadline was closing in. He hastened down the corridor to his next destination.

He was headed to the dorm of yet another President, still committed to hand them his order in person (minus Skorz, whom he would also have to later scold).

But this time, the one to receive them would be a completely new face,
one of his new Presidents. 

Arriving at the door, the Spirit could only wonder what this drone would be like.

The designation link he was given could only redirect him to so much as the name and gender of the one he was about to meet.

“Hello? Is anybody home?”

No answer.
So Winston just kept knocking on the door harder, hoping not to have another Taub at hand,

“Hello? Helllooooo?”

...Something which was looking ever more likely, with each knocking…

Is she sleeping?
Please don’t tell me she’s not home, I would prefer not wasting my time.

Winston knocked, and knocked, and knocked,
and then frustration started knocking too,
only it was knocking on his head,
and he was starting to get angry.

What in bloody hell is it with everyone these days? Is it a general burnout or am I missing something?

His patience run short, Winston instinctively twisted the doorknob and stormed into the room, as the door was never even locked to begin with.

Before Winston could properly recompose himself - or just realize he had violated someone’s privacy - his eyes caught vision of a single drone, golden silver hair organized in two locks on the front and two low pigtails on the back, dressed in nothing but a lime sweater, no pants to be seen, a minimalistic choice of wear popularized by another drone in particular... 

She was handling a set of boxes taller than her in a not-so-organized manner, sustained only by the famously uncomfortable conical legs.

She wasn’t looking too worried, though.
Her headphones prevented hearing of Winston’s knocking, but she also missed the moment that he entered the room, so immersed in the song she was humming eyes-closed to: “I miss the quiet”, a popular electronic music piece dated more than a millennium. Not something that Winston would listen to, but still an impeccable song, nonetheless.

It took her a second or two, but as soon as she put attention back to her visor screen, she became a witness to the unexpected surprise of her visitor.
And oh boy was she surprised.

“AAAAAA!!!!!” She screamed.

…And subsequently fell to the floor, stumbling on another box there, as the spook from Winston’s presence made her jump.
Her pile of cardboard followed closely, crumbling upon the clumsy drone in an instant.

Jesus, Murphy… I like You already.

Winston then hastened to the gal’s aid, and it is here that he was introduced to the first of his new Presidents, the fallen mess buried under a mound of unwieldy containers.

“Miss! You alright?”

“Uffff…. Yeah… Thank You.
Hey, wait.
Who are You and what are You doing in my room??”

“Uhh…. You left the door open, And I..
Ok, You are Serial Designation G-1211XX12, nicknamed ‘Gold’, right?”

“Sure I am, President in the Vanguard, LEADER, of the paladins known as the Ghost Gamblers! a formation of exemplary chivalry and devotion, best in Our field.”

Quite the description for an Angle with such a name…

“But You still haven’t answered me! I demand to know who You are and why You are here! Were You spying on me? You could’ve just knocked, You know! Instead of intruding on people like that! Do I have to report You to the authorities!?
Oh, wait, I am an authority.
Well then, YOU-”

“Miss! Please, calm down!”

“WHO ARE YOU, THEN!?”

Seriously, what’s gotten to everybody these days????

“My name’s Winston, Spirit of the Andras Arditi.”

“Mmmmh-mh, aaand?”

Is this bitch being for real?

“And… You have to call all of Your subordinates in preparation for an upcoming assembly.”

“O-k. And, uh, what - hehe - what proof do You have of that?”

Winston’s visor lit up with widened eyes, in anticipation for the petrifying outburst he was about to cast upon this pesky, insolent drone.
Bloody hell, I’m REALLY NOT in a mood for this..!

Raising a finger, he caught all the breath that he could and-

“You might be my superior (If You even are what You say You are),
but You’re not my commander! Not of my Pentagram, that is!”

…
What?

Winston’s imminent fury was temporarily halted to make space for confusion.

“You heard me.
Also, that reaction of Yours there is just priceless, Y’know?
eheheh."

“........Excuse me?”

“Nuh-uh, it won’t be me You’ll have to ask pardoning from!
I’m calling MY Spirit, We’ll see if HE will be as clement as I!”

……
This must be a joke

“And, uh….. Who might Your superior be, if I’m allowed to ask?”

“I take orders only from the Spirit of the Akkad Astartes!
Quite the personality, they say! The few who witnessed him angry still have that impression plastered in their sorry minds!”

"Right….. Akkad… Astartes? You sure it’s called that?”

"Absolutely. Why You asking?”

“What was the name of that Pentagram’s Spirit?”

“Serial Designation W-0X10101X, nicknamed Winnie the dentist!”

Winston couldn’t contain himself at that point. Not out of anger, though.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! ! !"
He burst out laughing from the absurdity of it all.

This was ridiculous; the way she misinterpreted everything, mixed with that pompous attitude - and Irish accent. Everything made it all unbearably funny.

Winston already loved her so, so much.

“.....”
“What’s so funny, funny guy?”

Jesus. Fucking. Murphy. I think I know who might be behind this…

“hehe- he, s- sorry, g-gal. I Just.. heheh, I couldn’t resist no more, hehe.
‘Winnie the dentist’, ooooh, dear me, haha.”

“Don’t… Don’t You know why they call him that??
It’s rumored that he collects the teeth of his victims, and then puts them all on his uniform!
Do You wish to become his patient, perhaps~?”

This was far too much. Winston burst out laughing once more.
"HAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHA...."

“WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING??
DON’T YOU RECOGNIZE WHAT THIS MEANS FOR YOU!?
YOU ARE DEAD, FELLA!”

“I think We might have a huge misunderstanding at hand, hehe.
You might want to look at this, de-.”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!
I’m calling the Spirit right now! Let’s see if You’ll laugh just as much as now…”
She started typing the number on the portable phone she got out of her multi-purpose, disassembly drone arm.

Oh, trust me, I’ll have the time of my life, You poor victim of Skorz’s

“You’re done for, lad.” She said as she started calling her Spirit's phone… meaning Winston's.

As the drone before her started receiving the call, her expression suddenly turned from that of confident taunt to one of utter dread, finally convinced - given proof, that is - that the one standing before her was, in fact, her direct superior all along,
and that he wasn’t called Winnie the dentist.

Winston was almost brought to his knees, yet again overly elated, this time due to the radical transformation on Gold’s face, who could only stare at him, mouth and eyes wide and open, like Munch's Scream, fearing her punishment.
That look screamed “oh shit, I’m screwed”

And Winston just laughed - having the time of his life - as he kept savoring the absurdity of that moment for a second further, before he explained to her what had been the cause of everything that just transpired.

“(Oh, shite, I’m screwed)” She muttered through her teeth.
“Bu- but the… the other guy said….”

“Hehe...Who might this ‘other guy’ be?” Winston questioned.

He wasn’t angry, already knowing who was behind everything. It wasn’t the first time It happened, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“H-H-He said he was a fellow President… of the Pentagram
He said his name was S-Sh-Sharkz, s-sir, my Spirit - sorry…”

“Right, that means Skorz, I see…”

Who else could have concieved such a prank, after all?

“Wh-what?”

“Oh No, don’t You worry, it’s fine.
Only, You need to be a lot more cordial, and lots less pompous, especially with other superiors. You don’t answer to me only, You see.
But You’ve got quite the ardent spirit within You, which is greatly appreciated.
I hope You can display this same militant attitude when We’re on the battlefield.”

Gold was surprised, she expected a crashout - a fairly valid one, all things considered - one to make her crumble on the floor harder than that pile of boxes did. But instead, she got this: Winston trying to explain that she was the victim of a cruel joke.
Trying, if she would just let him.

“O, MY HONOURED SPIRIT! I am so, SO SORRY for all the HORRIBLE things I just told You! I JUST….”

She was starting to sob, glitchy tears forming up on her visor, mortified.
Winston was starting to genuinely feel sorry for her, just another victim of Skorz’s pranks.

“....That horrible, DEVIOUS drone told me a bunch of straight-up lies!
He warned me that a Spirit he knew personally liked to prank new officers by coming to their room and lying about their designated Pentagram. He said I was likely to be next, but in the end, it was he himself who pulled the prank! He gave me false information!
I beg of You, please forgive me!”

This rush of regret from the now downhearted drone was sincere, a proper display of ‘sorry’, exercised in one of the most panicked, though still authentic, ways.

I say this is a perfect first work interview, my Irish subordinate!

“Please, gal. You needn’t worry.
That ‘Sharkz’ guy You mentioned is actually named Skorz, and he’s really quite the devious pest indeed. Unfortunately, he’s also Your new equal-rank comrade in arms.”

“Wh-whaat??”

“Also, they call me ‘Win’ Surgical’, rather than ‘dentist’; Hehe, funny one though, Skorz, gotta admit.”

“...
I’m really confused, sir…”

“Yeah, I know. Many others before You suffered the same gag, dear.”
“Welcome to the Andras Arditi, I hope You have fun.”

Winston then went on to calm Gold down, then inform her too of what her new orders were: Make Your subordinates presentable, keep them ready at a moment’s notice. Omitting only the part about a possible new conquest on the horizon.

With that, he was almost done.
All that remained was a single other newbie President for Winston to meet.

Now, where is this guy’s pla-

But before he even had time to look up where he’d have to head off to now, a drone behind his back loudly gasped, attracting the Spirit’s attention.

“You… You’re Winsto- Uuh, I mean, my Spirit!”

It was no problem, though, not even a setback; he wouldn’t have to go far to find who he was looking for.

“I’ve been looking around all complex for You, Sir!”

For it was he himself who’d come up to Winston on his own.

“....And You are?”

“Euronimus, Sir! President of Moloch Mayhem.”

It was the start of a friendship that Winston would cherish up to his last day in the Universe.

...

“Oh. Well, that’s convenient.”

“Yeah! I’m very lucky to have found You. This place is abuzz with such a frenzy that, if I didn’t know any better, I’d have said the building was on fire.”

“Huh… Really?”

“Oh, You haven’t noticed? Everyone suddenly seems to be in such a rush!”
“One mate down to the ground floor told me that there’s a big event coming up, though he didn’t have time enough to stop and explain what that was.”

Damn, word travels fast, I guess.

The clock was ticking even faster, though Winston failed to notice. He was prying into the golden graphics of the drone’s eyes, so bright as they were, screaming excitement.
This one was young: probably inexperienced, but sure to be full of life.

He was a bit of a strange guy: wore a very ripped Black leather jacket filled with strange accessories; had long smooth hair, - almost like Bathory’s - pale as bone; what appeared to be the remnants of black facial paint.
He was shorter than Winston, almost certainly using the standard-A body model, the one already available to all drones from the start of their career.

“Did the fella You interviewed also say why they were all running, President, uh… Yurroni..
Sorry, I don’t mean to butcher it, what was your name again?"

“Euronimus, sir! Pronounced E-U-Ron-E-Mus, Like the human guitarist! Do You not know him?”

“I’m not too big on human music, unfortunately. I’ve only listened to a few, really old tracks”

“That’s not a problem, he’s technically old music himself - even if revolutionary. I can give you an album CD of his, if You want!”

“Ehhh…. why not, I guess… I suppo-”

“It’s gonna blow You away, trust!”

‘Trust’? Who the hell speaks like that?

“Yeah, yeah, We’ll… We’ll look forward to-
Hey, wait, quit distracting me, I’ve got orders for You!”

His face turned all serious and worried in less than a second.
“Yes, sorry sir.” He said as he stood at attention, looking at the floor, like in shame.

It was a complete U-turn from the agitated youth Winston was chatting with only a second ago. It felt too sudden, too drastic, kind of forced.
It kind of annoyed Winston.
Still, he sighed his opinions away. There were more important matters at hand.

“Alright… let’s keep it short.
It is true that there’s a big event coming. In fact, We’re going to have an assembly soon. I don’t know when, but it’s coming.
Hence, You are to gather Your subordinates and tell them to get all cleaned up and keep their gear ready.
Sorry if I sound annoyed or irritated. I’ve been going around all day repeating the same thing to all Your co-workers… co-Presidents, actually.”

Euronimus nodded, than raised a finger, still remaining at attention all the while. He was asking permission to speak.

“Yes, President?”

“If it can be of help, the drone who told me about the event also said that it would commence at 3°.2’.75” singularity point time, Sir!”

“And what time is it now?”

Euronimous then instinctively gazed at the digital clock on the back of his hand, a special accessory he installed on himself. The time read:

“3°, 2’, 70”, Sir!”

The average cycle in the singularity could be divided up in 24 hours - 1440 minutes - Just like it would be on Earth -  were it still existing. But inside Home, the time was divided according to the DMS system, with three degrees (°), three minutes (‘) and 80 seconds (“) comprising a cycle. The value of a second in this system was the equivalent of 2 minutes in the one used before - the SI. Every former second inside Home was called a ‘tick’. 120 of them made a STS (Singularity Time System) second.

Anyways, Euronimous said it was 3°.2’.70”
meaning Winston and the rest of his Pentagram had approximately 10 minutes left before the assembly was announced.

Shit

So Winston acted without hesitation.

“President Euronimus! Head towards Your subordinates and pray to Cyn that they are all where You last left them! You have 10 minutes to get Your shit together!

Shouting as if his life was on the line, poor little Euronimus had to bear the panic of that frenzied order, not even 10 minutes since meeting his boss.
He trembled from the scare, not having expected that information to make Winston detonate like that.
But to be fair, he shouldn’t have forgotten the value of each unit in the STS.

“Now go!”

Euronimus gasped. “Y-YE-YESSIRR!!” then stumbled and rushed down the hallway as fast as he could, almost tripping to the floor.

“USE YOUR WINGS! FLY OUT FROM THE VERANDA AND HEAD BACK NOW! GO!” Winston screamed, reminding his peer of the pair of jetpacks he could use as an advantage.

“YEEESSIIRR!” was the hastened response he got, followed by Euronimous unleashing his wings.

Before Winston himself took out his own pair, panicked, and flew away to reach the dorms where his subordinates were.

He was really sorry to cut short his first interaction with the new President like that. Fortunately, there would be many other occasions on which they could catch up.
He was an excited youth, so eager to meet his Spirit that he went to search for him on his own; Winston wanted to repay him for that.

He would meet him again with the rest of the Pentagram, probably. He'd offer him a drink there.


Thinking about important matters, though, there was still the problem of Skorz’s absence, Winston still unaware of where the hell he could be.
No matter. There wasn't enough time for that. Skorz would catch up with the rest later, and get the appropriate penalty, if needed.

Winston still had to inform his own Angle, though, since he was also a President, something he sometimes forgot.

A radio came out of his arm.

“Sven?" He asked, calling on his second in command in the Angle. "You Better be hearing this. Gather everyone and get them ready and clean, ASAP, over.”

Those twats better not have wandered off as well.