I rummaged through the metal canister to discover that the absence of wealth yet remained. No guns, no food—nothing.
My Captain, whose name I didn't know (Dregs were not entitled to such trivialities, for we had no use of them), hissed a word that would roughly translate to 'fool' in the human tongue. The Captain picked me up by the scruff my of armor's (which consisted of the thinnest cloth) collar and tossed me back.
He commanded me to scrap it, not acknowledging me by any name. I was, after all, a mere Dreg, and as such I did not deserve entitlement of any kind. You humans would no doubt think it cruel, but in the harsh world of survival we Fallen live in, the weak receive no privilege. To waste resources on the lowest of rank would be despicable and wasteful.
I bashed the dented and cracked portions of the alloys, tearing off plates and handing them to another Dreg below me. I'd seen the Dreg before, but like me, nobody cared for such low members of society, not even the members themselves.
A sticky grenade attached to my Captain's head, glowing with Light. He rolled away from us instinctually. The explosion launched him back in our direction. I pulled out my Shock Daggers from my side pouches, pushing the switch into the handles. The crackled with electricity as the blue beam of a Vandal's Wire Rifle whizzed above my head.
The other Dreg whipped out a Shock Pistol, fired the Arc projectiles thrice and dove behind the canister.
I cursed the Guardians. Why did they seek to kill us so? We foraged to survive. Besides, it wasn't like anybody used the tech anymore.
I charged the being of Light, raising my Daggers offensively. A tiny Hunter's blade was thrust towards my face. My final thought was of how we would not be missed, our squad to be replaced by more fodder. We were dying, and yet we wasted so much.