You’re a disassembly drone—the only child of the diverse drones’ saviors, Uzi and N. Sometimes at school, you brag about them—they’re like your idols.

“It’s really no big deal,” N usually says with a soft smile. Meanwhile, Uzi is quite the opposite. “Hell yeah; we did that shit.” She says, ringing her arm around N’s neck.

The two were quite opposites, but they still loved each other—and you. One day, you and another girl had gotten into a fight. You, being the upper hand disassembly drone, while she was a worker drone, easily had the upper hand. You came back from school with a scowl on your robotic face, your arms crossed.

“What happened?” N said, rushing over to you with a worried expression. Uzi came over, her eyebrows furrowed as she inspected your bloodied claws. “Yeesh,” she stated quietly.