Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I am Uziel Lydia Doorman, one of many autonomous Worker Drones patented by our interstellar parent company, “JCJenson IN SPAAAAACEE!!!”. We were manufactured on the exoplanet Copper-9 to mine-- You guessed it-- Copper, and to pump hydrocarbon compounds from the ground. We… Don’t really do much of the first part, aaaand the second part’s more of a necessity than a job. Kiiiiiinda like how saving the universe from a planet-eating AI was a necessity, and not a job. People actually thanked people for doing their jobs. Me? I have to write this stupid frikken thing for therapy. Apparently writing for twenty minutes a day is supposed to help me sort through my scrambled thoughts and “find my inner balance” or something. So here I am, doing the thing. Yippee. Let’s traumadump, gamers.

So-- My mom wasn’t exactly present in my life, she died while I still had that new-car smell from the factory. Mom got jabbed through the visor by a Disassembly Drone’s nanite acid tail. She told my dad to help her, aaaand he did. With a wrench through the motherboard. Since then, it’s been myself, my dad, and his special door-related special interests. Probably the least exciting time of my life, where I wake up, I go to school, suffer because I’m surrounded by a bunch of boring morons and princessy bullies, I come back home and I either sit at my computer or I workshop a project for myself using scrap from around the colony and my 3D printer – All while cowering with everyone else in a bunker. Because of the murder drone thing happening outside. If anyone stays outside past sundown, they’re super dead.

Now this is where things start getting exciting. I wanted to earn everyone’s respect, and I was willing to risk my life for it. So I got scheming. Like the ingenious woman I am, I came up with a plan that nobody else ever came up with. I was going to put the murder drones in the frikken ground! I decided, “I’ll shoot them dead and then everyone’ll see me as a hero instead of a social pariah,” So, I built a gun! Classic photon converger stuff. And I left the colony past dark to do the deed, to finally earn some respect around here.

That’s how I met Serial Designation N. We weren’t friends immediately. He kinda jabbed my hand with his acid poker first. Buuuuut I repaid him back by blowing up his head. It worked, for a few seconds. Did you know that murder drones can regenerate and repair themselves even if they’re forcibly disabled via “big frikken laser blast to the head”? I didn’t. The goober stood up after half of his body disintegrated. It actually scrambled N’s brain enough for us to talk for a while without having him eat my face. All my life I was told that murder drones couldn’t be reasoned with, that they were like feral animals or something, barely capable of speech. But I was having an honest to god conversation with one. I understood N, he understood me.

He told me about their motives, why they did what they did. He showed me the cockpit of the ship they landed in. N was nice. Nice enough to listen to me when I said something, instead of calling me weird and brushing me off or something. I figured, if I couldn’t disassemble the Disassemblers, I could at least try to talk some sense into them and see if we could start working together instead of trying to murderfy us. N was willing to see reason because apparently that’s the kind of person he was. He was just doing his job, and he wanted to do right by everyone, which apparently included me. It was very easy to forget that N was partly responsible for the literal mountain of corpses that he slept in.

Him and the rest of his team. Turns out, they were a team of three. And N’s coworkers weren’t exactly keen on hearing out a little ole Worker Drone like me ramble on about talks of peace or whatever. They’d sooner suck the oil straight out of my neck than listen to a single word I say. So the moment I started hearing their wings flap just outside, I bolted out of there. I’m a fighter, I want to make that crystal-clear. I’ve never ran from anyone, not ever. Every time my fight-or-flight protocols kick in I always picked the fun option. … But that was the first time I’ve ever turned my back on someone that wanted to hurt me. It terrified me. I’ve never felt that kind of vulnerability before in my life. I still remember how it felt while I ran from the corpse spire to the bunker. I felt my core squirm in my chest while my boots just kinda moved by themselves. I didn’t slip on any ice, I didn’t trip. I didn’t even look behind me to check if I was being followed, I had to assume that I was.

I made it to the bunker, thankfully. But, the pressurized blast doors didn’t shut fast enough though. N followed me home, following the orders of his squad leader I’m assuming. He managed to open the blast door from the inside, and eviscerated a few of Dad’s friends as a result. He got me, too. Knocked my railgun out of my hands, and he impaled me against the wall with his wing. He didn’t hit anything vital, just my shoulder. Dad was there – He watched me spit my own oil out from my mouth, with a primed gun at his feet, ready for him to pick it up and save the day. And any good father would’ve done that for the daughter he’d raised by himself for nineteen years. The same one he taught how to build, how to draft, weld. The same frikken man that taught her to fight back when all the teasing got physical. All he had to do was pick it up, aim, and pull the trigger.

He left me there. Shut a blast door between me and him, sealed my fate and couldn’t even say “bye” or “I love you” or the stuff that dads did for their dying kids. N watched all of this happen and he just… Looked at me. Like he was upset too. He saw that Dad hurt me in a way that none of the Disassemblers could. And I looked right back at N. I wanted to tell him to make it quick, but the oil bubbling up my throat made it really hard to talk. But, something weird happened.­ He didn’t kill me. He didn’t leave me for dead. When his teammates V and J caught up with him in the bunker, he managed to throw me off to the side before they got a good look at how dead I wasn’t. V took off further into the bunker, where later I would learn that’s when she ate a few other Worker Drones, including one of my classmate’s parents. But J stayed behind, because N was asking her the same question I asked him.

“What will happen to the Disassemblers when all the Worker Drones are dead?”

J didn’t like that. Apparently he was asking too many questions. So she left him for dead. Lured him in, injected him with a virus, and took off. I would’ve left him there too because, he kinda killed a lot of people which was going to include me. But, it was really hard to when he started blaming himself for the situation he was in. So. I did him a solid. I saved his life. No big deal, saving the life of a guy that probably ate babies. I honestly couldn’t tell if it was me just trying to cope with the fact that N did more than my dad did for me when the chips were down. But it was going to be the best decision I’d ever make. Because we were inseparable after that.

Aaaand, I think that’s all the traumadumping I have left in me for today. Hopefully my therapist writes a prescription for a patch for my... Everything, I guess. She thinks I might have some kind of anxiety disorder. I know I have trouble sleeping, she'd better write something for that at the very least.

I'll write some more tomorrow.

- Signing off, Uzi !!

“Once every morning, and every six hours as needed for anxiety attacks.”

Uzi’s fingers pinched a plastic amber vial, rotating it to analyze the contents within through squinting sunset LEDs. The ink printed on the label was plain as day: autocalm_patch.exe. The thumb drive contained within held the remedy to a problem she frankly didn’t expect she’d ever develop in her life. After saving the universe from absolute doom, this was her reward—the constant feeling of impending doom hanging over her head, that fight-or-flight protocol activating when it had no right to. Even just standing in this technician’s office made her feel uncomfortable. It felt like Uzi was losing control of her own body—an experience she neither wanted nor needed to deal with again. She sucked in a breath through her teeth and released it as a strained groan.

“Thiiiiis isn’t gonna be something I have to do for the rest of my life,” Uzi squinted up at the technician, clumsily undoing the cap of the amber vial. “Is it?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he answered with uncertainty, lifting a hand to pinch the frame of his glasses and readjust them over his face while Uzi reached into the vial to pinch out the patch. He cleared his throat. “There’s a lot of unknown variables at work here, uh—The only thing we can do is try different solutions until we find the right one for you, okay?”

Well, that answered nothing. Gotta love these professional types—a simple ‘I don’t know’ would’ve worked better. Uzi exaggerated an eye roll just as she angled her head to the side, brushing the indigo locks of her wig aside to slide the drive right into her temple where her glass visor met the shiny plasteel of her head. Click. Her visor displayed a ‘buffering’ icon, then a series of text-based windows that closed just as quickly as they opened. Then, a progress bar that quickly filled before it, too, disappeared. Uzi felt the new data swim through her head, each binary digit working together in tandem to settle the symptoms. Of course it would never settle everything that went on in that noggin of hers, not since assimilating the Absolute Solver. But it was enough for Uzi to find some clarity in her thoughts.

Uzi didn’t want to admit it, certainly not to an egghead—but it felt like her spirits were wrapped in a weighted blanket. Gravity itself seemed to comfort her, evident in the way her shoulders gradually lowered and how she breathed easy. She released a slow, steady exhale just as she ejected the drive back into her palm and deposited it into the vial—and the vial into her jacket pocket.

“…‘Kay.”

Fwoosh. The pressurized door to the family technician’s office shut behind Uzi. Both of her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, but one kept fidgeting with the amber vial in her right pocket, rotating it between her fingers. Sunset eyes scanned the waiting room expectantly, wondering where her plus-one had gone—

Thwack.
A crumpled-up ball of paper—torn from one of the many ancient newspapers that seemed to serve more as decoration than genuine reading material—gently papped the side of Uzi’s head. The calling card of her mother. In all her crablike glory, Nori scuttled up from her side towards Uzi’s boot, blinking that singular violet eye up at her. And through tinny speakers, that gravelly voice spoke, irritation weighing heavy in her tone.
“Frikken finally. We can get out of this cringe-hole of a clinic. How’d it go, babe?”

A defeated sigh escaped Uzi as she lifted a hand from her pocket, jostling the thumb drive in that amber vial.

Nori grunted in approval.
“Does it work?”

Uzi’s rubbery lips compressed, and she shrugged her shoulders.
“Think so. Hopefully it doesn’t melt my brain or turn me into a zombie or something.”

“Doubt it,” Nori said, pointing an appendage at her daughter. “Then again, you’ve got a lot goin’ on in that noggin of yours—more than I do.”

While Nori spoke, Uzi began walking, her mother’s tiny form latching onto her leg and scuttling up her back to rest on her shoulder. The farther Uzi got from this glorified clinic for robots, the more comfortable she felt.

That went double for Nori.
Spaces like this reminded her of the Cabin Fever Labs. She much preferred basking her face in the glow of a computer screen in a comfortable apartment, rather than subjecting herself to the boring ramblings of eggheads and the invasiveness of new data being shoved into her temple by the aforementioned eggheads.

She didn’t need to accompany Uzi here—but there was no way in hell Nori would let her daughter come alone, not when she knew how miserable it felt to be here all by her lonesome. Uzi was thankful for it, too. But she didn’t fully grasp the weight of Nori’s gesture—nor did she realize how deeply relieved her mother felt as Uzi finally began pacing herself away from that clinic and down the corridor toward the Doorman apartment.

“Hopefully N doesn’t miss me too much,” Uzi murmured, that hand returning to fidget with the amber vial in her jacket pocket.

“I’m sure butler-boy is fine. Your father’s probably keeping him entertained or something,” Nori’s voice lifted just before Uzi let out a quick little witchy cackle at the mental image of Khan infodumping about his door-related special interests, with N sitting there trying to be polite. It was enough to completely upturn Uzi’s dour mood.

“Is that who he is now? Butler-boy?” Uzi grinned, turning those sunset eyes toward Nori on her shoulder while her boots carried her farther down the corridor before making a turn.

“Considering how he keeps the place tidy? Yeah. He’s ‘Butler-boy’ until further notice,” Nori teased, an appendage gently rubbing just underneath her singular eye. “Well, most of the place. Your room is still a pigsty.”

“A pigsty where I know where everything is,” Uzi objected, while Nori exaggerated an eye roll. “And I’ve seen your desk down there in the cathedral, Mom. We’re both messy.”

Nori scoffed and lifted an appendage to gently thwack Uzi’s head.
“Get your idiot boyfriend to tidy it up once in a while, ‘kay?”

“Gyeheheh. Yeah, whatever—”
Now Uzi was all smiles, arms idly swinging at her sides as she walked, in lieu of having her hand in her pocket stimming with that amber vial.

For Uzi, life seemed to feel stable. Like she could sit down and actually breathe—smell the proverbial flowers. Maybe it was the new medication giving her clarity. Maybe it was the way her mother was so keen on making up for lost time that made her feel whole. Maybe it was because she knew that once she got home, she had a big, cuddly boyfriend to unwind with.

Things were almost nice.

Yet her thoughts never lingered far from the horrors of the “absolute nightmare.” In her loneliest hours, she would often think back to what it felt like to have her core ripped out through her chest—from the back. Or the sensation of watching something else pilot her body, like a puppet on strings.

Medication wasn’t going to fix that.

Chapter Text

Another day, another twenty minutes of writing. I’ve been thinking a lot about Mom lately.

I wasn’t too miffed about not having a Mom. I guess it’s kinda like being born blind or something—I didn’t really know what I was missing because Mom was never really present in my life. She’d just be this mysterious figure in stories Dad would tell me. He’d say she was this eccentric, sailor-mouthed goof, real good with computers and all that stuff. There’d be these-… I guess footprints? That she left everywhere in my life? Half my anime collection was from one of her hard drives. Most of my clothes were hers. Learned my first words from her. Dad said that I was more like her than I was like him, and I believed it—I still do. There was a lot about her that I related with from his stories, and I guess I was attached to her even though I never met her.

It’s weird to explain.

Even weirder when I finally met her. Turns out she wasn’t dead. Aaaaand, I actually didn’t get a chance to really talk to her until well after I pulled Cyn’s plug. Mom actually broke the ice first, she chewed me out for ‘hanging out’ with a ‘sky demon’. It wasn’t a long argument. It barely registered that she was actually the mysterious woman Dad talked about all the time, and not just some random sarcastic Solver core N found in Cabin Fever Labs. It probably didn’t help that I always associated her with the pictures of her that Dad kept, she looks nothing like her pictures for obvious reasons. There was a point though where it finally clicked. Like, this was her. This was Mom. But I guess I kinda see her as more of a nagging big sister than a mother. Which was great, actually. Always wanted a sister. But neither of us really knew how the whole “mother-daughter relationship” thing was supposed to go because we never really had a chance to have it happen naturally.

We still talked though, we talked a lot. She’s fun to hang around. We caught up with each other while watching anime. Mom didn’t talk much about what happened down there in the labs, before and after the explosion that kinda rocked the planet. She kept trying to ask me questions. About myself, actually. The only other person that cared to do that was N.

Me hosting the Absolute Solver scares her. I get it. I do. Mom always says that her life as a test subject was extremely fuzzy to remember, sometimes she’d tell me that she doesn’t even remember any of it. But I know she’s not being honest about that. Me hosting the Absolute Solver scares her because it reminds her too much of whatever happened down there. I try not to use the Solver around her because of it. She uses it, but she gets uncomfortable when I do. We... Try not to talk about it, honestly.

She knew Doll’s mom. She asked “Where’s Yeva”, “How’s Yeva, I miss her”. Lying to her about it is eating at me, I had to tell her that Doll would know, and that Doll was dead. If Mom ever found out that V was the one that ate Doll’s mom, the meltdown would be catastrophic. Mom and V fighting isn’t something I want to think about.

I feel really, really really bad for Mom... All she has left is me and Dad. All her friends are gone, all her test subject buddies are gone, she barely leaves the apartment unless it’s with us. And I feel bad knowing that she has to live the rest of her life as a Solver core, small enough to ride on shoulders. Mom straight-up told me that she would do anything to have arms again so that she could hug me. It broke my frikken heart when she said that.

I guess that’s why I’m writing about her today. I keep thinking about that.

I want to help. I don’t know how, though.

- Signing off, Uzi.

“I’m Butler-boy now? That’s AWESOME!”

N’s big, goofy grin warmed Uzi’s heart every time. There was something truly magical about it—something that could spurn any rain cloud looming over her head.

“Yeah, dude, think she’s starting to like you,” the shorter drone gigglesnorted as she flopped right down onto her throne—that well-worn gamer chair that served as the second most comfortable thing in her room. The first, of course, was currently occupied by her boyfriend, his homework spread out in front of him as he lay on his stomach. He looked comfortable, especially in his pajamas.

N had long since stowed away his old gear—that black jacket he used to wear during his time as Cyn’s unknowing murder-pet, and that yellow band around his arm that marked him as such. Now? He wore a roomy pair of yellow pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt, peppered with canine paw prints above the big, curly letters: I got that dog in me.

Pencil in hand, N’s tongue blepped out between his lips while he pressed the dull graphite tip onto paper, filling in the blank spots for a quiz that had been handed to him, along with the rest of the class, that very morning.

Uzi, of course, scoot-scooted her rolling chair adjacent to the mattress and peered over.
“…Neeeeeeed the answer? You can copy off of mine, you know—”

“Nahh, I got this,” he shook his head, lifting the eraser-end of the pencil to his lips, tap-tap-tapping. “Besides, I wanna earn graduation. I’d feel kinda gross if I just copied everything you wrote down for my own personal gain.”

Uzi’s LED brows lifted and she compressed her lips, giving a single nod.
“Tooooootally get it. Just gimme a holler if you’re too stumped.”

She kicked a single boot up to rest over the edge of the mattress before leaning back into the computer chair, arms folded behind her head as she turned her gaze upward toward the ceiling.

That ceiling was completely clean now. Where once there had been her crazed ramblings on paper, taped alongside photographs, notices, printouts—connected by red string like a web of intrigue that ultimately led to dead ends and half-answered questions—there was now nothing. All that had once been there was everything she’d needed to try and get to the bottom of this whole “Absolute Solver” business.

There were still some questions she had that would never get answered.

How many Disassemblers existed in the galaxy? How many were on this planet?
What was the Absolute Solver, really? What did it do to Cyn?
Was she always a demented monster, or did the Absolute Solver twist her into one?
If it did that to Cyn… Then was Uzi next?
Who would stop her if she was?

Typically, Uzi would be feeling that familiar sensation—her chest tightening, her shoulders stiffening. She’d turn to N for comfort while she tried to steady her mind, his soothing coos settling her ailing thoughts.

But Uzi felt very little of that now.

She remained stoic, idly tilting her boot left and right like someone bouncing their foot when their mind grew restless. Instead of trying to redirect this morbid train of thought chugging through her head, Uzi kept riding it—until it, like her ceiling of crazed ramblings, hit a dead end.

There were no answers to her questions.
Uzi wished that felt more dissatisfying than worrying.

The shorter drone let out a strained sigh and tilted her head to look N’s way, who seemed to be absentmindedly working on his school assignment. Scribble-scribble-scribble.

“Aaaaaaalmost done! Then we can do fun stuff.”
N turned his beady golden eyes toward her, and with his smile, both eyes squinted. Just like that, the negative thoughts in Uzi’s head melted away.

She didn’t need to ask N these questions. Inquiries like these were loaded—too loaded for N. His mind was already riddled with more holes than a block of Swiss cheese. Even if N had the answers to Uzi’s questions, it would do him more harm than good to linger on the nightmare. His heart was already oh-so-heavy.

Uzi leaned forward, pried herself off the chair, and crawled over to the mattress. Then she eased her weight onto N, lying atop his back. She folded one hand over the other and rested them where his neck met his back, chin balanced on her knuckles.

There was a passing itch in Uzi’s brain, one that she felt she could comfortably scratch with him.

“You talk to V lately?”

N’s head picked up.
“Huh? Oh yeah, we talked! Just yesterday actually, she wanted—”

“You did?”
Uzi’s head lifted. She rolled off to the side to lie next to N, just so she could look into those big precious eyes of his—and make sure she was reading his lips clearly so she didn’t mishear anything.

“She doesn’t seem very chatty to me. …Did I piss her off or something?”

N finally set his pencil down and propped his head up on the back of his hand, facing her. His lips parted, but instead of speaking, he just shrugged.

“Beats me, dude. Did you?”

“Not that I remember,” Uzi murmured, a hand reaching behind her head to rub at her neck.
For what reason would V not want to talk to her? Did being around her make V uncomfortable? Was it because of a bad joke? Was she a bad friend if she couldn’t remember? Was it something deeper, something worse? A frustrated huff escaped from behind Uzi’s teeth—but she was promptly comforted by N’s large arm reaching over, his gentle hand affectionately brushing through the strands of her violet wig.

“I’m sure it’s no big deal,” N murmured, smile intact, though his brows were upturned.
“Want me to see if I can poke her brain a lil’ bit for ya? See what’s on her mind?”

“Mmnh. Please?”
Uzi leaned into the gentle scritching, her sunset eyes half-lidding.
“I don’t wanna bother her if it… y’know, involves me. Or if I made her actually mad or something.”

“Yeah, I gotcha, buddy,” he said, shooting her a soft and sincere smile, his fingers snaking through her locks. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow after school.”

“Thanks, N. I’m just—… I really don’t want to be an actual problem.”

“You’re not,” N reassured her, brows scrunching as he angled his head down to look into those sunset eyes—just as Uzi felt the urge to hide her face against his chest.
“Okay? You’re not a problem.”

Uzi held her breath for a second or two, releasing it only to explain in a hush.
“Ever since… y’know, I’ve just felt like—” Her gaze dropped to the text on his shirt—not his face, not his eyes, not his lips.
“…I don’t feel like the hero I wanted to be.”

A hand reached up to brush the rubbery pad of her plasteel finger over the front of her choker, right over the Cabin Fever Labs badge it was fashioned from.

“Yeah, I—… saved the universe and stuff. I always thought, Oh, everyone’s gonna like me, and they’re gonna celebrate how I saved the day, and maybe people will listen to me when I talk about literally anything ever.”
Her tone grew strained. Frustrated.
“It’s just… more of the same, N. Nothing’s changed. I wake up, I go to school, everyone looks at me like I’m a frikken animal, and- And now I can’t sleep, I get scared when I’m alone, and… therapy every Monday and Thursday, they have me on meds, and—”

“Uzi.”

Her rant cut short with a knuckle lifting her chin. She was made to look up at N’s face.
There was no smile. No sparkles in those golden eyes. His gaze was locked onto hers—laser-focused—and his lips were pressed together.

“…Everything is so much better now because of you,” he said slowly, clearly.
“Me being here. Wearing my own clothes. Doing homework? You made that possible. I—… I don’t remember if I even had any of this back on Earth. This life means everything to me. And you gave it to me. And you gave it to V.”

That hand lifted further, the pads of his fingers brushing over the rubber of her cheek—while Uzi’s eyes painfully squinted.

“So they don’t celebrate you,” N huffed, brows scrunching in frustration. “That’s—whatever. They kinda suck anyway. But V and I celebrate you every day just by living here. …So you’re not a problem.”

Uzi’s brows lifted, and digital droplets welled at the corners of those LED eyes. Her lips compressed tight, quivering even. And N answered her silent plea for an embrace—his arm bringing her close to his chest, where she could hide her face.

“…I wanted a frikken party,” Uzi’s muffled voice whined against his shirt.

“You don’t even like parties,” N snickered lightly, just as Uzi sniffled.

“Yeah, but I still wanted one,” she huffed, clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“I hear you. That’d be nice.”

“Or a holiday.” She picked her head up from his chest and shot him a tired little grin.

“Uzi Day!” His tone perked up, and he shot her a big, goofy grin.

“That’s my birthday, you goober,” she snorted, shoving a hand into his face while he broke into a gigglefit.
“And I literally saved the universe, so it should be a week minimum.”

“Ooooh,” he peeled her hand off his face with a playful grin, letting out another laugh. “A whole week of Uzi? Gosh, I wish everyone was as lucky as me. I’m having Uzi Week every week!” He dove in, attacking her neck with his face—giving a mix of playful growls and gentle little nips. Uzi’s lips stretched into a wide smile, her eyes squeezing shut as a series of gleeful squeals escaped her. “You frikken DORK, that’s my NECK—!! GYEHEHEHEH—!! THAT TICKLES—!!”

Chapter Text

Another day, another twenty minutes of therapeutic writing. Honestly I don’t hate this.

V’s a complicated person. I’ve been trying to figure her out but she’s really hard to read. I mean I can’t tell if she wants to be a diva or a slob - She acts like she’s all that and a bag of microchips, strutting those hips around the bunker while having visible stains on her shirt from whatever she ate hours ago. She’ll wink at you one minute and flash her claws at you twenty seconds later. At one point she dragged her claw over my visor after getting real close to my face and I think it did something to me. Frankly, V’s out of her tree. Total loon.

But if it wasn’t for her, none of us would even be here to even talk about it. At one point we all thought she was laying down her life so that we could survive. She looked me straight in the face with a smile and told me that she trusted me. It really stung since the last thing I told her at the time was, “you’re mean”. I was convinced that it was the last thing I’d ever say to her and, I was relieved when it turned out she was still alive.

Even though V and I don’t agree on everything, she’s earned my respect. And, I guess I like her a lot. I can see why N was crushing major hard on her for a while. And I can see why he felt a little disillusioned with her.

V was there from the very beginning, and for the most part remembers how life was like back on Earth before Cyn. She doesn’t like talking about it a lot, I never ask her about it. Bad idea. But I do know that she was an entirely different person back then. V occasionally drops hints and clues to how life was. From what I gathered, she was a real bookworm when she wasn’t busy doing maid stuff. Wore the big nerdy glasses and everything, real timid too. When everything went down on Earth, she had to adapt to survive for her sake and for N’s. Cyn was a cruel despot, and I guess that meant that V had to do a lot of things she wishes she could forget. She never explained the specifics, but I can imagine. My guess, she has blood on her hands. Not just oil. Which meant that N probably did, too. It’s a good idea to sweep that under the metaphorical rug and, hope that it never comes up in conversation.

I know that V wasn't exactly the most honest or transparent person, but I reeeaaaally hope she didn’t know that “Tessa” was actually Cyn. Just thinking about us standing on that frozen lake, with her staring Cyn down in that space helmet of hers as if she wasn’t wearing her human’s corpse like a glove - It terrifies me. Cyn was probably smiling the entire time. Like it was one big game to her. But maybe V didn’t know. Maybe she thought Tessa was still alive. Maybe she saw J next to her and thought, “oh, hey, the family’s still together, because J is right there next to Tessa.” She wore the space suit, she wore the name tag. She had J hanging off of her arm. Anyone'd make the mistake of believing that she is who she says she is after seeing all that.

... I don’t think she knew. Not like the way J did. Despite knowing a lot more than what she let on, V was still pretty shocked that she was just as conned as we were.

After the nightmare when everything started settling down, Lizzy offered her couch to V, which made sense, she needed a place to stay and the spire wasn’t it. I guess they’re best friends or something? Got her some new clothes and everything. They sit next to each other in school a lot. We all notice Lizzy’s copying V’s homework. It’s not subtle, V’s a straight-A student and Lizzy is not, so it’s the most obvious thing in the world when that started happening. What’s weird is that Lizzy’s a chatterbox and V’s just not very social. I don’t think she ever was. Really makes me wonder how they act when nobody else is around.

I hope I can convince her to hang out with us for a few hours instead of with Lizzy though. Just me, V, and N. It’s been a hot minute. It'd be really nice to have her around again. The last time the three of us hung out, actually hung out, it was when N and V were trying to teach me how to fly with my new wings. Lotta downtime and we had each other for company. I can’t tell if it’s just my anxiety acting up or not, but I feel like the vibe between us is a little different since I deleted Cyn. It’s probably just her trying to adapt to these big changes in her life, especially with her living with the rest of us in the bunker. She spent half her life as a maid in a mansion full of rotten humans and the other half as a demented and scared murder-bot. I don’t think she really got to have a normal life.

I don’t think she knows how to have a normal life.

How do you settle down when all you’ve ever known is abuse, violence, murder, and cannibalism?

Signing out, Uzi.

Schlrrrrrrrrpt!!

Sharp echoes of slurping sounded in the colony’s media warehouse, repurposed to resemble what could be considered a quiet library. V tipped back a square, dented tin container of what barely constituted as a substitute for drone oil, like it was a cheap can of beer. A black-gold rivulet was promptly smeared off her chin with the sleeve of her mocha bomber jacket. Golden eyes half-lidded toward N, and with the same hand gently gripping the “can,” she nudged his shoulder with it.
“You look nervous. Relax.”

Ironic, coming from someone like her.

The tips of N’s index fingers tap-tapped over one another while a fleeting smile twisted over his lips.
“Sorry, V.”

Her arm stretched out toward him, offering a drink from the can. A little jostle of the slimy fluid within.
Clink-glug.

N, ever the polite drone, shook his head.
“Oh, uh. I’m actually not thirsty, it’s just—... well—”

The half-answer was enough to make V lift a brow, and she lowered her arm, suspecting he had something to say that wasn’t just small talk. N reached a hand behind his head, gently scratching at the back of his neck, while V waited for him to get whatever it was off his chest.

“I’d love it if you came over to spend some time with me and Uzi. It kinda feels like… I don’t know. Like there’s a…”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth as V’s brow scrunched a little closer.

“A divide? Between us? And… I dunno, I’m just—”

V tried to hide a grimace, eyes briefly squinting. She brought the can back to her lips for a small sip—much quieter this time, in contrast to the obnoxious slurp from before. Slrpt. A deep breath in. And a strained sigh out. She knew whatever she said from here on out, N would relay back to Uzi. But she didn’t want to unload her grievances on the poor guy, either.

“Honesty is the best policy,” she remembered him saying on multiple occasions. What were even the drawbacks of transparency, beyond eroding trust, now that they were finally finding peace for the first time? There was no point to hiding anything anymore. So why was it hard to just be straight with him?

Old habits die hard. If only they could die sooner.

That cold squint softened, and her arms slacked at her sides.

“C’mere for a second-”

V gestured for him to follow her to a more secluded part of the warehouse, where computer monitors and keyboards were lined up along long desks—a computer lab, typically reserved for students typing up research essays and the like. She gently kicked one of her stilts against a cheap, well-worn rolling chair and promptly parked her rear on it. Then, another light kick toward a second chair, as if inviting N to join her—which he did.

He sat politely: knees together, hands placed neatly over his thighs. Those big, bright eyes blink-blonked at her.

“I’m gonna be straight with you,” V said, setting her can down beside the keyboard to her left while N tappity-tapped his hands against his knees. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back against the computer chair. An uncomfortable squeak sounded from its old, cheap joints as they rubbed together.

“When Cyn died—”

N’s LED eyes hollowed out—the closest thing to hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Just hearing her name made him instinctively reach a hand over his chest. To protect his core.

“I thought this Absolute Solver stuff would be over. That we wouldn’t ever have to worry about it again.”
V’s tone grew harsh.

N, of course, knew where this was going. He broke eye contact first, with V following suit two seconds later.

“But it’s still here, N. That thing living inside of Uzi is still here.”

After a heavy pause, V swiped her beverage back up and knocked it back.
Glp. Glp. Glp.

Hrff. It tasted awful.

“We don’t even know what it is—much less how it handles a new host. All we know is that it’s dangerous, unstable, and the reason why everything is terrible. As long as the Absolute Solver is still living inside Uzi, I know we’re not safe yet.”

Crunch.
The can crumpled in V’s grip and dropped to the ground with a metallic clunk.

“…None of us are.”

N leaned forward in his seat, his voice wavering with urgency.

“But—V, Cyn’s… she’s gone. She did all of that. Not Uzi. You know that.
And—you said you trusted Uzi. And now you’re going back on that?”

V lifted a finger, brows scrunching low.
“I do trust Uzi. I do not trust that crap in her system.
She needs to get rid of it.”

“This is so unfair of you,” N snapped, his voice rising.
“You’re treating Uzi like she’s a ticking time bomb when—one, that is so rude! And two, nothing’s happened since Cyn died!”

He spoke with conviction and passion. He spoke with his chest, leaning forward to look V straight in the eye—while she completely avoided eye contact.

“It’s been a month, V. She can’t sleep. She’s scared of being alone for more than a few minutes.
And she misses her friend—who’s avoiding her.”

N jabbed a finger in her direction.

V remained silent, her posture eerily still. Her rubber lips compressed, and her brows painfully upturned when N called her out—rightfully so.

She knew N was right.

But at the same time, how could V not be cautious? Wary? Scared?

She’d seen what the Absolute Solver was capable of. What it did to drones. To humans. To entire planets. That kind of power shouldn’t exist. Nobody should have it.
Not even Uzi.

In a perfect world, it would’ve been extinguished when Cyn was destroyed.

But this world was far from perfect.
And unfortunately, that kind of power was here to stay.

A frustrated huff left N just as he stood upright and pushed the computer chair back against the desk—nudging it a little too firmly. The computer monitors on top jostled with a loud clatter.

He turned away, intending to leave V to her own thoughts.

“…You know what I’m scared of, V?”
He didn’t look back.

“Us losing the last parts of ourselves we have left. Cyn can’t have that. She just—she can’t.”

Chapter Text

Another day, another twenty minutes. Starting to realize I’m not even timing myself when I write these anymore. I guess my therapist is onto something about “articulating my thoughts” or whatever.

So I talked about Dad, I talked about Mom, I talked about V. Obviously I gotta talk about my friend best friend kissing buddy BOYFRIEND. Serial Designation N, or just “N”. I honestly never imagined myself actually having a boyfriend, I figured that nobody would ever like me like that, but just like anyone my age I still fantasized about it once in a while. I fantasized because I wanted something I didn’t think I could ever have. Fantasized about having someone that’s willing to listen when I talk, laugh when I make jokes, who’d hold me when I’m so angry I could smash my head through a wall, who’d lay down with me in bed for hours on end while we watched anime, or played video games together. Someone that wouldn’t laugh at me when I’m having a rough day. Someone that’d support me when nobody else would. Someone that’d reassure me that I wouldn’t be alone again.

And I found him. I found my favorite person.

After everything started settling down, I had to beg Mom and Dad to let him stay with us. Well, I demanded. Then I begged. Dad objected at first, apparently having boys sleep in the same apartment as his daughter didn’t sit well with him for some reason but here’s the shocker – Mom actually sided with me on this one! Apparently after she and a bunch of other test subjects emerged from the labs after the explosion, Dad offered his place for Mom to stay. I guess N reminded her of her predicament since he didn’t have a place of his own and she kinda pitied him, and since then he’s been keeping the place real tidy and clean, which was kinda what he used to do back in the day as a butler. Dad’s warming up to him real quick. Mom’s still pretty distant, which is understandable, he is a “sky demon” after all.

At this point he’s part of the family. He slept on the couch for a while but Mom and Dad didn’t really bat an eye when he started sleeping in my room when my night terrors started coming down full-force. I mean, why should they care where he sleeps? We’re both adults, right? I’m nineteen, he’s… Like, way older.

I think.

Poor guy… His brain’s got so many holes in it, I think he feels like he’s still a teenager. He probably lost entire years of his life because of those routine memory wipes Cyn forced on him. All those years, all that time, all those experiences: all gone. I’d offer to go through his head again and see if I can salvage some of those dormant fragmented memories of his, but… It’s probably a better idea if they stay dormant. Not every memory needs to be running around in his head. Especially if V says that they did awful things under Cyn’s demands that she herself wants to forget. Between N and V though, I’d say N’s the closest reflection to himself as he was on Earth years ago, while V couldn’t be more different. Especially if she’s eating bugs and hanging with Lizzy, I honestly can’t imagine any timid book-nerd doing either of those.

But, what about J? Is J’s brain scrambled?

Frankly I don’t know much about her, only whatever N and V told me. She was really close with Tessa, apparently she was the first drone that Tessa dragged out of the drone dump. N was the second, V was the third, Cyn was the last. V says that J absolutely hated N ever since he joined the family, and would regularly give him a hard time over the smallest and stupidest things, and N wouldn’t even try to challenge or dispute it. Other than that, I know she loves her corporate HR-friendly vocabulary, and she’s a rude and arrogant princessy corpo-bootlicking cringelord.

So... What made her side with Cyn?

I’ve been sitting here for a good ten minutes just thinking about this and I’m stumped.

On the one hand, Cyn could very easily hack into any of their heads and make them believe whatever she wanted them to believe, remember whatever real or fabricated memories Cyn wanted them to remember. J could be her brainwashed little toadie just as much as she could be a mindless slave with absolutely no will of her own and there’s no way to figure it out. But on the other hand, what if she didn’t hack into J’s head? Or what if she didn’t need to?

I remember when all of us stood on that frozen lake together. J really just... Stood next to Cyn while she pretended to be Tessa, while N and I thought it was actually her, and maybe even V thought that too. And, J smiled. As if Cyn wasn’t defiling Tessa’s corpse ten feet away from her by wearing it.

God… What the hell did Cyn do to her to create that kind of apathy?

Signing out, Uzi.

There were places on Copper-9 that few dared to tread. The cavernous splits on the planet’s surface creating lethal pitfalls leading into the derelict and ruined subterranean labs were the most notable and prolific examples of where no drone should trespass. After witnessing the horrors that awaited in the depths below, the local drone populace, including its heroes, had decided to simply leave things be. But there was another place, in the middle of the ruined colony that came with a warning for those that trespassed, dumped onto its very boundaries: approach the corpse spire, and risk yours being added to it. For the Worker Drones of Copper-9, this was a monument to Cyn’s depravity.

For N, it was a stain on his soul.

For V, it was a line she crossed.

But for J?

It was all she thought she had left.

V hated coming here. The place dredged up memories she’d rather leave buried. But she had obligations—and unfortunately, V was intimately familiar with following through on obligations that brought her no small amount of discomfort.

The spire had enough metal and vertical sprawl to qualify as a high-rise, but standing atop it with a duffle bag in hand, staring down from the edge, it didn’t feel like a building. It felt like an open pit leading straight into hell.

She drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves—and exhaled just a little too hard.
Almost like she knew that if she let it out slowly, it’d come out as a pathetic shudder.

Her lips tightened, and her golden eyes squinted as she gracefully descended into the spire. Her bladed wings flapped only twice for stability before the familiar crunch of compacted asbestos flakes met her stilts.

Standing tall before her was the same ship they’d crash-landed on this exoplanet with. It was in worse shape now than it had been a few months ago, even with J spending every waking hour trying to rebuild it with what little she had. Active floodlights blasted light toward its stripped-down hull, while a ladder stood propped up in front of an exposed panel for sensitive ship operation.

It was barely more than a typical vessel—just enough to carry the three of them from a ruined Earth to this fractured planet she’d come to call home. But V remembered the hours she used to spend in that cockpit, when she needed to disconnect from the world. Eyes closed, pretending she was back in the manor’s library, with only distant footsteps breaking the peaceful silence.

Her brows upturned as she lowered her gaze and gently eased the duffel bag to the ground, the oil within the tin cans sloshing softly. But when she looked up again, her eyes thinned into hollow circles—taking in the surprise in full.

A familiar figure stood atop the ship. One that hadn’t been there a second ago.

One of J’s hands perched on her hip, the other resting on the handle of a very familiar sword at her side. Golden eyes squinted back down at V, then flicked to the duffel bag. V crossed her arms and let out a low, uncomfortable grumble before nudging the bag forward with her stilt.

“…It’s just oil—” V started, but J cut her off.

“I don’t need handouts,” she snapped. “Take it back and get it out of my sight.”

V let out an exasperated sigh, gesturing to the bag of cans through gritted teeth.

“It’s not the tastiest, but it keeps you alive! Kinda preferable to overheating and starving, don’t ya think?!”

The former squad leader scoffed as she stepped down from the ship and landed in front of her. Her eyes kept squinting, but V recognized exhaustion when she saw it. J wouldn’t admit it with her dying breath—especially not to V—but these routine “care package” deliveries were very much needed. Considering J required oil to survive, just like her former “teammates,” there was no alternative.

J shamefully averted her gaze and dropped to a knee to unzip the bag. Her hand plunged in, grasping the first can she touched. Clenching it, she twisted off the cap and brought it to her lips for a less-than-graceful series of deep, desperate gulps.

V wanted to unfold her wings and fly away—leave J to her pride and solitude. But after that loaded conversation with N a few hours ago, she paused. Instead, she stayed—watching J’s desperation override her stubbornness the moment the first black rivulet touched her parched tongue.

Unlike V, not a single drop oozed down J’s chin. And once the can ran empty, J shook it for good measure above her open maw until the metaphorical well ran dry. Then, she screwed the cap back on with precision—all while holding eye contact.

“…Figured doodle-boy would be the one leaving these less-than-savory ‘deliveries’ while I’m gone,” J muttered, a hint of venom in her tone. She gestured with a thumb toward a nearby pile of similar, empty duffel bags—each surrounded by dented and dried-out cans.

“He did,” V murmured, tap-tapping a finger against her arm as she shifted uncomfortably in place. “We… both do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

V broke eye contact, turning her head to the side after feeling that small pang in her chest. It was hard to look J in the face after everything. Questions went unasked. Worries remained unspoken. But something kept V anchored—kept her from flying away and leaving the spire behind. Kept her from returning to the bunker, to safety, to what now passed as home.

Cyn had taken so much from them. Including their family.

It didn’t feel like the three of them against the universe anymore. There was a divide now. V and N had stood together to fight Cyn. But J? J had bent the knee. And when the time came, they had to fight her, too.

But now Cyn was gone. And so were J’s obligations.
The corpse spire no longer grew—no new drones were being eviscerated and added to its base. But the corrupted still needed sustenance.

That was why V had come.

“…How’s the ship coming?” V asked, her eyes flicking over J’s shoulder to squint at the tangled wreckage.

“Is this an attempt at small talk, V?”

“N—No. I’m—”

“You’re not here to talk about the ship, so don’t pretend you are.”

J reached down, gripped the bag by its straps, and lifted it, the oil inside sloshing with every crunching footstep she took across the white, lumpy surface of compacted asbestos.

She looped the bag’s straps around her tail as she climbed the ladder, perching herself atop the vessel. Her left hand retracted into her arm, replaced by a pair of needle-nose pliers. She turned back toward the exposed hull, back to V, and resumed her work as if the visitor wasn’t there.

J was avoiding conversation. But she wasn’t telling V to leave.

Standing at the base of the ladder, V leaned her back against the ship, her eyes scanning the area—looking for any small changes in what used to be a place of rest for the three of them.

“… How’ve you been sleeping?” V asked, looking up to catch J twisting two cables together.

“Still terrible.” J’s tone was more of a strained sigh than an actual retort. The pliers retracted, replaced by her hand again. Her fingers sifted through the mess of wires, reminding herself which led where before she returned to her task.

“Don’t think sleep is in any of our futures.” V’s own hand retracted with a soft click, replaced with a pink bubble wand, lightly coated in a viscous, stretchy fluid. She gave it a gentle blow, sending neat little bubbles drifting upward—only to be pulled down by gravity.

Even now, years later, blowing bubbles remained her favorite way to idle. A piece of the “old” V that lingered, even if the reflections in those bubbles didn’t look like her anymore.

“… Where are you gonna go when you get this thing fixed?” V asked, tilting her head up again toward J, who was now closing the panel over the ship’s delicates.

“Anywhere that’s not here,” J snapped, her voice sharp as she pinched the edge of the protective casing and tried to shut it by its hinges. “Why do you care where I go, V?”

The panel didn’t close properly. It creaked open again, refusing to click into place.
With a frustrated growl, J gave it a forceful shove—brute-forcing it shut.

“You and N wanna live on this frozen dustball? Go do that. Go live your happily-ever-after.
Just let me rust in peace already.”

V didn’t answer right away, though her brows scrunched together. The words “rust in peace” didn’t even mean anything to her. How were any of them supposed to find peace—much less rust in it? She couldn’t even sit still on Lizzy’s couch during hibernation hours.

“I’m not walking away from this,” V finally said, her voice cracking. She couldn’t catch it—couldn’t mask it with a cough.
By the time she realized she wasn’t blowing bubbles anymore, the wand had already retracted back into her arm.
She turned to face J, craning her neck to look up as her friend stared at the panel, still slightly ajar.

“You’re not the only one who has no idea what to do now that it’s finally over—”

Clang!

J let out a pained cry and slammed a closed fist against the panel.
The sharp thud cut V off instantly.

Her face scrunched tight, eyes shutting hard, lips trembling under the weight of too much emotion.
When she spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

“I told you before.”

She descended the ladder slowly—like her stilts were dragging chains.
There was weight in every step.

“I told you… there’s no escape.”

Crunch. Crunch.
She landed on the ground and turned to face V, a grimace worn across her face—part exhaustion, part disgust, part sorrow.

“Not in death. Not in peace. Not in any of this.”

She stepped forward.

“You really think it’s over now that the bo— now that Cyn is gone?”

Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. Then, a short, hollow laugh.

“You think it’s over. You think we made it out clean. That everything'll be better now.”

Her finger jabbed V’s chest—sharp as a knife.

“Cyn doesn’t die when you rip out her heart, or whatever it is that happened.”

Her voice dropped. More sermon than scream.

“She lives in us.
She’s inside us.
She always will be.”

J lifted her hand, then looked at her palm as she spoke:

“When we look at our hands and all we see is innocent blood?!
That’s Cyn we’re looking at. She did that!”

“When we look in the mirror and see a monster instead of a maid, or a butler?
We’re looking at Cyn!”

“When we close our eyes and still hear her voice, see her big, horrible smile, even though she’s supposed to be gone?”

She paused. Her next words landed like a verdict.

“That’s Cyn.”

“And when we start to think we can move on? When we start thinking we deserve rest after everything we did because of her?”

She looked at V now—really looked.
There was pain in her eyes.
The kind of pain that comes from never having space to grieve, to reflect, to heal—because Cyn had always been there, breathing down her neck.

“That’s—”

J silently choked on her own words.

The two Disassemblers stood in stillness, the silence between them louder than anything either of them could say.

J’s arms dropped to her sides.
She stumbled backward toward the hull of the ship, resting her weight against the cold metal before sliding down to the base—knees pulled up to her chest, face buried in her arms.

How could she move on when all she’d ever known were the invisible shackles on her wrists, her legs, her neck?
Bondage. That was the only life she remembered.

Long gone was the accountant drone who once stood beside Tessa, who once held her hand when nobody else looked, who told her that she would always be there to keep her safe. All that remained was Cyn’s favorite torture doll.

V wasn’t sure if J lost what little of herself she had left. As far as J was concerned, everything about her belonged to Cyn now. It belonged to her for twenty years. From her body, to her mind, to her spirit.

Cyn even stole J’s tears. She forgot how to cry. J could only pinch her eyes shut and helplessly envision the rotting flesh of her girlfriend stretching across a twisted smile that meant nothing but madness, terror, and chaos.