Guns for Hands *Discontinued*

Chapter 1: Ocean Optics.

Beep Beep Beep-

I didn't even groan as I onlined from stasis, slowly got up from my stiff bunk, couldn't even be called a proper berth. In the very early hours of the morning, I turned off the mildly irritating internal clock. The troopers around me did the same, their fatigued movements accompanied by little whining and complaining, we've all been doing this since the day we've been created, the routines were ingrained or even beaten into us.

*Wake up

check, it isn't like I got much recharge anyways, my schedule in brief words is "make it til' you break it" it' being me.

*Get off the berth

I was doing at the very moment, clicking my visor on my impassive face-plates, I did a quick system scan, everything seems to be in working order.

*Line up

*Do assigned tasks

My wings twitched the slightest bit but remained stoic as the rest of us, I made a single-file line and left the cramped quarters behind where our batch of fliers shared.

Right left, right-left, my pedes quietly clicked and scuffed the hallway floor of the nemesis, my actions were mirrored by the fliers in front and behind me.

But I always have to remember, that you, refers to all drones, we are carbon copies of each other, you were indifferent yet autonomous, there's no he/she, there's no such thing as personalities, we have no names, we rarely felt emotions if we did it was dulled, we rarely had thoughts nor decisions.

We are somewhat like humans technology, what is called? iPhone I believe. Expendable products that were valued and replaced as soon as they stopped working, I'm bemused on how we've made it this far, though it isn't anything to be excited about.

It wasn't, however, something that sent me into incurable depression. This was all I've ever known since my creation day. This was how to me, the world operated. My optics haven't been open to any kinder options, I didn't even have options in the first place. I just kind of.....existed. My purpose for existing was about as fulfilling as it can get, considering most of us ended having the life span as an organic fruit fly.

Anyways back on the topic.

*Arrival at the flight deck

Check, I and my fellow expendables have arrived on to the flight deck right on schedule, the sun hasn't risen yet, and it will not for the next few breems (hours).

The stars flickered above me in the vast dark sky. I prefer flight when dawn was just upon the horizon. I subjectively exhaled, every day we worked achingly late and onlined from stasis, it made me wonder why the lot of us just didn't work til collapsing, its what happened most of the time anyway.

*Patrol the skies

We all trio-d up and lined ourselves on the edge of the flight deck.

"Morning" I muttered softly, it's the politeness we've been programmed through shining out, we didn't have to do it, but we did. Us vehicons both fliers and grounders found common courtesy helped us get through our dim lives.

"Morning" the other two faintly answered simultaneously. All of us leaned forward and dropped off the platform, swiftly transforming into our jet alt modes, we parted ways from the other fliers while I and my two partners patrolled the skies, we go by our normal route for few breems (hours) before its time to return to the nemesis.