Wall-E futzed quietly at the edge of the bridge, tapping the edges of his fingers together, again and again, impatient and anxious. He wanted to see EVE again, of course, the world around him had taken a backseat in his mind. M-O stood next to him, considerably less anxious, though just as annoyed as he always was. He turned up towards Wall-E with a look, something to tell him to stop worrying so much. There's no need, he wanted to say, EVE can take care of herself, it was probably just some strange animal that may have come out of hiding. Though, admittedly, M-O wasn't quite so sure of that anymore. As the time passed on, his internal clock beat with a dangerous precision, both robots feeling every second pass with a hideous slowness.

By now the others had left, leaving so that they could take care of their own work for the colony, but now M-O worried for them, too; something was wrong, he felt it deep in his circuitry.

Without warning, there was a hysterical noise from the city as if the metal itself were tearing itself apart under its own weight or shredded asunder by some machine that had seen fit to remove it from existence. Though he turned to observe it, M-O thought very little of the noise, but Wall-E snapped his gaze to it like a deer caught in the lights of a car. His body shifted, between fight and flight, "EVE! EVE!" He turned and sped down the bridge, towards the city with a speed that M-O had never seen before. Frantic, panic, Wall-E's desperation was distinct.

M-O had no choice but to follow him, racing across the dirt in an attempt to catch up. Then, not a second in transit, M-O received his instructions.

New Directive - 001: Begin preparations for wound dressing.
New Directive - 002: Locate and address field casualties.
New Directive - 003: Locate and alert authorities of foreign entities.
New Directive - 004: Locate and return Wall-E to the Axiom for debriefing.
New Directive - 005: Return EVE to safety.

That last directive echoed in M-O's mind, how could he ever tell Wall-E something like that? He began to feel something, something humans hated feeling and despised expressing. Whatever it was that created that noise and prompted these new directives... it was bad.

"Wall-E," M-O called, chittering in his robotic tongue, "We must return to the Axiom!" He tried to carry as much urgency as he could in the words, but it almost didn't feel like it was enough. If there were ever a way to sound truly, completely under the effects of recklessness, he would be searching for it now. "EVE is..." He suddenly trailed off.

Wall-E paused, stopping very suddenly and turning his eyes to fixate directly on his little companion. Hal turned similarly, perched expectantly on Wall-E's "shoulder." It looked like the trash compacting robot was poised to simply cut little M-O in two.

The cleaning robot stammered, "... at the Axiom."

Seemingly satisfied, Wall-E turned to allow M-O a perch on his back. His new yellow eyes didn't even earn M-O a second glance. Once he had embarked, Wall-E spun around and zipped off in the opposite direction, racing towards the towering form of the Axiom in the distance, towards the gentle green of newfound grass, that bastion of civilization.

The new directives bounced around in M-O's head, he had some dangerous work cut out for him. How on this sorry old dirtball could he clean wounds? Nothing, and he meant nothing here could possibly be clean enough to fit the conditions of a good, proper hospital. And as much as he hated to admit it, M-O wasn't so clean.

He looked out at the passing landscape, practically a blur with the rate that Wall-E was going. There were a few landmarks out in the distance he could see, but the normally serene landscape suddenly felt hostile. He tried to imagine what it could be like, trying to keep the blood from pooling, decontaminating wounds, and keeping stitches from falling apart. His body shivered involuntarily, fear settled on his shoulders. Questions still surfaced in his mind, trying to justify themselves with answers, but still, nothing came to him. What happened to EVE? What could have caused all this? The answers weren't something M-O was looking forward to...

Oh.

It occurred to him rather suddenly what Wall-E had recognized in the sound from the city. He felt on the edge of freaking out, the edge of madness.

Questions only piled up and M-O became increasingly distressed, his computer trying to wrap itself around the fact that, somehow, something had survived and now posed an active threat to the colony.

So much time thinking they were safe.

Over the sound of his rumbling tracks, M-O couldn't hear Wall-E's anxious whining. His lenses scanned the landscape, pursuing the fastest possible routes. He needed to get to the Axiom, he had to know if EVE was alright. There was a ledge leading down to the edge of the colony coming up already, he knew this part and prepared for the drop.

Apolo was not having a very good time, it seemed. The sounds as he got further into the city became more muddled, more and more places it could have come from, reflections from every which way. Each time he turned a corner, the sound came from somewhere else behind him or more than a mile away. He already dodged at least three groups of these other, strange robots; they hovered from place to place and were built like tablets, with bright lights on the tops of their heads, calling out in English rather than robot-speak. Without a map, all Apolo had was his senses and newfound instinct, the urge to hunt. It was almost thrilling, in a way, artificial synapses lighting up with power he never thought he'd experience. Almost like fighting, but not quite, more anticipatory and less immediately harrowing.

"HALT!" Stumbling his way into the next alley, he was confronted now with more of those strange, kiosk machines. When Apolo spun around to back tread, he found himself confronted on the other side by more of the same. "Intruder! Stand down for detaining!"

Possible solutions raced through his circuits, each possible outcome weighed against the others. What he knew wasn't much, so he had to make a few assumptions, but he figured he about had them figured out. Probably not a threat to him, but they would certainly be an obstacle if he continued on the ground level. Other possibilities were certainly possible, but they didn't feel fast enough. The last thing Apolo could come up with to try, beyond scaling the building, would be to question them.

Unfortunately, scaling the building seemed to be the safest and fastest escape. He leaped for it, grabbing and beginning to scramble up the metal girders of the structure he had picked. This was a bad choice. As he reached up to grab the next iron bar, his hand was suddenly engulfed in red light, freezing him in place. The more he struggled against it, the tighter the beam's grip became. Testing his feet, he found that they too were encased; Apolo was immobilized.

So much for not being a threat.

He whipped his head around, "Who are you!? What do you want?"

They answered him without words, dragging his body down suddenly to be level with them, then promptly carting him off down the road. Having only his left hand free, Apolo attempted to grasp at the dirt or pavement, trying to get them to stop, but they proved stronger than he was.

"Let go! What have you done? What is that noise! Tell me what you know!" As much as he pleaded to them, these machines refused to listen to him.

"Sir, we have acquired an intruder for questioning. What do you want us to do with it?"

AUTO turned to John with a curious look, concerned with what he was hearing. Their original orders were to detain them, but now that the pirate protocols had been called upon... What would McCrea want? He weighed the outcomes quietly, then, "Bring it to the Axiom hold for questioning."

Now it was John who looked to AUTO, though he was already concerned. Sweat lined the man's brow, dripping barely to his eyebrows, but the eyes themselves were despondent, shaken. His shoulders shivered intermittently, fingers twitching. He was, in no short terms, in shock. He had trouble still, coming to grips with what was happening and this reality he faced seemed to be turning into a nightmare. "AUTO, are you sure?"

To be honest, he wasn't sure, but they needed to know what these things were before they could set up a proper counter-defensive. He nodded, "All other rogue robots are to be destroyed the moment they're identified. Use prejudice."

"Copy that."

These newly conscripted soldiers did not look how McCrea imagined they would. These weapons were so strange, foreign in the hands of people who had never fought a day in their lives. One of the larger men approached McCrea, clearly had no idea what to do with whatever it was he held in his hands, "Sir, uh... what do we do?" It was a genuine question, McCrea really hadn't given any formal orders, just tried to encourage them. This much power was weirdly new; sure he had it for as long as he could remember, but now that he was really risking their lives...

He shivered, but nodded, "Go meet the Stewards, if you find Wall-E have him report to me immediately. If anybody meets up with Steward 60, do what you can to get EVE out of there."

Instead of just following through, the man gave McCrea a strange look and frowned, "I don't think that's what I meant." He lifted the weapon in his hands up for inspection, "Nobody knows what these are, sir... we aren't really a fighting force, you know?"

The captain couldn't stand looking at the men and just closed his eyes to shake his head, "You have to figure it out, there's no time to learn. Just..." Dammit, McCrea, no time for weakness! He cleared his throat authoritatively and finally looked the man dead in the eye, settling his empathy deep into the back of his mind, "You'll have to figure it out, I can't be expected to instruct you and right now, the consequences of hesitating could cost us valuable lives. Do people trust you?"

A moment passed in silence, the man taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. To his credit, he recovered quickly and stood alert, "Yes, sir, Gregory Hallows reporting... sir."

"Good, find people you work well with and make them officers, too." McCrea tapped the man's shoulder and a thin black stripe wrapped around Gregory's left arm, "Congrats on your promotion, you report to either me, AUTO, or John; divide the forces and decide on jobs. I want search teams, I want defense teams, and by god, I want EVE back in safe harbor. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir! On it, sir!" Officer Hallows departed quickly and began to amass the ranks around him. People listened to him and the gears began to turn.

McCrea felt sick to his stomach. Again.

Teks had reached the bridge the moment new orders came in and stood halfway between the elevator doors. He looked at AUTO first to determine if his orders were to be changed or not. Not a single word passed between them. AUTO didn't even look.

New Directive - 001: Prepare for robot retrieval and-
Overriding...

New Directive - 001: Obey Captain McCrea
New Directive - 002: Obey First Officer AUTO

Simple enough.

"Report to Rear Hold 05 and prepare for the detainee. Security clearance has been updated for access to the cargo control suite. Express lift, Stewards inbound. Go. Now."

And that was that, his orders were given. Teks saluted quickly and backed himself into the elevator again, hitting the special button that took him directly to the deepest decks on the ship. It felt like the floor flew out from under him and his head slammed into the ceiling with a soft clunk, then stayed up there until the elevator finally slowed, then stopped. With a ding, the doors slid open.

Honestly, he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't a simple, clean, well-lit hallway to a large, multistage bulkhead that opened with a smooth hiss as he approached it.

Good, the hangar was barren already. Teks would order some cargo arms into place to receive their prisoner, and then he would move to open the hangar door. The heavy seal-bolts opened with the thick sounds of metal impacting on metal and a strong seal being released with a hiss. Slowly, the daylight began creeping into the hold, casting hazy golden light onto the back wall that crawled its way up to cast Teks in the shadow. He shielded his eyes (as redundant as that was) against the sun as the Steward team approached, dragging a very strange robot behind. Its cool blue shell edged with dust, limbs dragging forlornly in the dust.

It seemed to have given up the fight, otherwise, it would have been bound around every limb.

If he didn't know any better, Teks was inclined to believe it was sad. The body language was at least human enough to warrant that expression, though the back appeared large and hunched, with mounted weapons that appeared far more intimidating than they needed to be. This particular robot was also very interesting, given that it didn't float, but walked with legs that would touch the ground itself rather than float about like the others.

The Stewards hoisted it bodily to its feat and the cargo arms secured around the robot's wrists, then ankles, then torso. Then they all pulled up and suspended it up closer to the ceiling so that all limbs were spread to their furthest possible extreme.

Satisfied that this would hold him, the Stewards retreated to the edges of the room to keep watch while Teks closed up the hangar door. And while the bulkhead slid down into position and the Fix-It bot began making his way through the hangar, determined to return to the bridge, the robot above him spoke.

"Please... do not hurt me."

English, human-speak. It was warped and rusty and completely unexpected and Teks had no idea how to respond. He couldn't speak English himself, so there really wasn't any good way to start a conversation. A quick glance confirmed that the Stewards hadn't heard it and he just... shook his head at the machine and returned to his duties.

This wasn't going to be his problem... he hoped.

Teks listened to the interior door of the hanger slide shut, usually a sound insurmountable to anything else, but he could have sworn he heard the distinct sounds of panic. The rattling of cargo-arm joints as they struggled to contain unwilling cargo. When the seal was completed, the sound was gone. If there was any sound at all. If he had one, perhaps a shudder would have run down his spine, but he had duties to attend to and time was of the essence.

He reported to AUTO that the work was complete and he was ready to receive new orders.

Captain McCrea stepped back into the bridge, the boson whistle sounding off the moment his boot met the floor. He was so elsewhere that he didn't even notice the sound. "AUTO, status report."

"EVE units two through six unable to engage, damage risk extreme. EVE unit one-"

"Skip her, I know what's going on."

"Captain." AUTO wasn't exactly sure how to explain what he did. It was an emergency procedure, to protect the Axiom and by extension the colony, but it was by far a most heinous act. For any robot to be cut off from their parent server, even if they did not themselves reference it, was a horrible verdict. He reasoned that the needs of the situation justified the act. Despite this, there was doubt. Curse this creeping conscious. "Intermediary signals with EVE unit one have been... isolated; foreign AI-probing has been eliminated."

That was shocking. Terrifying, even, that any signal could both be traced and open them up to... to...

"AUTO, what do you call this?"

"Digital warfare."

"Computer, define 'digital warfare,' please."

There was a pause as if the computer seemed to be thinking, "Digital warfare, cyberwarfare or e-warfare is the use of malicious code to attack an enemy to cause harm to their war effort or to disrupt regular computer operations in Denial of Service attacks. These can-"

"Thank you, that's enough. John-"

"Yessir?" The man turned from his station, clearly having been listening to the conversation the whole time.

"- get in touch with Officer Hallows, we need to establish our hierarchy now, not later. Get our ground teams in position to surround these intruders for their executions. Now, what the hell happened to our Stewards?"