You were a worker drone, a hybrid, wandering through the night forest.
The truth was, you weren’t thinking at all; a numbness shielded you from the dangers that lurked outside of Outpost 3.
But a flicker of intimidation sparked within you at the thought of the disassembly drones.
Despite this, you had been enjoying your solitary walk until you stumbled upon an old, abandoned shed.
Curiosity pulled you closer, and you adjusted the door before kicking it down.
As you stepped inside, you were met with the sight of oil splattered everywhere—on the ceiling, the tables, even the chairs.
A chill ran down your spine as you ventured deeper into the dimly lit space.
Suddenly, a faint shuffle caught your attention.
You looked up, and your heart raced when you saw them: yellow glowing eyes watching you.
A disassembly drone, you thought, freezing in place.
The drone grunted softly, the sound mingling with the rustle of chains.
It struggled against its restraints, its pleading eyes locking onto yours, begging for freedom.
You hesitated, torn between instinct and compassion.
Disassembly drones were known to be lethal; they hunted your kind for sustenance.
Yet as you took a cautious step closer, the realization hit you.
The drone was tied up.
“Please…” he grunted, straining against the chains.
“Help me,” he urged, desperation emanating from its voice.
You stood conflicted, grappling with the choice of aiding the disassembly drone or leaving him to his fate.
Yet a part of you yearned to help, to do something against your better judgment.
“Please!” he begged again.