N/A: Robotomy had a good run, and I hope CN thinks twice about spending budget on a phenomenal series they would only cancel weeks after it is in.
P R O L O G U E
Oil has no taste, his digits was in need of a good sharpening, and his whole body rattled silently savouring the sound of unscrewing nuts and bolts from within his armor plating. He was so confused and overwhelmed, since the funeral the Rookies had began falling apart until the entire squad seemed to shatter at the end. He had to leave, even if it meant leaving his closest friends behind; the entire student body of what Harry S. Apocalypse High has left due to a tremendous amount of casualties when the attacks came. He left Blastus.
And Maimy.
He couldn't take anymore orders from the alliance if it meant killing innocent robots. It had to stop, and it will eventually. All that mattered now was 'how' and 'when', exactly. Insanus' wars went on for decades, but that was before when the planet was still at peace and each alliance practiced their weaponry systems on each other, but now, it was all so different. And not even knowing what they were fighting for - why couldn't Blastus and the rest of them understand? They might be fighting for something that could bring Armageddon to the whole planet! Yet his once close friends chose to stay. They were throwing themselves blindly into battle for a reason that may not even be worth their lives.
There was no other choice but to take his leave and Mecca Jodi home. Thrasher wasn't a coward, he was just practical. For once, he was glad he had chosen not to listen to Blastus knowing that his friend's approach would only be outlandish and somewhat impossible to fulfill.
Once he had made it back home he took Mecca Jodi's cage down to the basement, and into a storage closet where he placed the metallic box down on an empty space. He took a spot beside it on the floor, crossing his arms in such a manner around his knees he had tucked in that anyone could mistake him for a sad outcast. He had been an outcast before, but what did it matter? There was a war going on, and he was at home hiding in a basement closet. That's right, he was hiding. Was he? Thrasher really didn't know. All he knew is that he was confused. Confused about all that has happened, confused about why is life so cruel? He felt tears swelling up in his eyes and he fought them, exhaling brokenly as he took in his surroundings in the closet while Mecca Jodi remained awkwardly quiet.
He sat there, slamming his backside against the shelf repeatedly until a box of forgotten photographs fell like heavy rain over him. Thrasher stared at the drifting pieces of old pictures, catching a glimpse of one of the photographs. The footsteps that were descending the basement stairs were gone and his eyes burned with tears. He held the box that had fallen into his arms, spilling more of its photographic content - not that Thrasher cared anyway, and held it like a frightened child clutching a pillow for comfort.