Murder Drones - Model Mix-up

Pilot - Trepidation

The night is fitfully silent for Wesson. He was lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling for who knows how long. Sitting up, he glances at his workbench where his railgun rests. The clock beside it read roughly 3:00 A.M. — when he intended to leave. With a sigh, he stands and takes his coat from the back of his chair, throwing it over himself and pushing his arms through the sleeves. He adjusts it briefly, buttoning and tightening the belt around his waist. It was always too loose no matter what he did, but... apparently, his mother had gotten it one night while exploring the desolate city outside. That's what he was told, at least. So, he kept it. And was quite fond of it, too. It just felt... right. He reluctantly takes the railgun off the workbench, grabs his father's prized wrench, tucks it away in case of emergency, and heads for the door... slowed by his worries.

He peeks his head out the door, scanning the hall. There was no light, and there was no sound. It's what he needed, but... it didn't help his nerves. He begins heading down the hall, looking around frantically to ensure he's alone... before freezing in his tracks. The outline of a drone slouching on one of the living room's armchairs could barely be made out in the darkness, but it was clear enough. It was Nori... and, luckily enough, she was asleep, with Khan's door master key in her hands. She must've been planning to go out scavenging tonight.

With utmost precision and care, Wesson grabs the master key, gently slipping it out of Nori's hand. He pulls his hand away, walking backward to ensure she won't wake up without his noticing. He lightly bumps into the front door, feels the wall for the controls, then opens it. Without hesitation, he slips out, closing the door as quickly as possible, and breathes a sigh of relief. But this was only the beginning.

Worrying who else may be awake at this hour, the drone begins traveling down the long winding corridors of the colony, attempting to navigate himself to the three blast doors that lead outside. Soon enough, he finds his way, putting the key up to the reader. After a pause, the innermost blast door slides open, slamming against the ceiling and making Wesson jump. He progresses to the next reader and repeats the process after calming himself, opening the door before a voice calls out to him.

Makarov — "Hey, fella! Think you could grab a fresh pack of cards?!"

Wesson — "O-Oh biscuits—!"

He hadn't anticipated there to be members of the W.D.F. stationed here this late. Four Workers sat around a frozen folding table playing cards. The numbers appear to have faded.

Wesson — "...U-Um, no, I..." he looks around, pausing to think, "...I-I'm busy."

Makarov — "Aw, that's a shame... when you're done?"

Wesson — "I-I can, maybe! What game is it?"

Todd — "Why, gin rummy, of course," Todd interjects, strangely smug.

Wesson — "Ooh, rummy! I love— ...Wait, gin rummy? Isn't that—" He decides not to dwell on the validity of Todd's statement. "...Nevermind. Um, a-anyways, is it... okay, if I go out? F-For a bit?"

There's a moment of silent deliberation among the four, glancing at each other. Wesson fidgets anxiously, anticipating a denial of exit. Makarov turns to him with the group's answer.