Rust Spot

ashes to ashes rust to rust

Fulcrum winced as he sat down on the couch in the common area. Like the rest of the ship the couch was cheaply made, suspiciously stained, and roughly repaired on more than one spot. But it was the most luxurious thing fulcrum had felt in a long, long time. The ability to just sit. Not having to worry about deadlines or orders or bombs going off over his head. Or rather a bomb going off in his head. And truthfully, he needed it. Being reformatted into a living piece of ordinance had not done his frame any favors. Neither had Lying comatose on a deserted planet for primus knows how long. Or jumping from a spaceship in feigned heroics. It had been almost two weeks since they had left that cursed dust ball behind them and he was still buffing out dents and scrubbing sand from his plating. Every part of his frame hurt. His joints were inflamed making movement stiff, his Hud was constantly screaming at him with some error or another and his internals were still finding their way back into proper alignment after Spinster had tried to take out his fuel pump. So yeah. He was going to enjoy the quiet and just sit here in this shitty spacecraft on this shitty couch.

BANG! A loud explosion made fulcrum nearly jump out of his plates as something thwacked him on the jaw. As soon as his frame stopped screaming at him, he registered an obnoxious pink blob staring down at him.

"You're dead! I was aiming for your spark, but I guess that big ole chin of yours got in the way. You scream like a squishy did you know that?"

Misfire. The chattiest of his new unfortunate companions.

"Do not." He mumbled as he pulled the dart from his face with a pop. "Why the hell can you nail me with a dart from across the room, but you couldn't hit the broad side of a ship with an actual blaster?" he asked.

"No clue! Hey, has anyone told you you look like shit today?" Misfire said conversationally as he tossed his dart gun amid the clutter on the small table. "You want a soft fuel?" he offered as he rummaged through the cooler.

"No thank you." Fulcrum grumbled as he settled back into the couch. He had more mindless staring at the tv to do. Every once in a while, the static almost formed a picture.

"Just got back from the bridge. Cranky said we are still like four weeks out from the nearest trading post, IF we don't break down again. Man, I'm going to be glad to get some fresh air under my wings again. Seekers weren't meant to be cooped up, you know, makes us all loony and hyperactive." Misfire rambled as he cracked open two cans clearly labeled 'Krok's' with big bold letters.

"And I've been working on this really cool new barrel roll maneuver, super stoked to try it out, hey you could come up with me sometimes, you can ride in my missile bay!" he invited as he plonked on the couch too close to fulcrum, sliding a cold can of visco into his smaller hand. "yeah that'd be so totally sick. We can do a whole bombing run bit where I can pretend to drop you on some squishy native yokels and it'll be so funny to watch them all cower in fear and scrap."

The thought of free falling again and the sensations of his body convulsing around him against his will made Fulcrum want to purge a bit. Instead, he took a small sip of the visco and grunted. "Yeah, maybe." Misfire was starting to give him a helmache. But it was this or sitting in the broom closet that they had turned into his bunk. And his short experiences had taught him that closed doors were no deterrent to misfire. So he just closed his optics, turned down his audiles a bit and slowly sipped his visco. Misfire was more than happy to add to the white noise of the static as everything began to feel warm and fuzzy around the edges. Slowly, for the first time in a millennium, Fulcrum let himself doze off, half a can of soft brew going flat in his hand.

Something was wrong. Something was very very wrong. Fulcrum had no clue how long he had been dozing, but misfire was still rambling next to him, so it was anywhere between a few seconds and several hours. His tanks burned. A horrible cramp exploded from his guts so sudden and strong that it whited out his vision. It was all he could do to curl up over himself and not slide off the couch.