Chapter Text
J’s systems rebooted slowly, her visor flickering to life with the harsh glow of diagnostic screens. Warnings and errors filled her vision in a chaotic cascade of red text. Her processors groaned as they brought her consciousness back online. She could feel it—the ache of her battered frame, the sharp hum of damaged servos straining to function. The world around her was dark, eerily silent. For a moment, she simply lay there, staring into the void, the only sound her own faltering ventilation systems.
System Reboot: Complete.
The sterile message blinked on her visor before fading, leaving her with nothing but the oppressive quiet and the faint static of her audio receptors. Her memory of the final fight was fragmented—blinding flashes of light, searing pain, and the cold, unrelenting void of shutdown. Yet here she was, alive, or as alive as a Disassembly Drone could be.
She sat up slowly, her limbs sluggish and unresponsive. Dust and debris slid off her frame as she moved, the remnants of what had been her grave for… who knew how long? Her joints protested with each movement, grinding against one another like worn gears. As she forced herself upright, the reality of her situation began to seep in.
No voices filled her comms. No cold, demanding orders barked by her master, Cyn, whose voice had once been a constant in her existence. Cyn had been more than a commander; her 'boss', she had been an omnipresent force, weaving threads of control through every action J took. It was a voice that had driven her forward, shaped her purpose, and bound her to a path she could no longer tread—a path paved with oil and regret.
Now, not even the familiar presence of her old squad mates remained. V, with her sharp tongue and wry humour, gone. N, with his boundless optimism and inexplicable kindness, gone. The vacuum left behind felt endless, an abyss that swallowed any fleeting hope or purpose. She was alone. The realization hit her like a blow to the chest, an ache so profound it drowned out the physical pain of her injuries, leaving only an oppressive void in its wake.
Her gaze shifted to her surroundings, trying to make sense of where she was. A wasteland stretched out before her, the remnants of the battle for the planet. Twisted metal and charred ground bore silent testimony to the carnage that had unfolded. The spire loomed in the distance, a jagged silhouette against the darkened sky. Her ship was still there, perched precariously within the structure.
J felt a bitter laugh escape her, a sharp, humourless sound, as though mocking her own existence. What now? She had fought, she had obeyed, she had killed—all for a cause she barely understood, all for a master who had seen her as nothing more than a tool, a weapon to be wielded and discarded. Cyn’s demands had once been her compass, and now, without them, she felt adrift in a sea of nothingness. The realization gnawed at her circuits: she had no master to serve, no squad to stand beside, no purpose to cling to. It was a hollow, aching void that filled her, one that seemed too vast to escape.
She wanted to scream, to tear at the ground beneath her, but her energy reserves were too low to spare for such theatrics. Instead, she sat there, head bowed, as the weight of her failures pressed down on her. This was her punishment, wasn’t it? To survive while everything else crumbled around her. To live with the knowledge that she had been on the wrong side of history, that every act of loyalty had been misplaced. Slowly, she began to realize the truth she had long buried: much of that loyalty hadn’t been about belief or purpose at all. It had been about survival. Obedience to Cyn had kept her alive, preserved her through chaos, and shielded her from destruction—at least until now. It was a bitter truth, one that scraped at the edges of her already fragile sense of self.
“Sleep in the bed you made, J,” she muttered, her voice crackling from disuse. The words tasted bitter, even in the hollow void of her existence.
Her visor’s map overlay flickered on, unbidden, marking the spire as the only landmark within range. She hesitated, the idea of returning to her ship dredging up memories she wasn’t ready to face. Yet, what choice did she have? The wasteland offered no sanctuary, no reprieve. If she stayed here, she’d rust away, another forgotten piece of debris in an endless graveyard.
With a reluctant groan, she pushed herself to her feet, wobbling as her stabilizers recalibrated. Her legs protested every step as she made her way toward the spire, each movement a reminder of her broken state. She considered activating her wings for a brief moment, the thought of flying to her destination tempting. But the calculation was quick and cold: using her wings would drain her already dwindling oil reserves even faster. Survival demanded restraint.
The journey stretched on as the desolate wasteland unfolded before her. Each step felt heavier than the last, her damaged servos grinding audibly with the effort. The ground beneath her was uneven, littered with shards of scorched metal and the skeletal remains of machinery long abandoned. She had to navigate carefully, her visor flashing occasional warnings of unstable terrain ahead.
The air was thick with a metallic tang, a constant reminder of the battles fought here. Ruined structures loomed in the distance, jagged and unrecognizable, like the broken teeth of a colossal beast. A faint, cold wind howled through the emptiness, tugging at the loose panels of her armor and sending chills through her fractured frame, her natural ability to repair herself heavily affected by her lack of oil.
Her optics caught a glimmer of movement on the horizon—just a shadow cast by shifting debris, she told herself. Still, it set her on edge. Every instinct screamed to stay alert, even though she doubted anything alive still wandered this forsaken place. The silence was its own kind of predator, pressing in around her as if waiting to consume her entirely.
She paused briefly near a crumbled structure that might once have been an office building, leaning against its battered frame. Her systems were faltering, screaming for rest, but she forced herself onward. The spire remained her singular focus, its silhouette unwavering against the sky. Every painful step reminded her of how fragile she was now, a far cry from the fearsome drone she had once been.
As she climbed a ridge of twisted metal, the ship finally came into full view. The sight of it brought a strange mixture of relief and dread. Relief, because it meant shelter. Dread, because it was a relic of everything she had been, a reminder of the life she could never reclaim. She hesitated for a moment, staring down at the wreckage below, before taking a deep breath and descending toward her destination.
The ship’s hull was just as she’d left it, scorched and battered but intact. The sight stirred something in her—a flicker of familiarity, a shred of comfort in a world that had turned against her. She climbed the precarious scaffolding to the ship’s entrance, each rung of the ladder creaking ominously under her weight. When she finally stepped inside, the stale air and dim emergency lights greeted her like an old, unwelcome friend.
Her first task was simple: power. She navigated the cramped corridor to the control room, each step accompanied by the groan of strained servos and the faint rasp of her worn joints. Her visor cast a dim glow against the walls, illuminating the decades of grime and scorch marks that coated the once-pristine interior. The silence of the ship was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of residual static in the air, a ghost of the energy it had once harnessed.
The main power core lay in disrepair, its panels hanging loose and cables spilling out like spilled entrails. Sparks crackled faintly from severed wires, a testament to the violence that had rendered it useless. She crouched down, her hands trembling slightly as she examined the damage. Her processors mapped out a repair plan, overlaying the steps in her visor. It was a daunting task, but she had no choice—without power, the ship was a coffin.
With deliberate care, she began reconnecting wires, stripping insulation where necessary and twisting metal strands together. Each spark felt like a heartbeat, a small sign of life returning to the vessel. She scavenged spare parts from a nearby supply cache, her movements growing steadier with the familiarity of the routine. The faint smell of burning metal filled the air as she soldered connections, her visor occasionally flashing warnings about her dwindling energy reserves. Still, she pressed on.
Hours seemed to pass as she worked, the weight of exhaustion bearing down on her. At one point, her grip faltered, and a tool slipped from her grasp, clattering noisily against the floor. She cursed under her breath, forcing herself to refocus. The dim emergency lights flickered above her, a faint promise of what could be restored.
Finally, with one last connection made, she rerouted the energy through a makeshift bypass. The ship shuddered as systems began to whir faintly to life. Lights flickered overhead, their weak glow casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. The sound of air circulation systems sputtering on brought a fleeting sense of relief, like the first gasp of breath after suffocation.
She leaned back against the wall, her hands coated in grime and her internal systems screaming for rest. But the sight of the dimly illuminated corridors filled her with a hollow sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. The ship was breathing again, however faintly.
Satisfied with the faint hum of the ship's systems, J lingered in the dim glow of the newly restored lights. The silence returned, pressing against her like a heavy blanket. She slumped against the cold metal wall, her hands trembling from exhaustion and the weight of everything she had done—and everything she had lost.
Her gaze drifted aimlessly around the control room, taking in the scorched panels and tangled wires. This was her sanctuary now, wasn’t it? A wreck of a ship for a wreck of a drone. The realization clawed at her insides. She had no squad, no orders, and no future. What was she even trying to save here? Herself? For what? To wander through an empty wasteland until she fell apart for good?
The thought made her bitter. Cyn had used her up, drained her until she was little more than a husk. Loyalty, obedience, efficiency—all of it had been demanded of her, and she had given it freely. But for what? For a chance to survive a little longer, to avoid being cast aside like so many others? The truth dug into her circuits like a parasite: she had been loyal because it kept her alive. And now, even that had left her.
A sound escaped her, low and hollow, something between a laugh and a groan. She clenched her fists, her worn fingers scraping against the floor. What now, J? She had no answer.
Her visor flickered, breaking the oppressive stillness with its glow. She pulled herself up and stumbled toward the pilot’s chair, letting the familiarity of the controls anchor her. She hesitated for a long moment before accessing the archives. There was nothing useful in the files, nothing that could change her reality, but the ache inside her demanded something—anything—to cling to.
Her optics scanned the list of logs and videos until one stood out: “Tessa_TeaParty.mp4.” Her fingers hovered over the console as the memories crept in, unbidden and unwelcome. She didn’t want to face them, didn’t want to remember what she had lost. But the pull was too strong. With a shaky exhale, she pressed play.
The screen lit up with a scene from another time, another life. Tessa, young and carefree, laughing as she poured imaginary tea into a tiny cup. J’s past self sat across from her, stiff but trying to mimic the gestures. It was awkward, painfully so, but the memory tugged at something deep inside her. This was a favourite of hers, often watching when she missed the manor, when she missed...her.
As the video played, a new warning flashed across her visor: WARNING: Low Oil. Overheating Likely.
She ignored it, her gaze fixed on the screen. For a brief moment, the ache in her chest was almost bearable. She let herself sink into the memory, into the faint echo of something she’d lost. she eventually lost it, her lips quivering. "I miss you Tessa" She murmured before curling her legs to her chest, hugging them as she buried her head into her knees, crying. There she cried, hard, alone, to the sounds of her past that she can never reclaim.