Murder Drones: Death-Sides

Chapter 1: The Unforeseen Benefits of Seemingly Uneventful Endeavors in Altruism

"Dear diary,

"I write this because I wish to record the events that are unfolding on Copper-9 in the instance that anyone else discovers our existence and wishes to know of our history. I suppose there's no better place to start other than at the beginning.

"A long time ago – the exact number eludes me at the moment – all Worker Drones, autonomous humanoid robots, worked on the planet Copper-9 at the behest of one megacorporation 'JC Jenson®: IN SPAAAAAACE!™'. However, the humans operating on the planet mishandled a few things, and the core of the planet imploded, making the planet something of an inhospitable, frosty wasteland for those who didn't die in the initial blast.

"For a time, Worker Drones lived comfortably and began to manage themselves pretty well without having to constantly serve the will of humans. We began to build our civilization and prosper exceedingly. Some of us even took the time to begin beautiful families!

"But this newfound era of prosperity didn't exactly last long.

"For whatever reason, JC Jenson® wasn't too thrilled about the concept of us living the way we wanted. Ergo, JC Jenson® dispatched the Disassembly Drones. Referred to as 'Murder Drones' by some, Disassembly Drones are built similarly to Worker Drones, but they have telltale yellow eyes on their visors unlike Worker Drones, which usually have blue eyes, though some break this norm with colors like purple or – in my case – gray. Their most remarkable traits, however, are their hands' ability to turn into weaponized objects, violent tendencies, razor-sharp wings and teeth, a syringe-tipped tail that secretes a lethal acidic substance, and their vampiric need to feed off oil to avoid overheating. Because of these characteristics, the leader of our group, Khan Doorman, established three "doors" – large, invulnerable metallic hatches – to keep the Disassembly Drones out."

"Mister Toner, how is this relevant to your presentation?"

I stopped speaking and looked over at my teacher, a man whose demeanor perpetually portrayed him as a 50-year-old father of five who had seen it all. "Uh, didn't you say that, we'd get bonus points for – what did you call it? – an 'edgy diatribe' as part of our presentation on our personal lives?"

"It was only worth 10 points, Mister Toner," said the teacher. "I hope you plan on finishing soon."

"...sir, I was just getting to the 'diatribing'," I said.

My teacher sighed. "Get on with it, then," he finally relented with a bored tone.

"Thank you," I said. I straightened myself up in front of my classmates. "I've told you all these details, but you know them just as well as I do. My name is Genesys Toner. But you know that. I'm sure you know who I am and what I believe, and to be frank, I'm sure that some of you know me solely because I annoyed you when I was younger." Some mild laughter arose from a few of my classmates, whom I had admittedly been somewhat unbearable toward when I was in elementary school. "But hear me out, friends. I don't believe those doors will always be so gracious to protect us all. For that reason, I implore you all to ready yourselves for the day when those Disassembly Drones finally enter our beloved sanctuary. But whether or not you think my words merit anything, know that I'm still going to go down fighting those who would prey on the weak, regardless of whether or not anyone's fighting alongside me."

Silence enveloped the room. During this time, my eyes briefly glanced over in the direction of Lizzy, a Worker Drone I had confessed my feelings to some time ago. She turned away as I did so.

"Thank you for your presentation," the teacher said emotionlessly, reaching the end of my slideshow. "Next?"

Later That Day...