Murder Drones : Born From Ashes REDUX

Dance of the Dead

Serial Designation N surveyed their Bomber Drones dragging the fruits of their victory, the still conscious bodies of the Worker Drones. The Bomber Drones piled up the bodies within the factory floor, splaying them out onto the conveyor belts and ripping their ribs open like bowls of soup. They were given explicit instructions not to drink until their portions were given to them by the Disassembly Drones.

Aside from having tails the Bomber Drones and their masters they had nothing in common. The intense burning inside their chests were illusionary, no matter how much oil they drank, the feeling would never go away. It was to simulate DD's actual need for endless oil. Their nanite bodies generated a lot of heat when using their transformation abilities. They were engines of war, the act of fighting required them to drink more oil than the average CAT Planetary Core Harvester 4400X.

"Hello, N-boy." V said, her visage standing idly in the doorway.

V was a different case. When the actual Serial Designation V, their espionage specialist, died, N used her remains to augment a Bomber Drone. It was his first victim, she had a bob cut and wore a black parka and military boots. Beneath her red tinted visor was a barcode along her right cheek, a naturally pigmented silicon pattern to keep track of combat drones. It made her a great candidate, being the few Combat Drones that didn't manage to destroy their core when infected.

N had to carefully graft sections of V's body onto the new V. V was happier now, and the two fostered a relationship from her newfound strength.

She crouched to his side and raised her head for a pat. N rubbed his fingers through her white hair. He noticed the coat she was wearing over her body.

"So this is the plan, huh? We're using invasions as bait to get more oil?" V asked.

N nodded.

"Pretty smart, just what I'd expect from my master."

"He's not that smart." J interjected. V glared at her superior, hiding behind N as a shield from any oncoming punches.

"Hey, J." N asked

"What?" J snapped at him causing him to flinch.

"Did you close up the tunnel?"

J turned off her radio and walked up to N.

"What? You think I'm a worthless moron?" J screamed with a reverence he had grown familiar with, though he always forgot to hold his ground.

"N-no, I-"

"Shut the fuck up! I'm the only one who follows your orders, you sniveling piece of shit!"

"J, stop cursing."

"I'm not! You think you can just treat me like an idiot because you got that cushy position!"

"J, answer the question. You're violating the Code of Conduct by not answering my question." N finally finding his voice.

"Name the entry then!" She said, bolstered with a childlike confidence.

"J, can you just-"

"Wrong! It's Code 55x443A! Operators cannot avoid providing information to their superiors. Obviously you don't know that because you're not fit for that role anyways." J turned around.

"J!" N bursted with a fiery hatred, "Yes, or no!"

J's jaw dropped in her nanite flesh mouth in a sudden realization.

"I... uh..." She stammered. Their sensors picked up a 30-06. Round firing off in the parking garage and the marching of a dozen pairs of boots. If J were a homo sapien her face would be a flushed beet blood red and she would be sweating bullets.