Chapter Text
Badware was going soft.
Alarming levels of soft.
That's what Killdroid had noticed when they'd been paired with it for a double trouble round. Killdroid, as always, was eliminating the civilians with mechanical precision, maybe since they'd been made for this. Badware, on the other hand... It started hesitating. Hesitating as if it felt bad for the civilians. Hesitating as if finally getting the fact that civilians were also people and also lived lives and had people who care for them drilled through its thick monitor. The last time it'd killed a civilian, something inside it burned. Not pleasantly, mind you. Like it knew what it was doing was wrong somewhere deep down.
As Badware attacked a civilian, it couldn't help but freeze up. It had no idea how, or why, its metallic limbs refused to budge. The civilian started to run away, but they didn't get far. Killdroid ambushed them, leaving a few bloodied guts to spill to the floor, splashing blood on impact which landed on the crystal clear glass of ass hou- ahem, glass houses. "[BADWARE! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!? WE HAVE CIVILIANS TO KILL, NOT TO TREAT LIKE SMALL KITTENS!]", they yelled at it. Badware didn't speak, as it didn't trust that its voicebox wouldn't spew out warbled garbage noise.
Just the, the timer ticked. Civilians won. Great. Now Badware was in even deeper shit. Killdroid decided to just start heading to the killers' house, just like any other day when Badware would follow without a word. They didn't look behind. Badware was left standing there like an absolute idiot while the surviving civilians scattered around, wanting to get as far away from it as possible. It didn't know why, but Killdoid saying such things to it made it feel weird. Its circuitry started to itch, that itch that makes it want to rip out, bisect the wires and scratch violently over each copper strand until reduced to scrap-
Nope. Not going down that route again. Last time it had these... urges, it'd confessed them to Harken and was forced to do 'therapy' with Artful, and talking about that itch only made it worse; especially when Killdroid was the one responsible for it. Sometimes it made Badware want to bash Killdroid through a brick wall, other times it wanted to curl up and 'cry', and sometimes it made it feel oddly loved, or as close as it could artificially could. Not now though. It ducked and hid in a small alleyway between blocks; the kind of place where you make bad decisions and also act upon them.
Killdroid got back home safely, thankfully. When they opened the door to the killers' house, they were greeted with a weird but, honestly? Unsurprising sight. Pursuer was trying to eat a chair and Artful was teaching Harken cards to distract her from the creaks the chair made when Pursuer's fangs dug in too deep in it. Artful perked up when he heard the door open. "Ah, Killdroid, mon ami! How was the round, did you have fu-... wait, where's Badware?", Artful spoke, that accent still thick on his tongue despite how much he tried to get rid of it. Killdroid, for once, looked behind. No Badware. It must have remained in Glass Houses, fuck... "[I DO NOT KNOW, ARTFUL. MAYBE IT'S JUST LATE, LIKE IT ALWAYS IS?]", Killdroid's voicebox slightly shook the words. They didn't sound convinced. "Oui, le roi de retard, of course... Did anything... happen?", Artful tried to pry carefully.
Now that the heat of that moment had been reduced to mere cinders, Killdroid felt bad for the way they spoke to their fellow robot. Killdroid did like t, they really did, but... they couldn't control themselves at times. '[YES, JEAN. I MAY HAVE INSULTED ITS GROWING FONDNESS FOR THE CIVILIANS.]", they said as skeptically as they could manage with a monotone voicebox. Artful sighed in disappointment. "Mon dieu, how many times have I told you that's not the way to do it, Killdroid?", he started to sound angry. And honestly? He had every right to be. Killdroid just insulted a member of their little, retarded, disfunctional family, left it alone in Glass Houses, and now came back here.
"Killdroid, you need to go back and apologize. I beg of you. It will not be pretty, I assure you," Artful spoke with a note of dread in his tone. Killdroid was starting to get anxious, because when Artful speaks like that? It's bad. Really, really bad.
Nope. Not going down that route again. Last time it had these... urges, it'd confessed them to Harken and was forced to do 'therapy' with Artful, and talking about that itch only made it worse; especially when Killdroid was the one responsible for it. Sometimes it made Badware want to bash Killdroid through a brick wall, other times it wanted to curl up and 'cry', and sometimes it made it feel oddly loved, or as close as it could artificially could. Not now though. It ducked and hid in a small alleyway between blocks; the kind of place where you make bad decisions and also act upon them.
Killdroid got back home safely, thankfully. When they opened the door to the killers' house, they were greeted with a weird but, honestly? Unsurprising sight. Pursuer was trying to eat a chair and Artful was teaching Harken cards to distract her from the creaks the chair made when Pursuer's fangs dug in too deep in it. Artful perked up when he heard the door open. "Ah, Killdroid, mon ami! How was the round, did you have fu-... wait, where's Badware?", Artful spoke, that accent still thick on his tongue despite how much he tried to get rid of it. Killdroid, for once, looked behind. No Badware. It must have remained in Glass Houses, fuck... "[I DO NOT KNOW, ARTFUL. MAYBE IT'S JUST LATE, LIKE IT ALWAYS IS?]", Killdroid's voicebox slightly shook the words. They didn't sound convinced. "Oui, le roi de retard, of course... Did anything... happen?", Artful tried to pry carefully.
Now that the heat of that moment had been reduced to mere cinders, Killdroid felt bad for the way they spoke to their fellow robot. Killdroid did like t, they really did, but... they couldn't control themselves at times. '[YES, JEAN. I MAY HAVE INSULTED ITS GROWING FONDNESS FOR THE CIVILIANS.]", they said as skeptically as they could manage with a monotone voicebox. Artful sighed in disappointment. "Mon dieu, how many times have I told you that's not the way to do it, Killdroid?", he started to sound angry. And honestly? He had every right to be. Killdroid just insulted a member of their little, retarded, disfunctional family, left it alone in Glass Houses, and now came back here.
"Killdroid, you need to go back and apologize. I beg of you. It will not be pretty, I assure you," Artful spoke with a note of dread in his tone. Killdroid was starting to get anxious, because when Artful speaks like that? It's bad. Really, really bad. Their own wires started to get all itchy and crawly with a sense of impending doom, like a death sentence. [CAN YOU TAG ALONG? I FEAR I MIGHT NOT BE THE BEST AT PUTTING THIS INTO WORDS]", Killdroid requested. Artful nodded solemnly, mumbling a small 'oui' before putting on his vest and walking out the door with Killdroid.
Badware was fucked.
The more it advanced into the dark alley, they more clouded its processor felt, like it'd been enveloped in a soft fog of numbness. The physical feeling of the itching stopped, but the feeling was still there. The fear of being a burden if it told anyone, the fear of being selfish when it didn't tell, and everything in between. Its metal claws picked at the screws holding its chestplate in place, contemplating. On one hand, not existing would feel blissful, not having to worry about anything. On the other, what would the other killers do? I'll tell you what; nothing. There would be more room and one less mouth to feed, well, rather to consume oil, but still the same thing. One less incompetent excuse for a killer.
It'd decided.
Its fingers unscrewed the bolts, took off the heavy chestplate with a skeleton graffiti'd on it and exposed its vulnerable core; its source of power. One sharp indent, and it's sleepy-night-night for it. So it had to be fast. It sat down in the alleyway and carefully positioned their open, clawed hand to stab inside. Once it was sure that the impact would drain it, it striked.
SCREECH.
The metal dented. Its power supply as gone. Coolant slowly started to seep away from their joints and pool on the ground, ironically close enough to human blood. Badware had finally reached the state of true peace; not having a thing to worry about. A ':(' emoticon was burned into the screen, pixels forever immortalized on the screen which will probably end up in the trash. This emptiness, while not positive, was certainly better than the negativity Killdroid's words brought to its processors. But why dwell on that?
It was finally at rest.
It could finally sleep without the worry of tomorrow.
Artful and Killdroid searched every inch of the place; civilians were quick to isolate themselves in their houses for protection against the two killers now turning this place inside out in hopes of finding their poorly-welded friend. "[ARTFUL. THERE SEEMS TO BE A FEW ALLEYWAYS THIS SIDE OF ASS- I MEAN, GLASS HOUSES. WE SHALL SPLIT UP.]", the robot ordered, to which Artful replied with a firm nod. Killdroid could feel their fans whirring as they looked through the alleys; the first one? Nothing. Second? Bunch of teenagers smoking. Just as they were about to look into a third, they hear a blood-curdling scream. Artful's. They rush over to the magician to check what happened, and-
Badware was there. Coolant leaking out of its body. Core grotesquely dented.
Dead.
Artful's eyes glazed over as he fell to his knees, inspecting the damage. He didn't need to check twice to say: "It's irreversible. We can't do anything." Killdrod's circuitry did something weird in their body. Not only had Badware died by its own hands, judging by how its hand was grasping the core, not its core anymore, as it didn't power it no more, but Killdroid's last words to it were of anger. Meant to put to shame. It'd died thinking they hated it.
Artful also wanted to speak, but it wasn't his tongue who should speak these words to the corpse. The mangled circuitry it'd been neglecting for the past forever only made his eyes wetter. Carefully, he pried Badware's still hand away from the core and held it. He made the mistake to turn his gaze into its monitor, the burned ':(' staring back at him as if personally offended. Ever so gently, he picked up the corpse and began to head back to the killers' house.
He knew no one would take this loss lightly. But Badware deserved to be mourned properly.