Murder Drones - Model Mix-up

Pilot - Banishment [Epilogue]

Dawn was beginning to break across the horizon of Copper-9, the orange hue of the sun flooding the skies, amplified by the dreary weather ever-present across the planet. Rays of sunlight were barely peeking through the ruins and wreckage of the city, glaring down at the morbid construct of the Disassembly Drones standing proudly amidst the snowfall. Just beyond the spire's entrance, Wesson sits atop a long-abandoned car, his knees curled into his chest as he gazes into the distance. A voice suddenly calls out to him from behind, causing him to jump.

Z — "Hey! You still out there having your moment, or whatever?"

Wesson turns his head, seeing Z standing in the spire's entrance out of the corner of his eye.

Wesson — "...Yeah..." he pauses, looking back at the horizon, "Y-Yeah, I'm... ugh..." he sighs. "I'm just... enjoying the view, I guess..."

Z — "...Huh. Sounds... good...?" The dullness of his voice concerned her. "I'd, uh... I'd sit out there with you, but..."

Wesson — "...There's space. If you want..." He lightly pats the spot beside him.

Z — "Nuh-uh, no way! I am not risking my life just for some sightseeing!" Wesson's hand settles beside him, and she can practically sense the dejection in his posture. "...Hey, not my fault the sun is, like... deadly and stuff."

There's a brief silence as Wesson continues staring off into the sky, thinking to himself.

'Why...? Why was Z made to have that weakness? Was it for the company to control them? Some form of corralling? ...Was it even intentional?'

Wesson — "...It's just... not fair..." he mutters.

He wanted to be able to be out in the sun with her. Be able to hang out in someplace other than the shade of the Corpse Tower whenever morning comes. He hated the idea of needing constant darkness to spend time with her... but it's not like he could do much about it.

Z — "See? You get it!" she shouts. "If I can get off this stupid rock, I'm totally heading straight to Earth! I wanna pay those corporate freaks a visit, give them a piece of my mind!" She pulls out her claws by instinct, taking a second to look over them. "...Maybe pick a few pieces out of theirs, too!"

Wesson — "...You guys are..." He's not sure how to word it without it sounding stupid. "...R-Really violent... N-No offense, of course. I-I mean, how... how did you get over the... the guilt of it all? I... I can't get it out of my head... the whole thing with shooting V, a-and even you..." He braces, expecting some horrific answer.

Z — "...You..." she stalls, averting her eyes. "...You just... get used to it, I guess. Not like we ever had a choice to do this stuff. Some of us just... pretend we did."

Wesson — "...J?" he guesses.

Z — "Yeah..." She's always wondered if J's adoration of the company was a front. Maybe...

Wesson — "...S-Speaking of J, um... where is she? You brought her back, didn't you...?"

There's a pause, an air of awkwardness rising.

Z — "...O-Oh, um..." she starts, audibly flustered, "...M-Might've chained her up in the control room... like, a l-lot..."

There's another pause.

Wesson — "...I'm sorry, what?" He uncurls his legs, pivoting his entire body to face her.

Z — "L-Listen, I didn't want her to escape and, like, kill you, or something!" she attempts to explain. "Wh-What did you want me to do?! Bite me!"

Wesson — "Okay, okay! It's fine! Calm down!" He weakly chuckles.

Even in his weary state, Wesson can't help but smile at Z's poor attempt to redeem herself. Despite this, he's still exhausted, simulated bags formed under his eyes. He'd almost forgotten he was as much a night owl as the Disassembly Drones were... then again, he'd not been out of the colony in a while. It was easy for time to lose its meaning when it was just a pair of numbers or a triplet of hands spinning on a clock.

Z — "...Ahem, um... a-anyways... I'm gonna sleep now. Do... whatever you want. I'm sure J wouldn't mind if you slept in the... control room...—" she yawns, slowly receding into the shadows. "...Well, she would mind, but she can't do anything about it, so... yeah..."

Z disappears into the darkness, leaving Wesson alone outside again. His gaze trails off, drifting toward his former home. Unbeknownst to him, the peculiar symbol that'd protected him in the fight with V appears, obscuring his eye. He feels something is... wrong. Something is wrong with him.

'Maybe Thad was right. Maybe I am a Disassembly Drone... and I didn't even know it. Why else would my eyes be changing color? I mean, yellow basically represents Disassembly Drone stuff, as far as we know... except for Z, I suppose. But— wait, why? Why is she different...?'

'Ugh, this is too confusing...! I shouldn't be thinking about all this... Every time I ask if I'm different, or if there's something wrong with me... Mom always tells me it's normal. But... but that didn't feel normal. It didn't sound like it was normal. If it was normal... why did Thad sound so sure of himself? Maybe he just hates me that much? Or... or— No, no, Mom wouldn't lie. She wouldn't.'

'She wouldn't lie...'

He didn't just accept his banishment out of fear of confrontation, conflict, or intimidation... he deserved it. He felt like he was dangerous. He threatened the entire colony and survived something he never should've. It didn't matter whether he saved them or not. He didn't understand... he only hoped someone did.

His thoughts of worry dissipate in tandem with the symbol, the peculiar, heavy feeling within him following suit. But his gaze lingers on the colony a moment longer, the sun rising higher and higher as his energy reserves fall lower and lower. He slides off the top of the car, his boots landing in the snow with a soft thud, and begins retreating into his new home to rest. He steps through the archway, treading through snow and scrap metal, his eyes landing on Z. She's hanging upside down, her tail hooked to the ceiling, and her wings wrapped around herself as she sleeps. That was... quick...

Continuing forward, he reaches the door to the pod. It opens with a hiss, and he steps inside, taking care to account for the tilted floor as he makes his way toward the control room. He didn't want this to be where he stayed. He already wanted to be home again. With his mother, with his friends, or at the very least with his possessions. All he had was Z now.

He couldn't call this his home.