While R may have been the leader of RGB squad, Serial Designation B was most definitely the brains of the outfit. He was more machine-like than the others, which came with the benefit of being able to see and analyze things without biases and preconceived notions. Funnily enough, it also came with the crippling self-confidence issues often associated with being notably different from everyone else. Go figure.
Usually his brother was there to hype him up and give him a bit of swagger just when he needed it. But this time G's behavior had gotten him put on guard duty, leaving B all on his own.
Normally that wasn't much of a problem; B didn't need help to hunt. But something was off. He was finding and capturing prey just fine, but there was something about the way they behaved that was setting off metaphorical alarm bells in his head.
They were clearly afraid, but not as much as he felt they should have been. More of the general fear of being in a dangerous situation, rather than the abject terror of facing certain death.
As if death wasn't so certain.
As if they knew something he didn't.
Combined with the sudden inability to communicate with his companions on any channel, it had the tiny voice in the back of his mind practically screaming at him to break off and find someone. Something was wrong and he wasn't safe alone. And even though that voice was almost never wrong, when it told him to go against the grain he just couldn't listen to it. Because what if it was wrong? Then he would be making a mountain out of a molehill and dragging others into his delusions. They would lose respect for him and start to question his competence.
Without his brother to tip the scales, B gave into his insecurities and pushed on.
He prepared to force open another door when the sound of rapid footsteps caught his attention. He looked down the hall and saw a Worker run by wearing a very familiar bowler hat.
About three seconds later the Worker was snared in a net and staring at his own doom.
"Where is my brother?" B demanded with a tension in his voice you would never notice if you didn't know him.
"Who is your brother?" the Worker asked, prompting B to grab the net and yank him up.
"You do not want to play games with me," B snarled.
"Yeah, you look like a 'Scrabble' kind of guy. No thanks," the Worker quipped like he wasn't at the mercy of a creature infamous for not having any.
"..." momentarily dumbfounded by the mocking response, B brought a talon up to the smaller drone's face.
"I don't know who you are, dipshit, so how would I know who your brother is, let alone where?" the Worker let out his own snarl, clearly more annoyed by the situation than afraid.
It was another red flag, but at this point B was in no condition to heed it.
"The Disassembly Drone that hat belongs to."
"Ah, that douchebag. You don't need to worry about him; his troubles are over," the Worker grinned as his eyelights glitched out for a moment. "Yours, however..."
Before B could even wonder what the inferior machine meant by that, he heard a sound not unlike a nail gun from directly behind him, accompanied by a tiny prick at the center of his back. He tried to whirl around on his attacker, only to find his body sluggish and unresponsive. He managed a half turn before he collapsed to his knees, trembling as he tried in vain to halt the virus that had just been injected into his system.
"Not sure if this'll kill you or not, but I hope it hurts."
Another Worker stepped into B's field of view, sounding eerily similar to the one he'd just interrogated. But this one was in much worse condition. The same condition that G had left the door guard in, now that B thought about it.
