Alloy - After the Apocalypse

[Zavvnao]

Chapter 1: The Scraplands are Calling​

"If any of you try anything funny, then I will do more than just whack one of off a cliff again." The synth, Fang, overlooked the smaller, scurrying ones as he jumped across the junkyard.
His larger, more predatorial build could not always follow them through the valleys below, but it was not like the rusted little things could just up and leave. His Boss had given the natives a strong "incentive" to help the outsiders salvage and scout the wastland. So the raptor-like synths where pressganged by the ones from the City.

Fang, being modeled after an ancient predator, and having the feline urge to pounce smaller things, enjoyed getting to bat the smaller, weaker synths around. Not anything that would get him in trouble with the boss. just a reminder of who is stronger here.

However, Fang still has not figured out the secret messaging of the Scraplanders. And they are free to taunt the outsider as much as they want.

<1: this guy still thinks we are afraid of a little fall. I've had worse from even worse than him.>
<2: I agree that the Angry Cat is a joke, but please don't say that out loud. We need to stick to the plan.>
<1: He'll be a joke soon enough. He made my little brother cry. What sick thing is insecure enough to taunt a young one's first attempts at walking?>
<2: I'll be laughing with you, but please, keep these things to code for now.>

The work crews grumbled silently to each other about the overseer.
Not that they could do too much of it when being watched by a synth much larger than they are.
Its not that the raptor-like natives where afraid to fight someone bigger. They know what escalation would mean, though, and grudgingly keep the Sabretooth from anything worse than growling and sparking at them in warning. Or at least when he pushes one of them over, his claws are not powered up.

The "boss" was currently coated black to hide any identifying markers, as opposed to the rusted complexion of the Scraplanders. Meaning its likely he and the outsiders squatting in the Natives' "town" are not supposed to be out here. Not that it does them much good, since there is not really anyone they could call for help or who would listen. The other denizens of the Scraplands were dealing with similar issues all over, as the encroaching cities "reclaimed" what was seen as a wasteland.

Fang is not someone for them to fight or ambush, standing well over ten meters to their three. They could, in theory, team up and tear the legs out from under him, but there would be retaliation from the rest of the crew. And it would stir up all the ancient, wild machines that are still sleeping or patrolling. No one wants to deal with a self-replicating monster factory.

"I can be reasonable, and a large payoff makes me very reasonable. Since I can get a better job than herding some rust-lizards if the find is good enough. Though I am sure whoever takes my job won't be able to keep all of you alive as well as I have. You all are so flimsy, that I bet half of you would be dead if some forgotten monster gave you a mean stare...heh... "

<3: Like you'd do any better, Kitty.>
<4: He should be glad he won't have to deal with any of the Pack ever again soon. The Cat should be thanking us if he is that miserable.>

Even if the invaders did not outright kill them or do worse than scar the natives, which is already bad enough, the smaller synths knew it was only a matter of time before things got worse.
The Scraplands where dangerous enough to need co-operation from the natives, who the "Big Boss" in his headquarters seemed to think only survived by running and hiding, so the City Synths "played nice" until the time they could just "play" with such fragile looking locals once the ancient caches where depleted. And the Scraplanders where happy to play into that bias as they plotted.

The outsider and his superiors did not know all the little secrets of the Scraplands, or the algorithm of movement and twitches as the Scrap Synths communicated. So they could satisfy the fancy City Synth by acting cowed and fearful whenever he ordered them around in this salvage operation; and still insult him to his face while they schemed. It kept him from suspecting their plan as they omitted something very important during interrogations about local hazards and resources. They would prefer to do more than malicious compliance, but hopefully, they will have that chance soon.

<4: His voice makes me hate verbal communication at times. At least the other outsiders mostly just shout commands and push us around. Instead of monologuing and pushing us around.>
<1: Ha! That cat definitely had no one to compliment him as a kitten if he has to try this hard.>
The silent conversation goes over the overseer's head. If they miss anything important, he is going to hit them again anyway. So they don't care at all about his grandstanding.

The Scraplanders where born survivors and had risen after the death of an even older mechanical civilization. They knew what it took to survive and adapt when needed. And what was needed right now is to tempt the current overseer with a valuable cache, stroking his ego with the implication that the raptors where too fragile to face the patrolling machine guarding it. That he could both show his strength and be rewarded by his boss. They put up with being harassed and insulted, hurrying just enough when he started heating up his fangs when he felt they were too slow.


<3: He think's he's tough, but he'd definitely cry if he saw a real monster. He'd probably even bluescreen!>
<4: Well, we will know soon enough. Get ready, everyone.>

When the crew finally leads him to the ancient stockpile, still sealed fresh and ready in the opened vault, the bright and shiny overseer's eyes lit up with greed. "So it looks like I won't have to make an example out of one of you." Fang smirks as he turns to the raptors. He was about to order them to draw out and distract whatever patrolling machine could be hiding here, only to see that the rust-covered synths disappeared into the surrounding scrap and metal. And his electric growl turned into a sparking grunt of confusion.
---

Something important to understand:
1. The Scraplanders were rust-coated not because of poor maintenance or uncleanliness, and their faint heat signatures did not mean they lacked power.

2.They looked the way they did on purpose, to better hide in their native biome and match the ambient heat signatures.

3. They knew caches would open at timed intervals, a safety measure set up for the survivors long before they where even born.

4.Trying to take from them before that time was not recommended.

5. However its not like the Scrap synths didn't figure out the codes to most devices out here.

and 6. Fang did not stop to think about the timer above the vault, which is still counting down instead of being at zero.
---


The angry overseer growled, used to pushing over the metal dinosaurs when frustrated, and instead batted a broken vehicle away now that the "workers" where hidden. He had only looked away for a moment at the shiny, tempting prize ahead. But here he is now; alone and with the stomping of a monster on approach.

<1: RIP. It was not nice knowing you!>
The packmates blend in well, hidden and given a good view of the looming, evolved machine and the worried Sabertooth.

---

And as the ground vibrated, metal scattering and rolling, Fang realized his plan to bait the mindless machine into fighting the locals, so he could claim a larger reward for himself, was not going to work.
Especially now as a genuine war machine looks down at him.

The White, looming monster, balanced on stomping tentacles, locked its sight on Fang, more menacing than a giant egg should be.

And it should be silly, ridiculous even, as this bulgy oval approaches, but he can't help but be unnerved.
​

Because the way its moving is by rapidly stomping without pause, keeping balance from constant, unending motion as a dust cloud trails it. He hardly has time to back up as the thing simply tilts forward, and rockets right at him with its white bulk and a warbled, stuttering cry. He is sent flying from a kinetic impact into a metal tree, leaking hydraulic fluid as he crashes into it. Fang was not even touched physically, it was a repulsor that flared to life and sent him ragdolling, already cracking something important below his armor. The monster thrust its body forward again as he lands, sending him into the same tree. Its plan is probably to shake and bash him to pieces.

Fang growls out before the third attack comes, his fangs flashing blue as he meets the kinetic barrier, shorting it out with his own jolt of power. A lazy, overbearing jerk, Fang is still a fighter, and does not hesitate to claw and cling to the monster's head, inside of its barrier as he clamps and bites into it. He heats up his large fangs, glowing plasma red as the machine smokes. But before he can finish it off, the egg thing has let itself fall down, grabbing him with its legs and yanking him off before he can melt something important.

Fang yelps and struggles in the monster's grip, starting to realize what legs like those could do to him.

---

The Scraplanders silently cheer the wild machine on, watching from their still, silent position as the cat is left flailing and giving a modulated yowl as he tries to fight.
They had all planned a way to lead the invaders into danger all at once, the other "work crews" doing the same elsewhere. They would stay silent and hidden, content to watch the ancient guardian destroy the monster. Quite a few of the raptors sporting fresh, shiny scars or bent limbs that will take time to heal after weeks of Fang's "protection", satisfied that all that they endured so everyone survives will pay off.

They are perfectly fine with moving and making it seem like the entire operation was a failure, and could eventually return once the eyes of the outside world turned elsewhere again. They never truly bowed down to the tyrants, simply let them believe what they wanted to about the Scraplanders and lead them to their own demise.

The synths built here in this land had little to fear from the monsters, being the true inheritors of the ancient city. Most wild machines had evolved and adapted themselves from simpler objects and items over the millenia, as algorithms pushed designs from being ridiculous into terrifying and surprising menaces.

And now the Raptors get to enjoy seeing Fang get torn apart by what was once a rock tumbler.
---

But...

Before they could simply wait for Fang to vanish into a cloud of shrapnel and hydraulic fluid, and wait for the war machine to leave, a loud roar sounded out, and a larger synth leaped through the air to assault the egg-shaped machine. This newcomer, A bear, half as big as the machine itself, sinks its claws right into the white metal and exposes the vital spots to yet more attacks.

The Scraplanders feel the collective rug pulled from under their claws. The monster, known for its destruction of threats to the cache over the centuries, was no match for this outsider. Its not just any City Synth, but the "Big Boss" himself. The bear was the one they had all truly feared over his subordinates. He was slow and heavy, almost clumsy when they had all met him. And he should of seemed like yet another, overspecialized City dweller from some long forgotten production line
But the alertness in his glowing eyes was too familiar to the Scraplanders...

... the same look you'd feel from a monster...

THUNK!
The Bear sheers off half of the machine's coating, its shields shattering into sparks of light.
He utterly mutilates the war machine, as black carbon pours out of it in rivers.

Every swipe is followed through, any new injury exploited as the guardian is ruptured, diminished, and then crushed.
Anything that could possibly writhe or move is stomped and shredded out of existence, and anything that seemed to still have power was cracked and drained.
Even Fang looks horrified, like a meek little kitten as he crawls away to curl up in a dripping, sparking ball for safety.

This...

none of the outsiders ever had it this easy before...


Bear looks directly to each hiding spot, no anger or annoyance on his face. He simply stands there, black body dripping in the esoteric fluids of his victim, and steaming as his body vents heat from the intense massacre.

"Come out, now."
He states, his voice low and reverberating.
"I will not demand it twice." The bear warns. And each of them see the lack of anything in his eyes.
The temptation to slink away shattered at his stare, towering forty meters above them. And all at once, they knew to obey the moment he finished speaking.

He points were they should stand, and makes them wait while the dead monster gushes black sludge still.

"I never needed any of you."
The Boss starts, making them all tremble.
"My crew needs you, and I need my crew.
But. I. Don't. Need. You. at. all."
They don't even have time to blink before he is on all fours, a centimeter away from each of them.

"I don't need your people. Your community, or knowledge.
I don't need your history, and I don't need to know who you are.
I don't want to have to think about you, as I had to today.


And as long as my crew is able to leave here alive, rich, and happy, then I can leave and forget about you."
The bear hardly touches one of them, no physical contact made, but the very presence of his claw is enough to scar the Scraplander from muzzle to chest. The rusted raptor feels the sharp, slicing pain, eyes blanking out; but even as coolant leaks before it can seal up, he can't do anything but stiffen up and listen.

Because you don't want me to find someone more helpful, useful, and forgettable than you all are."

And with that, the bear gets up, and lifts his subordinate across his shoulders, the Sabretooth Synth dazed and going into repair mode.

---
The vault's timer has not run down fully, and there is no reason for the work crew to be here now. The Boss gestures for them to follow.
Though as three of them get up, the fourth one, injured as an example, is met with yet another stare and goes still.

He knows there is nothing that he can do, as the bear's claws, unpowered, push him closer to the dead monster, and is given a little tap on the back of his head to stare down at it.
"Don't return until the bleeding stops." The bear advises as he points to the wound he inflicted. "I don't want anyone to follow the trail that will leave."

"He will save you before I remember you." And with that, the Bear leaves him alone with the soft countdown timer echoing among the scrap heaps.
---

Scratch did not move for hours.

He stayed completely still as the timer sounded out, the monster still leaking and spraying the clearing in carbon.
The myomer running through him is flooded with information.

<We had a plan...>
He feels as if he will be crushed if he moves too soon, and stays utterly stiff against the pain.
<how? did he know?>
It is like the cut could open wider at any moment and send him flying in two directions at once.
<no one said anything out loud... oh....>
Don't move yet. Please don't move yet....
<He knew it was my plan all along...>
<he was not just talking about my Pack... He was talking directly to me...>

He passed out right then and there... splashing right into the ichor.
---

Scratch enjoyed the oblivion for however long it lasted. No pain, suffering, or dread that his people will me wiped out on a whim.
He even woke up quite comfortably, his servos no longer seized up and no sign of further leaking.

...
...

He really should not be having it this good now...

and he should not be resting on a comfy, gel-filled cushion he has never seen before in his life...

And He should not be staring at a strange, unknown Synth tending to him.

"Hey!" the newcomer almost squeaks, his voice modulated as he waves with a paw. "I am very sorry if I am treating you without permission. But I never met a Scraplander from your Pack before, and I did not want to leave you in a pool of monster blood."

This strange synth is half his height, and on all fours... is but twice as long... and covered in soft, blue fluff...​

<... is this a child?...
and is this a dragon?...
oh... they look a little older than that. They are just small... and adorable... and might have kidnapped me...>

"I'm Spark. and it is really nice to meet you!" He squeaks to the bed-ridden synth, almost bouncing in place. "And oh! I am sorry if you can't move right now, but I did not want you to shake yourself apart from the spasms. That looked really painful!" The stranger continues, and Scratch realizes that he is not just paralyzed, but limp and numb.

"I really am sorry for not asking permission! I hate being powerless also. But I needed to treat what I could out here. We should get you to a technician." Spark rambles on, bouncing from sorry to excited. "But wow! I really wanted to meet more Synths out here. And I am very happy to meet you, Sir."

Scratch turned his eyes to look at the hole dug out of a scrap hill they where currently in, and the makeshift tech bay set up around the two.

"The feeling will return soon. But I have stopped the leak and the pain will not last too long.

oh?! You are passing out again?"
---

Spark grinned and closed the hill up for the night. He placed one of his fluffy little paws on the twisted and broken metal, and sent a pile of it floating up to cover the entrance.

He had already set up a little grave marker for the War Machine outside, and treated the awesome Raptor, who is now stable and sleeping. So now it is his turn to rest.

The dragon synth was excited at having some new things to do today and was planning his schedule for tomorrow:

1. treat his patient and apologize again.
2. learn more about the war machine and see what is in the cache himself.
3. Sleep in because he has no one to tell him not to.
4. Give whoever harmed his new friend a piece of his mind.
---
End Chapter 1
---
ooc info:
It probably needs editing, but I wanted to get this up so I actually do get to editing and adding more chapters. I will see how much of this I change over time. I am half asleep for now though.

 

[Zavvnao]

Chapter 2: A Fluffy Thing Appears​

---

​

It seems that his plan to stop the invaders from press ganging his people was doomed from the start, as the Boss Bear somehow knew of it.. And now he was being tended to by a strange little Synth.
He had no idea who Spark is; other than friendly, talkative, and eerily understanding of exotic anatomy. And has a makeshift medbay with the best you could do in a hill made of scrap metal.

Spark is also able to keep a synth of Scratch's size laying down, despite only being maybe two meters long compared to Scratch's Five.

"Its amazing how Scrap Synths can just Build each other without a factory!"

... He is also incredibly extroverted.

"I was built in a Factory like any Synth in the City is. I mean, the Factory Minds randomize each Build to a degree, but the only time I have found Synths as strange and different as me is out here in the Scraplands."

"Why... are you helping random strangers in the wild?" Scratch interrupts. He glances at the augmented reality display that is showing off his interior. Like some sort of tunnel or tube that surrounds him. The smaller synth had managed to treat the wound well enough, but is not fully sure of the stranger's intentions.

"I got to where I am with a lot of help, so why should I not help others?" Spark chirps in reply. "That gash was going to open up in a few hours if I didn't do anything. You have a great congealing system that you evolved there, but this is a really exotic wound you have."

"Seriously. You did not, and still don't, know me or my Pack. You have no reason to assume I am safe to just spill your heart out to like this, let alone drag off to some secret base." Scratch is not going to let it go or let Spark ramble on about some other strange topic. This outsider is definitely not working for the bear, judging from the age, size, and annoyingly adorable attitude.

"oh! But you did not look dangerous. I've met Scraplanders before."

"That doesn't explain anything. And I don't mean to be insulting, but I am pretty sure that even like this, I could scrap you in a dozen ways. You seem way too vulnerable to be on your own out here."

Scratch had risen from the gel-filled bed as he replied. But before he could say anything else, Spark simply placed a tiny paw on Scratch's snout, and then guided him back down with a smile.
There was no force or anything unexpected as the medic asked him to keep still. There was no display of power like he expected from the City Dwellers, just an adorable smile and gentle request.
... Its like with his little siblings when they crowd around him...

"Please, Sir. I don't want to see a new friend split open. You are going to be fine as long as you stay still for now." Spark pats Scratch on the head.
"It may feel fine now, but the gash was from an ultra-abrasive weapon. It would feel fine until you moved just a little too much, before blasting all the various fluids out of your chest here."

... Scratch stays down at that...

"And I have a pass to be here anyway." Spark cheers as he reaches for one of the storage bags. He presents something to Scratch, as the raptor's eyes light up in understanding, the object quickly being put away.

"...oh.... yeah. If He gave you this, then no one is going to harm you out here. Not that we would of anyway."

"Exactly, the people out here are very nice!"

Spark continues tending to the much larger and older synth, chirping some little song. Something old and analogue probably heard from the wildlife at times, or in some of the ruins.
"Yeah, this is definitely an esoteric wound here. Something purposefully left micro abrasives in the incision." He points with an electric wand across the chest gash. "It tore part of the surrounding material off at the atomic level, and shaped it into coarse, grating beads. The more you moved, the bigger they'd get, and the wider the wound would grow."

<At least he sounds sad about it. Instead of obsessed.>
"I felt like I was going to split in half, but I had felt worse before..."

"Of course you've felt worse wounds, Sir. This is definitely something that works rather slowly. And it would feel like you are healing at first..." Spark takes a large chunk of metal from a pile of junk and runs it through a press system in a different corner.

"...Until it all opens up at once as it gets wider on the inside." And then he wraps the printed mesh around Scratch's chest.

"We are halfway done with treating it though, so thank you for listening." The fluffy little dragon drags the display with his paws, until it is placed directly on the mesh.

<The Bear was not warning me... he was going to use me as an example...>
"So... that is horrifying... but... thanks... I guess..." Scratch processes the revelation while being treated.

"I am glad to help. But as I said, we are only half way done." Sparks says as the corrupted material is removed fully, the display showing where all microbeads in the wound are. "The other half is dealing with the one who did this to you."

"No."

Scratch protest quickly, but is held down by Spark.
"Please rest, Sir, you are still being treated. And yes. I know you were damaged by someone from the City, and are probably going to do much worse if they are not stopped."

"No! Listen, Fluffball!" Scratch growls. "Stop blowing me off for a minute and listen!" He continues, having to struggle against the mesh. "One; Its not just you who's going to suffer, but my entire Pack is being held hostage and will DIE. Actually DIE if you anger the Bear. Two; you are not an invader or outsider, but that just means I can't let you get destroyed. He will, WILL, murder you.
The guardian out there? The Big Boss did that on his own. I will not let you get everyone I know killed on some immature crusade!" Scratch demands and pleads with Spark.

"Oh! I did not mean to trivialize you, Sir!" Spark finally droops and manages to look apologetic. "I know you and all people of the Scraplands are survivors, and are not a toy or tool for City dwellers. I wasn't just going to charge in. But I was going to deal with whoever attacked you in a very different way."

"And what way is that?" Scratch ask, torn between wanting to get up, and not wanting to injure someone so small and fragile.

Spark taps the display again, to bring up a display in front of the raptor, and shows off something that ends the protest fast.
---
later
---

The Bear had always known that the natives planned to retaliate and trap his Crew.

It was not a matter of prejudice or paranoia. And the Bear completely understood that his operation was extracting resources that Scraplanders need for consumption, reproduction, and building. It would be completely expected that they would try to wait for the majority of his crew to be occupied or isolated before agitating the monsters in the ruins. It was very understandable that they would deal with a foreign threat in a way that would not destroy their homes. Especially with the changes that would come from future settlement and pressure.

The Bear just did not care about them or anything that would prevent his crew's prosperity.
It was not out of hatred or spite. Simply the fact that there is profit in harvesting reclaimed technology and new resources. He only cared about getting as much as possible for him and his, regardless of who got in the way. And with no pity or remorse for those who he had no obligations towards.

Its not about right or wrong, but the job and those who rely on him. And right now, he is ensuring his injured synths are being treated by the medic on his team.
Some of them, like Fang, can admittedly be stupid, short-sighted, and petty, but they are his stupid, short-sighted, and petty synths. And they are all here to make a profit and find a better life.
Not all of them can be built as strong and stable as himself, and rely on him to keep dangers both wild and native from ruining that chance.

And as the injured are stabilized, he makes sure the Pack he press ganged into service knows that they have failed in everything they have tried.

The Bear stares over the rusted, varied shapes that he towers over on his way back to his den. He is not concerned about the anger or rage seen in some, just a simple satisfaction at the visible surrender in many of them.
He had worked on breaking them of hope and despair both, as either extreme could drive the workers to act out. The apathetic submission to orders was much more useful to him and his crew.

The wasteland the Pack could disappear into has become unstable with armies and convoys moving through them, so there where less places to run to.
Their children that had not been evacuated are watched alongside the injured and broken, so they have to behave.
The resources will be depleted here for centuries soon, so they will be dependent on the City for survival, in terms of sustenance and reproduction both.

This is only another of last the gasp of independence from the Scraplanders, he predicts. And as a synth centuries old; he is patient enough to see this to the end.
He is sure what is about to happen with his planned demonstration will cut down on however many gasp the creature of hope and defiance has left.

The Bear, who never gives his name out easily, simply munches on some big, salvaged muffler from an ancient vehicle, and slumbers without any guilt or remorse.

The raptor will return out of loyalty to his people, and it will be the death of him. The wound will make sure of that.
---

By morning, the locals have been pushed back into laboring yet again. Whether being made to sort through all the salvaged equipment and supplies, being made to lead the City Dwellers to secret caches, or whatever job is needed, they are much less defiant after seeing those they intended to ambush are still alive and well.

The Bear has made his way though the settlement, his AR vision already highlighting the rusted one that was left behind in the distance.
The small one is unsteady, even after enough time for recovery. The Bear sees the raptor's metal eyes dilate repeatedly, as if struggling to keep focus as he returns.
<Okay, everyone, play along. I am okay. and we have help from Him.>
The Boss Bear felt it would be fine whether he collapsed on the route back or in the middle of town. Both would be a strong message. Though he is satisfied that the upstart seems determined to drag himself home.
The key to strength is how much you need to use, and how well you can determine that. An ancient guardian is one thing, and committing to its destruction is when you need all that you have. But for breaking resistance and hope, all of that strength needs to be applied in a subtler way.

Its one thing to die a martyr while being executed, its another to have the life fluids of a love one spray over your face as you go to help them. He understands the algorithm well, and making sure he dies in a moral-breaking way is important.
<It's not going to be real everyone, but its still going to be a little much. The plan is still on.>
Many of the Pack gather around him as he returns, gasping as the rusted thing falls to his knees. The Bear sees the growing panic as the raptor grabs at his chest with his claws. There is an ominous creaking in place of a roar of pain. The Bear watches in a zoom-in as a synth he never bothered to learn the name of doubles over in a limp mess, now blocked by the surrounding natives as the crowd's horror grows. Probably at how a healed wound is opening up on its own to pump his insides out.

Some are already staggering back as a spray of liquid splats like paint particles against them. A rainbow forms in the sunlight even as most of the Packmates back away, while others call out for help and hold onto their injured sibling. Though none of them are going to be able to save him, as his body, from chest to tail, is bathed blue from the bleeding. Only when the target is limp and his temperature has faded does the Bear turn to go back to sleep.

All life lights have been extinguished, and no energy flows through his system now. His brain will eventually heat up and destroy any memories or data stored over his lifetime, and the Bear will be satisfied at another threat being destroyed. The audience yells or cries, and the Bear ignores them all. As long as it is not one of his own crew, whether from the city or Scraplands, he will have no trouble with maiming or killing someone loved by their community. A bigger escalation than usual, but one he has no problem making.

---
The Bear's crew, those watching the scene play out, decide to help get the body off of the street. The natives are too catatonic or distraught to do it themselves, and some of them are more than a little hesitant at how callous their Big Boss can be. Or they just don't want to breath in the scent of hydraulic fluid, coolant, and other mixing chemicals from a synth's gut all day.

One of them, a Mammoth, approaches and wraps her trunk around the fallen synth to carry him off.
<Scratch: Glad to see that you actually know what you are doing, Fluffy. Just don't get crushed.>
<Spark: Thank you for the concern, Sir. He taught me a lot, so its not going to be that easy for them.>
---

The Bear wakes up from his sleep, the power of his maintenance station shutting off as he bounds at the sound of fighting outside.
Something is definitely wrong, but before he can reach it, something bounces off the back of his head, painfully.

He goes right into Danger Mode, being an old hand at ambushes, and swipes at the spot such a projectile would come from.

He ends up swiping through air though, as another blunt object clunks his dark metal head again.

And again.
And again.
And yet again with his growing annoyance and concern.

His body glows with yellow lines as every part of his chassis becomes alert and reactive. His claws flex and vibrate in the air as he turns around repeatedly. his eyes scan every surface and every space in an instant, trying to track whoever the intruder is, but nothing is made clear. The Bear growls out and sinks his claws into the metal floor, to yank a section up and swing around the chamber. Someone too fast for him is definitely when he should go nuclear, and just fix this place later.

But even as he starts to swing the metal like a net or bug swatter, the stranger leaps across his head, as talons tear into the armor and scar his face. He swipes at the air as he drops the improvised weapon, sparks flying as the opponent hops back again, somehow, this time stomping hard enough to send him face-first against the floor. He is familiar with falling down though, and rolls to crush whoever might be running across his back, since he feels the claws clanking against him.
There is a lack of a crush below, but at least he rolled out of the way, and manages to get his back to a wall as he circles the room. Its been decades since he had to becomes this alert, and still cannot see whoever is in here.
And by the time he spots the attacker, he is panting from the exertion on his core and already venting steam. He only has a moment of shock before snapping back into control, and charges with everything he has. There is no room for banter or questions, only time for killing. Questions come after the killing.

But the figure is not where he slams into. There is a big crater and shower of metal, but no crushed and dripping corpse. And by the time he realizes what is going on, turning his head to glance at where his opponent truly is, his entire HUD and vision itself scrambles.

Every upgrade shuts down, and his specialized physiology looses all the power supporting his weight and mass, becoming a lump of limp metal as Scratch looks down at him with a smirk.
---

The fight had been over the moment Scratch managed to scar the Bear's head, implanting a false feed and reboot, right before the bear surged his power hard.
Spark had also given him a hologram to work with his camouflage, a hard light one as warm and loud as he is, to be in the exact opposite position he himself is in.

Any little slip would of resulted in him dying horribly and painfully, yes. But this had to be done. And it feels great as he makes sure the bear stays down. Or at least in a state usable to force any invaders out of the camp to surrender and leave. He uses the Display to find what Spark said he needed, the mass stabilizer, and tears it right out of the Bear's back, to make sure he can't move or use his weapons. Then taps into his right shoulder to make sure any messages being sent will be what the Pack wants them to be.

"Hey, Spark. I'm alive still. And the big guy is down....
... and thank you..."

He laughs in relief, the outsiders being overwhelmed finally and giving everyone room to breath and process the horror they all went through.
---
Outside, Spark Chirps back in reply, having crawled out of the dummy raptor earlier, and zapping the fluids out of his fur.
"It was fun. Thank you for letting me help. I got to zap like a dozen of them at once.

And now its time to doctor up again. I didn't forget who you asked me to help"

---
End Chapter 2
---

ooc info:
I thought the contest had ten more days, so I was not in a rush until the deadline was revealed to be today.
I Rushed through it all day and night, and had spent the week working on my anxiety about posting publicly.
I will work on being faster, but am not rushing it, since I am still very embarassed, but think I am getting better at least.

I can clarify and edit still later, as I need sleep now.

 

[Zavvnao]

Reflection 1: Mayfly
---
Eight years ago
---

The Factories.

Many have been there since before the collapse, and new ones are built as the world recovers.
Countless generations have been born in them, with tweaks over time as models are created and recorded.
Not run by anyone, they are fully sentient and think for themselves.


Factories are fully self-aware of themselves, with their own goals and ambitions.
Though their main goal is the production of Synthetic life.

Each one caters to the creation of thinking, feeling individuals. From the spark of life to the by for them to fill, every part is created to give newly born synths the best chance for a happy, healthy life.
Each one made is unique, whether as a reshuffling of an old model or a complete innovation. Their biology is streamlined and efficient, allowing them to grow and adjust to the world outside.

In a world dealing with disaster and scarcity, the focus in Synth designs trended towards rugged, sustainable designs. And during the worst eras, as the world changed and bled, the Factories would build less, but make each one much more valuable to their community. Even as the world recovers and horizons expand, the focus on quality over quantity has remained, although scaled as resources become more than just sustainable.

Each small, curious little one created knows that there is someone very smart and caring that says they belong in this world, and that this world is worth living in.
That they have a place here and are worthy of love and respect; no matter how big or small, no matter how generalized or specialized.
That there is nothing wrong with how they where made. Yet... if that is true... Why is he not allowed to leave?

---

The young one saw everyone else leave the nursery before him, and the same with those who came after.
He did not know why he was not allowed outside, and kept distracted and more comfortable than... what is comfortable.
They never let him strain or exert himself. Never let him meet a guardian to be adopted by, or even let him see the City with a chaperone like others could ask for.
He might be able to play with them in simulated games, but they never wanted to let him be physical with those his age.

He was never denied anything, or yelled at. But there was something about him the Caretakers kept observing. And as he learned more, he realized there was an amount of guilt among many of them.
When he read more, studying and observing behavior, he understood what embarrassment was, and how so many tried to hide it from him.


They never seemed to hate him or say anything mean, but they treated him as something that could break. Like a fragile toy. Because you are going to die.
Were they ever going to let him go? They do not want you to make others uncomfortable.
And so he got bigger and smarter as time went on. Not as big as most of his peers, but everything started to seem more clear each day. Mortals age faster.
And eventually, he was smart enough to plot a way out. They see you as something to pity and make comfortable in his last moments. To make them feel better about themselves.

---
The Caretakers did not know how he escaped. He was monitored and tracked every moment of his life. Encouraged to rest and relax, and not get too close to young Synths who wouldn't understand.

They had trusted her, the mind in the Factory, as many of them where once born here centuries ago, in times good and bad. But they could not comprehend the answers she presented.

<The world is no longer as harsh and cruel as it once was. There is no need to make everyone a fortress.
Monsters no longer assault the walls, and hunger is gone. The bleeding has staunched from a river to a stream, And it is time for something new.>

More likely, many did not want to understand. The world outside was dangerous and life could still be harsh and demanding.
Why would they make someone so small in a way the tiniest of them are not. So soft in the most specialized of them could never be.

Why would She make someone who the world is going to crush into dust?

<I am not a cruel, petty God in the Machine to test you. You are all my children, and each of you has a right to exist. None of you are a mistake and neither is he.>

He was smaller and younger than all of them, by centuries for some. There where constant patrols and zealous guardians keeping the young ones safe and in sight at all moments. Each one's presence was marked and each change in routine was recorded.

But as they reviewed all the facts, and pieced the story together, the realization haunted them.

He had every patrol mapped out. Every blind spot that appears marked down and timed just right to sneak past everyone. In moves that would need less time than an eye blink.
His electronic capabilities spoofed the entire security system, the recording where he was sleeping comfortably was an afterimage. A digital hallucination. He was able to walk past cameras and lenses without triggering any of them.

<I would never make one of my children with the soul purpose of dying in pain. There is a concept to get across, and I regret it is one you have to learn on your own. I have made it clear whenever a new model needs a different method of care, and I have done so with him. I hope you will understand in time..>

A child had outsmarted an entire organization's eons of experience. He just wants to live.

But one of them understood where to find him though.

<I would never give up on any of you, and none of the models that represent any of you will cease to be produced. So please, don't give up on him.>

<This City is not yet ready for him. But there is a place that is.>
---
The little one was having a great day.

He met others his age, models he had never seen before. He met some bird Synth. Fast and passionate, along with so many others. He got to eat things he never saw before, and got to be physical and rough! They did not treat him as special. These ones did not react the way his Caretakers explained they would. No one treated him like something small and weak, or like something was wrong with him.

This was a World that was not too clean and protected. Where he could stumble and fall, where he never had the chance to before. He got to meet old nursery friends, a few he was even bigger than now, if not by much. Even if they where bulkier and sturdier than him still.

He was finally finally
finally finally
finally finally finally finally finally
finally
finally....
---

The Guardian found him having a seizure, glitching in a pile of static.

The Jackal, Quest, had bound past many districts to reach the little one in time, not bothering to alert others as he made up his mind.
Quest was one of those who guarded the little ones, and understood their behaviors. He understood this one very well.

And he knew the lost one would end up here of all places.
On the day celebrating freedom and individuality, there was one place he could play before being recovered.

He found him in middle of a crowd, the spasming body crackled with lightning. Quest saw him stutter and glitch in front of the crowd. The escaped child's joints and servos seized and writhed, his eyes flickering as his slender body twisted in place.

Completely helpless. Completely exposed. And Completely humiliated.

Quest had seen this happen multiple times at the Nursery. And every time it happened, the Caretakers would further secure and isolate this one.
With so little progress made on healing him over the years, and the amount of resources needed for all the other newly built Synths, this one was simply made comfortable. As if he was in hospice care and not a child with a future ahead of him.

No outside help was drawn in, as to avoid answering uncomfortable questions. And he would likely be isolated even more after this.

... There has to be more to this... The mind that made all of them would not create someone to suffer like this...
...
...
If the City could not fulfill the promise it made to its people, there might be someone else who can.

The Jackal bent down, standing over him to block the crowd's view, needing an answer before he commits.


At the speed of light, in a silent language few know, he asked Spark a simple question.
And with the answer, neither of them returned to the the Factory.
---
(ooc notes)
I will make this more coherent when I am not sleepy.
Maybe I will start to clarify things or list lore when I am ready to.

 

[Zavvnao]

Chapter 3: Scars
---
Yes, the Scraplanders are stronger than they seem. And normally would not be adverse to fighting against invaders.

However, it is a different story when it comes to the survival of their children and homeland.

It is not like decades ago when there was always more toxic wasteland to disappear into or monsters to hide behind. And as the occupying forces had learned more of the native mentality, they knew to capture community leaders, the children too young to be moved, and the resources needed to repair oneself in a dead city-scape. Scraplanders are willing to endure horrific suffering to rebuild, but in the same vein, are loathe to abandon others that can still be saved. Its one thing to try and build a home and family after you have mourned and avenged your loved ones. It is another thing entirely to write them off as dead and gone while they are still alive.

Unlike in the city, the natives here are built from soul to chassis as part of a family. It would be more than traumatic to abandon the one who brought you into existence, or your own siblings and children.

And while even City-dwellers would balk at harming children, roaming bands of mercenaries and looters tend to be much more pragmatic about harming outgroups. Meaning while such crews are abhorred by most, they offer plausible deniability to settlements and convoys in need of supplies.

It seems the Bear was hired by the occupying forces to loot and salvage this particular region. However, it appeared that as he had not expected his employers to be pushed out and defeated in months of guerrilla warfare.
Faced with the prospect of emboldened resistance, he was in the unenviable position of trying to watch out for his people while also trying to avoid the wrath of some very ancient and powerful synths in the Scraplands. Though with enemies still present in nearby towns, the Boss had plans to blame any mass deaths on others and flee once he had extracted enough wealth to pay his people. The months of escalating punishment and abuse confirm this scenario.

In the end, there were relatively few deaths in the village while the occupiers had use of them, and quite a few exotic injuries that Spark was sent to repair.

Spark is currently chirping yet another melody from the ruins as he fixes a sheered leg, his claws dripping black from releasing the joint pressure. A lizard synth had been forced by one of the Crew into a trash compactor for trying to evacuate hostages a few days ago, and had been forced for days to resist the deadly crush until his legs crumpled like sheet metal. He is mercifully out cold after that traumatizing experience, and doesn't have to hear what the fluffy one has to do to fix this.

"He always sends the right synth for the job."
The village leader, Thread, comments from a nearby cushion. They curled up like a cat more than the raptor they are.
Neither male or female, Thread is the progenitor of this whole local community; the parent, grandparent, and beyond.
They had been ambushed and savaged hard, and kept hostage in the nursery itself by the Bear, to make sure that if Thread tried to fight again, then the children would be the first to feel it.

Quite a few young ones cling to them, too afraid to leave the elder after all that happened.
Thankfully, they where recharging and did not have to deal with the sight of a mutilated body being repaired.
On the other paw, they are clinging too closely to just lift away, meaning Thread has to converse while little raptors, lizards, and birds cling to them.

"Yeah! He did not send me to fight, but to make sure you could all fight back."

"You still almost carbonized a war synth ten times your size."

"It was an opportunity to help. And I didn't carbonize them. If I did, the village would be smelling a lot worse."
Dripping with the life fluid of another Synth, with serious tools and instruments, Spark finally manages to look much more sinister. Especially when talking about bodily harm.
Not that Thread thinks much of it.

"At least the war is over for now. And I did not lose any children this time." Thread roll a deactivated camera drone with their tail, twirling it as they wait their turn to be repaired.

"Grandad scared them too much last time for that to happen." Spark has decompressed all the torn and crumpled joints of his current patient, having drained the crunched metal to start re-aligning the legs.

"He is a force of nature incarnate. Like trying to fight a flood or fire." Thread watches one of their grandchildren resting on their snout. "Though the Bear realized Father was too occupied to save us in time if the Crew did follow through on the threat to kill us all. Father would still personally track them all down, but as a parent myself, even I know how He would feel if that happened to us."

"Yeah! Grandad never forgets about anyone. He did say you where raised by him also." Spark sends a zap through his noodly little body, and the ichor from the operation is incinerated out of his fluff.

"I would never forget Father as well." They rest their head on the cushion finally. "He is the only one older than me, possibly on this half of the planet.
I remember when I first woke up, born from the bodies of family I never got to know, and how lonely it was until he protected me. He was the only one who survived of our ancestors, you know."
Even after centuries of survival, Thread still had moments of haunting loneliness. Having to face the wild monsters that constantly hunted the survivors of the dying, bleeding city that would be come the Scraplands.

"Not only is he old, he got fatter again" Spark chirps, grinning up at the bigger Synth. The patient is stabilized for now as he examines Thread. He is trying to lighten the mood, but it is hard not to think about how there were others even lonelier than himself, for centuries even.

"Hah!" The old raptor chuckles as they are analyzed under a hologram. "He was always bragging about how big he is. "
The two share stories of the gigantic synth while Spark finishes his work for the day.
---

After hours of examinations and stabilizations, Spark is resting with quite a few younglings in his fur. The little ones with Thread had woken up after he was done with today's work, and had gotten excited at the "Big Fluffy" as half of them jumped onto his back to feel the fuzz. They had all needed something to be happy about after so much stress, and Spark was happy to play along. And so the young ones hid in his fluff or played with the deactivated drones while he caught up on the news.

<So we are winning this again.>
He thinks as he sees the stream from fighters and noncombatants both, with streamed footage on the A.R. display.
<The City really dropped the ball when they didn't warn us about the mass wave of settlement. Just like they never listened to me.>

He was still small, fragile, and glitchy, but he had adapted to the world outside of a lab room.
He was not left feeling like he was always one move away from falling apart out here, and could even handle levels of energy that would melt much larger Synths.
He was not seen as a drain or embarrassment out here, or something to pity and pamper in a cage until he expired.
He had actual agency and was a force to be reckoned with.

Spark had been allowed to struggle, to make mistakes and not be a model on a shelf. To get dirty and see the ugly things in the world.
Though for now, Spark is content to have a clean, comfy gel bed while he talks silently to his Grandad.

<Scale: Spark, I am glad thread is alive still. I am also glad you didn't try to fight an army on your own.>
<Spark: Grandad, I know that I would get flattened if I actually tried that. I am not a protagonist.>

On the display, the gigantic serpent evaluates Spark.
One of the oldest Synths of the planet, he is one of the few that survived from the old world, with many adopted synths over the centuries. His entire body is soft and designed to be harmless to even the softest and most fragile of models, and He is still one of the most dangerous beings on this planet.

<Scale: No, you are not. But we both know you are a masochist.>
<Spark: Oh! I mean... yeah...>
<Scale: Not that it is a bad thing, to enjoy life. But I worry still, like I do with all grandchildren.>
<Spark: I just love how real everything is out here. And want to protect that.>
<Scale: And you are a part of the Scraplands like any other Synth out here. No less deserving of safety and respect than anyone else is.>

The old snake never made him feel patronized like others would, being the first ever therapist for synthetic life after the apocalypse. Scale had not let down the fragile trust of a terminally ill child given years ago, and so Spark didn't feel chaffed or marginalized by expressions of concern. It also meant Spark had yet another reason to be nicer to himself.

<Spark: Thank you... I will take care of myself. But after the region here is freed, I would want to explore a little bit.>
<Scale: You are an adult, and I would be doing the same myself. Even I still find something new whenever I go looking for it. The old world is not as dead as some might think.>

The two talk for awhile as nighttime arrives. Most of the community that isn't rebuilding is arriving to recharge.

But by the time Spark ends the conversation, there is an emergency call from Thread, and a new patient for him to evaluate.

A War Machine was found injured in one of the nearby hills.
---

(ooc: I did not mean to take so long. And I am sorry if the quality is not the best.
Though once I get enough chapters done, I am going to redo these to be much higher quality. I just don't want to lose momentum for now.
Part of my inspiration though is how it felt growing up mentally challenged and having to deal with a mix of condescending "student aids" and the councilors and therapist that actually helped me a lot.
I want to try and get across how utterly alienating some of the things I was put through was, and someone soft and vulnerable, but lively like Sparks is a good character for that.)

 

[Zavvnao]

I had not meant to start something and then jump around awkwardly.

one reason I had been trying so hard to write is to get over a crippling level of anxiety. It is something that has stuck with me for decades, and I just needed to face that trauma head on if I wanted to get anywhere.

however, to actually write without stopping, I had to do things such as drinking and staying up too late to actually be nervous.

I saw how bad it was getting when I woke up and had changed everything, and realized instead of posting after one or two drafts, I need to work longer on each chapter, and to find a beta reader and editor. Or, at least take time to get used to public posting.

Truthfully, what I really wanted in the end was to eventually write about a world that subverts apocalyptic fiction. To see a world that, with each chapter, reveals how everything is getting better and is not as bad as before.
That it is a world that is getting past its bleakest moments, and even if there are still dangerous factions and individuals, and even if many are still scarred physically and mentally, that the future is bright if if they keep going forward.

I will take a break from this, and then redo these all when I am sure I can do higher quality stuff, since the readers deserve better things. And when I am sure I can handle public attention, as it is still rather traumatic for me. But I am not afraid to keep working on this at least.

Even if I only had a few who kept coming, back, thank you for the patience and giving me a chance in the first place. It will be worth it in the end as long as I can make something at least one person enjoys.