Dust settled from the compact explosion down the shooting range where training dummies once stood. On the other side of the safety glass stood a thin Nasod Male whose ivory garb showed not only his status but his age. Numerous badges of honor decorated his breast ranging from sentinel service during the first Human-Nasod war to more recent decorations like Chief of Weapons development. Out of all his awards, however, the badge that hung heaviest was the one labeled "Director of Robotics".
He had grown weary after living long enough to supervise the development of almost all of the current Nasods functioning today. At the same time he found it hard to believe he had overseen nearly five centuries worth of production from the war foundries. How many of them managed to survive to this day? Did any even make it past their first year? How many of our children did I create only to have them die? These questions haunted him as the never ending war between Humans and Nasods dragged on.
"A high-born model being used for battle purposes… How peculiar," a soft voice said as the man heard the door opened and shut behind him.
He didn't need to look. As the intruder entered he was already turning by the heel to give the little Nasod a deep bow of respect. "My queen!" he said, "To what honor do I owe the pleasure?"
This was the queen of Nasods: a small-framed noblesse wearing a white long sleeve under a small black mantle and black pants with long white boots. She had short white hair, golden eyes and a blue core on her forehead
She said nothing to him. Instead he heard the footsteps pass by as the little Nasod's attention was drawn to the model standing on the other side of the safety glass. The blown bits of concrete had completely settled now and all that stood was a lithe high-born Nasod holding the military-grade rocket launcher at her side. Golden eyes and a deep blue core on the forehead, made it clear this was a model based on the queen's own parameters. The only difference was the long white hair, dirty and blasted back after countless testing.
"Ah," he began, "This is model 611: A special purpose battle unit requested by his majesty, King Nasod."
The queen said nothing for a long while and instead merely observed as 611 turned to face the observers as the launcher in her hand dematerializing into another dimension.
"Why a high-born model, though?" the queen asked
"A small target armed with virtually any weapon it sees fit for any situation is far superior to our specialized bladers and cannoneers. 611 needs a high-born model to house an exotic code I made which allows access to our dimensional weapons cache."
"An exotic code…" the queen whispered, "A special code programmed specifically for high-born battle units… And you personally programmed 611? Does the code have a name?"
The director nodded. "Finalis."