Private 508 shoveled the last of the snow away from the entrance to the vault. His new vault. Felt good to think of it that way. It wasn't often he got things of his own. With a squat, he gripped the edge of the vault, and began to heave. It wasn't budging. Of course, it wasn't, vaults are meant to stay closed. First he tried to find the camera that watched the door, then remembered that no one is meant to hole up here in the long term. With a gloved fist he began pounding on the hatch. It began as a knocking, but after a minute he grew impatient. Suddenly, the hatch lifted the smallest amount, and a blade stuck out from the hole, poking dangerously at his ankles.

"Yo, chill, chill!" Screamed the private as he fell butt first into the snow behind him. "It's 508!"

A pair of cold eyes stared from the darkness of the vault, glaring at him. Or just squinting, he couldn't tell. "So that's what you look like."

"Yeah, it is. So. You going to invite me in or what?" 508 gestured to the sled with cargo behind him.

The man inside the vault shoved the hatch open all of the way, and 508 could see the man in all of his disheveled glory. Or at least he could of have if the man wasn't wearing a White Fang mask.

"Why are you wearing that? I thought you weren't one of those people?"

The man sighed and rested his arms on the lip of the hatch. "I wear it cause the winter masks have built in sunglasses. It's convenient for avoiding snow blindness, and it blends in with the snow or the grimm." The man looked around for a few seconds. "Come in. We'll talk more inside. Shouldn't snow for a few more hours."

508 watched as the man's head dropped back into the vault. The man didn't even offer to help him get his cargo into the vault. What a prick. 508 double checked the straps on the sled to insure they were tight and strapped it to his back. Oh, brother, was it heavy, but he just needed to get down one ladder.


PP: This is what 508 looks like?

BW: Yep.

PP: Should you not pay more attention to him? Possibly help him?

BW: He's just taking things down one ladder. If he has trouble with that, then sucks to be him. Besides, the more exhausted he is, the better in case he tries some funny business.

PP: You do not need to kill him. We already have a pre-established deal. Do not worry.

BW: You can never be too safe.

PP: Stop typing to me for now. Finish the transaction. I can move the cameras to answer "Yes/No" questions.

BW: Fine.


Brothers, did 508 hate this dirty kingdomist. Not only was he a paranoid vault viceroy, the man was a genuine prick. After steaming himself in his winter wear climbing down the ladder, he looked back only to the while clad jerk typing away on the computer. He could hear him audible sigh as he moved to talk with him. 508 knew he wasn't that good looking, or good smelling, but he didn't think he was so revolting that some bunker dwelling dingus would be disgusted to deal with him. Must have been the prick's problem.

508 placed down the sled, and held out a hand. "So, Dove-"

Dove smacked his hand. "Don't call me Dove. I'm not your friend."

508's eye twitched. He really wanted to punch this man, so very badly. "So what do I call you then?"

"Bronzewing." The man paused for a moment. "Or if that's too hard for you, you can just call me any one of your slurs or insults as well."

"'Kay then, prick." 508 patted one of the boxes attached to the sled. "Brought the portable server tower you wanted. Made only 3 years before the fall. Had to pull a few strings for it."

"Good." Damn, did that mask make it hard for 508 to read the prick's emotions. "Should be much better."

"When were the servers she's in currently made?"

The man looked away from him, and to the computer. "About 23 years ago. Old tech. Sturdy though."

"I could tell." 508 sneered. "Your recorded violent outbursts prove that statement."

Suddenly, 508 remembered why he was a piss private. Even if this bum was a few inches shorter than him, the way that the white scrap metal armor shifted in response to that statement reminded him of a Boarbatusk. An angry little murder pig. While usually not threatening, it was armored, and would be able to kill an unarmed, under-armored opponent. Both of which he currently was. 508's concern was not alleviated when the man snorted and turned away from him towards the innards of the vault.

"Bring your gear. I'll make the transfer now." He paused, then snickered to himself.

508 did not like the idea of getting deeper into what essentially was a cage with this obviously unhinged man. Then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained. And then it hit him. The prick left him to drag the at least 65-kilogram sled through the building. After him. Without giving him any help. Maybe killing this guy wouldn't be that bad of a thought after all.

Dove opened the door to the server room as he stared at the noodly private dragging his sled behind him. Slipping his hand back into his glove, he thudded over to the sled placed his hand on one of the boxes. "This the server?"

"Yeah," panted 508 as Dove picked it up and walked into the server room. "Prick."

The Private started dragging the rest of the equipment closer to the server room, before the shorter man stepped in his path, and leaned against the door frame. "You don't get to come in until she's out of there. As long as she's hooked in, this is her house. It ain't yours yet."

508 groaned as he sat on his sled. He can't believe he took a couple of days off for this. Well, to be honest, he doesn't really get days off. He called the alarm on a base that didn't want to make a deal and was told to sit tight until the rest of the squad came back. A technical break. Doesn't mean that he wanted to have his technical break wasted by some prick. Probably should have called the raid on this bunker if the dude was just going to be a jerk about it. Sure the other bunker had more people, and some of them were strictly in the bull "Oh we're not going to talk to you because you side with the enemy," mindset, but he didn't think they'd be this much of a jerk. Then again, maybe that's what isolation does to people. The soured attitude part, not the blind faith and fanaticism for a dead set of empires. Those get enforced by other people. Maybe these weirdos were built for each other. "Is it just me, or is this transfer taking a while?"

"Of course, it is. She's not just an MP4 file."

508 chewed his words for a moment. "You know AI technically don't have genders, right?"

"Pretty much." Admitted the man. "Just knew her from before I knew that she was an AI, and she was a she then, so it just sticks."

"Which is weird, at least to me," started 508, "Why would you design a female robot, rather than a male, or genderless one? Males are less fetishized, and genderless allows for mass production."

"It's for blending in with regular people. That and people trust women more."

"I mean. Okay." 508 nodded in a sort of strange understanding. Then he stared incredulously towards Dove. "But why boobs then?"

Even behind the mask, 508 could feel the man's double take. "Boobs?"

"They designed her with breasts. Did you not get a look at her schematics?"

"How did you get her schematic?" 508 could feel the accusing glare.

"Last maintenance reports in Atlas. It had a list of all damaged parts that were going to need restocking to rebuild her."

"Well, I don't know," shrugged Dove. "I'm not an engineer."

"Think she's done yet?"

"Don't know. I'll check."

While Dove did whatever he was going to do in the server room, 508 could tell that maybe, just maybe, Dove wasn't a total prick. Maybe, in another life, Dove could have been just another number like him. Not that it mattered.

"Yup, she's done." Dove was standing there, with the server strapped to his back, solar panels already set up on it.

"How are you going to talk to her?"

Dove held up his scroll, connected through a wire to the server. "Same as always."

It had been ages since he'd seen a working scroll. Most ended up in landfills. "Place is mine now?"

"Yep. Just going to grab my gear from the entrance area, and I'll be out of your hair."

"Sounds good. Nice doing business with you."

"Hopefully we never see each other again."

"Oh, come on," said 508 with a sickeningly sly sneer. "I don't think I'm that bad."

"If we've lived this long, we're garbage people," deadpanned Dove. "It'd be best of we parted ways before we found out exactly how garbage the other is."

"Fine, fine. I'll see you out."

And so, Dove walked out into the frozen desert, and 508 leaned back in his seat as he started flipping through the archives. Only to find that all the B's, D's, P's, and W's had been deleted from the archive. Just those 4 letters. Not enough so he couldn't read the archives. But just enough to be a prick.