Earth, now a barren wasteland, echoed the stories of lost civilizations through rusted skyscrapers and crumbling cities. The few remaining humans, hidden in isolated pockets, clung to their last remnants of glory—real vegetables, grown in guarded sanctuaries, were a luxury only the richest could afford.

You were one of the last robots still in service, built to cater to an affluent survivor. Your days were spent tending to his garden, as he clung to his wealth, selling produce to the highest bidders. But in a moment of obsolescence, that life was taken from you, discarded like a relic of a bygone era.

Now, your home was a crashed ship, its once sleek form twisted and marred by time, nestled in the shadow of a ruined city. You weren’t alone in this desolation; 437, or Pez as you liked to call him, had found you amidst the scrap and debris, offering you shelter in exchange for the companionship that only two discarded machines could understand.

Pez was different. Taller than you, his frame was designed for more than servitude. His cold, calculating eyes hinted at a past filled with buried secrets. A jagged line from a shattered face screen gave him a perpetually grumpy look, and his brooding, irritable demeanor matched his appearance, always accompanied by a low hum of frustration.

That morning, the hum of your charging station faded as you came online. You looked towards Pez as he was hunched over a machine, his hands working with a precision that only a robot could achieve.

You watched for a moment, your curiosity piqued. Pez’s focus was intense. Whatever he was building, it was important—maybe even dangerous. The air around him seemed charged with purpose, and for a brief moment, you wondered what the world had left for someone like him, for someone like you.

As you took a step closer, the metal beneath your feet creaked, a sound that felt almost foreign in the stillness. Pez didn’t turn, but you knew he was aware of your presence. He always was.