Murder Drones - Model Mix-up

Pilot - Rebellion

Sirens blare throughout the colony. Workers within scramble to reach their evacuation zone. Wesson can't focus anymore, too lost in emotion to care. Z considers for a moment to... to let him go. But her thoughts are disrupted, her sensors pierced by the familiar echo of her squadmates' giggles. She turns around, flinging Wesson across the hall behind a pile of crates as she retracts her wings, watching V and J approach from the ceiling. The two Disassembly Drones drop to the ground to confront her, assuming the Worker she just disposed of was another one of her fallen prey.

V — "Well, well, well...!" she starts giddily, "The little purple one actually did something instead of just whining for once? I'm so proud!" She links her hands together, tilting and resting her head on them as she fakes eyelashes and tears on her visor.

Z — "Oh, shut—!"

J — "I have to agree! After months of effort, I couldn't even dream of breaching those blast doors. And yet here you are, getting in like it's nothing! I salute you!" She gives a prideful smile, saluting Z.

V — "Honestly, I'm not even mad at you for being an absolute idiot anymore," she adds, her posture abnormally normal. "Exploiting that Worker so effortlessly? Gotta say, nice work!" She winks at Z, which catches her off-guard.

Z — "...Th-Thanks..." she responds, both a little flustered and... somewhat upset for being commended so highly for something so horrible.

J — "Since you already did the hard part yourself, we should easily be able to get around this last door! We won't even break a sweat!" she exclaims, releasing her wings. "Ooh, I'm so excited! Top team, here... we... come!"

She holds back from squealing for professionalism's sake, but can't help herself as she launches into the ventilation shafts. Her voice echoes as she grows distant, traveling further into the colony. V approaches her remaining subordinate, strolling toward her with an expression Z seldom sees... genuine pride. She thought V was being sarcastic.

V — "I must've underestimated you, you little scamp. I guess the company wasn't lying when they told us big things came in small packages!" She leans her elbow on Z's shoulder, prompting Z to cross her arms. "And the best part? Our reward is a delectable, endless buffet of OIL! Doesn't that sound just... delightful? You're a bit of an oil connoisseur yourself, aren't you?"

Z — "V, could you just... shut up? I don't care—"

V — "Hey, hey, what's with the aggression? Don't you wanna go on that little 'date' with J still~? 'Cause you have my full permission, now~!" she gives Z a sly grin, watching as violet blush invades her face.

V backs away, punching Z's shoulder before walking away. 'She... overheard that...?' Z thinks to herself, embarrassed. Then... her thoughts drift.

'...Oil... connoisseur...?'

She looks down at her hands. They're coated in the chilled, inky black fluid. Coated in the oil of her latest victims.

She looks over where Wesson lies, crumpled against the wall. His visor is dark, his coat shiny with the oil flowing from his wounds. Her expression becomes sorrowful; She doesn't understand why. She turns to look back at V, her wings released, seconds away from launching into the ventilation.