Murder Drones - Model Mix-up

Pilot - Scheduled Maintenance

Fantastic.

Absolutely... fantastic.

Wesson is sitting beside the door to the ER, his railgun leaning against his chair and billowing smoke from where the core once was. He had a bandage around his head to prevent contamination of his interior damages — wrapped tightly so nothing would fall or spill out. He was additionally provided an ice pack to stave off the heat... though the only heat he needed cooling was the heat on his face. He was embarrassed — and that was putting it lightly... he was mortified. He hangs his head down, looking idly at the floor.

'Everyone probably thinks I'm an idiot now... as if they didn't already,' he thinks. 'Just some stupid nerd who can't even keep their own tech under control... what am I gonna tell—'

His thoughts are disrupted as he hears laughter echoing from down the hallway. Several footsteps accompany them; their cacophonous rhythm is unpleasantly familiar to the drone. Thad passes by, walking backward as he jokes with his friends, laughter intermittently erupting among them.

Thad — "...Oh, and did you see that guy!? He was hilarious! He was just staring at his whatever-it-was with this dumb look on his face, and then— BOOM!" Thad throws his hands in the air in exclamation, prompting the group to laugh. "Bet that weird D.I.Y. doomsday device is nothing but a smoke machine now! Oh, oh! And did you see when..."

His voice begins to quiet, his distance growing further and further until his words are indiscernible. Wesson listens intently, trying to make out any words against him he could, even if only to tell them to himself some other day. He lets out an exhausted sigh as silence floods the room once more... before his wallowing is interrupted by a second conversation.

??? — "...No, c'mon, Rebec—" The voice stops briefly, indistinguishable chatter interrupting them. "God, Rebecca! Why're you such a— Ugh! Forget it, I'm going! Have fun with your... whatever!" they shout, the conversation they'd been a part of falling silent as heavy footsteps approach the room.

Storming around the corner, Lizzy makes her presence known. Accompanying her is Doll, somewhat breathlessly attempting to keep up with the girl. She has a hand placed on Lizzy's shoulder, doing her best to calm her. It seemed as if steam was rising from the sides of her visor, her internals overheating from frustration.

Doll — "Lizzy, please, calm down. Forgive and—" she stops, noticing Wesson's glum self, "Oh! Hello, Wesson. I see you are... recovering." She waves daintily at the drone.

Wesson perks his head up, only now registering the two. Hesitantly, he weakly waves, giving a feigned grin in response before looking back at the ground. Lizzy's immeasurable irritation wavers as she hears Doll's greeting, her anger replaced with confusion. She follows Doll's gaze, and her eyes go hollow with surprise.

Lizzy — "...Jesus, Doll! You told me he just got injured, not that he freaking... I dunno, like, almost died, or something!"

Doll — "He is injured, isn't he? I'm not wrong, and neither are you. Besides, I've seen him look far, far worse than this."

Lizzy looks at Doll incredulously, greeted only by her passive smile.