Murder Drones : Born From Ashes REDUX

Dinner Time

Uzi awoke around dinner time. The familiar reinvigorating oil is dripping onto her tongue and rolled into her body. She felt herself tumble down a pile of hands and feet that groped her body until the stifling darkness broke into a hazy light. Around her were a handful of disassembly drones sifting through her pile.

She could barely make out the figures. Her HUD was the only sharp element in her sight, warning her that she was still in critical condition. It then told her the obvious fact that she was blind. She could only hear the childlike giggles and loud sucking of oil around her. Slowly crawling across the bodies, she carefully sifted her hand through the bodies until her hand was met with an exploded Winchester shotgun.

"Hey! We got a live one, boys!" the juvenile voice squealed behind her. A set of limbs crashed onto the conveyor belt of corpses behind her. She brought the shotgun from the pile and turned around. She waited for the yellow blur in her vision to get closer so she could swing the butt of the shotgun into his head. The faux wood furniture meet and cracked open the visor of the Bomber Drone with a distinct shatter and scream of shock. The body landed onto the floor. Uzi turned around and shook her makeshift club at the figures slowly surrounding her.

Another bomber leapt from her left, and she swung. The stock made impact once again, though this time the force she exerted was too much for her right arm to handle. She felt her fingers on her left hand loose at the sudden force required to wield it as the weapon flew from her hands. Uzi quickly dove to her left side, feeling herself smack into the concrete. A loud commotion was heard above her as she stumbled back to her feet. Her left leg gushed out blood each time it moved. She felt her mouth run dry as multiple arms grabbed her.

"Heh heh! You're mine now slut!" snarled one.

"She's of legal age, right?" snickered a degenerate.

"Who cares! We're eating good tonight!" boomed an older voice.

They flipped her onto her back, the cold hands scratching at her segments until they began to dig beneath them. A body on top of her strips her zipper down and throws her jacket back. Their own fingers cut between the segments, but the allure of fresh blood was too much for them to care about their silicon fingers stripping down to their skeletal frames as they peeled back each segment of her body.

They laughed as they ripped her methodically with an unprofessionalism that began to drive her mad. This isn't right, these lowly life forms could not kill her! She felt powerless, weak, and afraid.

Her hard drive buffered as they cut her veins open and squirted her oil into their saturated mouths. She felt oil from another drone spill from his mouth onto her bare chest.

Her hard drive raced, no, not like this.

She still had so much hate.

She let the searing red take her over, she wouldn't die like a miserable sod like the rest of these machines. She decided she would die angry.

Uzi's right hand grabbed onto the belly of one of the Bomber Drones. She remembered her mother demonstrating it to her drinking buddies the first time she snuck out with Vivian back at The Bunker. Worker Drones have a small portion along their stomach and chest, where a thin section of silicon connects the two segments. Demonstrating the move on her own friend. She dug her fingers between the joints. From there, Uzi slipped her whole hand in, balling it into a fist and violently jerking it back. The force cracked a nice hole into his chest, allowing her to grab his swollen intestines and slice them open against the plastic sections of his torso.

Even if Bomber Drones couldn't feel pain, the oil rushed out fast enough to cause the snarling one to panic and run. The Bomber Drones, like the godless machines they were, ignored the panicked pleas of their brother and continued to violate her body. She brought her right fist to the drone painting her body with her veins. The first punch went into her visor, not a single dent thanks to Jensen brand organic ballistic glass, but the force was enough to weaken her stance to wrench the rest of her upper body free. Her hands dove towards the older voice that was mounted on her chest.