ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.

The robot glared at the adversaries surrounding him. He was outnumbered, and his systems were trying to force a shut-down because of his lost power. The sun scorched the lands, and heated his metallic body.

"Give it up, Ricochet." Shelly said sternly. "Just come with us without a fight." She was still on guard, shotgun still aimed at him.

"It's over." Colt said. He was more cocky. His stance was lax.

ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.

Ricochet ignored the rampant voice, and took a quick shot at Shelly. She fired back in response, but instinctively guarded her face.

Colt aimed after his initial shock, but Ricochet had slipped away.

x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x

He didn't know if he had fled toward town, or away. Ricochet hadn't planned that far ahead. ...Or at all, admittedly.

The only thing he really knew right now was that he wanted to be on his own. He had to escape.

The Bot glanced behind him. He had left the duo long behind him. It was suspicious. They were formidable together, and they were ordered to bring him back to Starr Park's main building. They wouldn't just give up like that...

Ricochet felt his steps become more heavy and sluggish. Oh. Was that it? They had gotten two clear shots on him, on the side of his chest. They must have figured that he wouldn't be standing for long.

He felt his mind glitch for a few seconds. Lost. Out of place. The robot came to a stop. Now anger was flooding his circuits. Soon, he'd be nothing but a scrap pile of burning metal in the middle of the desert. Alone. Busted up.

ERROR! ERROR! ERROR!

If this is where he would spend his last minutes- in a place he didn't want to be- then he would go down with a fight.

He shot everywhere with that fit of rage. He hit cactuses, dunes of sand and dried plants. Small critters scurried away to safety. Aside from that, nothing changed. He made no difference.

And he realized he didn't feel any better.

Finally, the world distorted for him. It faded, and the constant 'ERROR' warning was silenced. The empty bot deactivated, and fell to the ground.

x+x+x+x+x+x+x+x

He powered up.

His hearing sensors were the first to pick up. He heard quiet chattering that he couldn't quite decipher. Next, his eye flickered on. The night sky had long since changed the heat to cold air.

He heard the talk die down as soon as he felt his systems fill with more power.

Ricochet sat up in a flash. In a split second, he assessed the situation. A man in a red jacket with red glasses pushed up on his head sat next a grayish, small squared robot by a campfire Though right now, they stared straight at him.

There was a rocket launcher next to the man, and the robot had a blaster on the ground. Unprepared fools!

Ricochet reached for his own weapon, but at the same time processed the image of said weapon lying on the ground.

He tapped his waist helplessly, and seethed quietly. He glared at the two.

"...Hey." the man spoke up. "I'm Brock."

The Bot felt a lack of power source all of a sudden. A cord unplugged itself from him and traveled across the dusty ground. His eye followed its trail up to the blocky robot.

The other robot then stood, grabbing the sleek blaster from the ground and plugging that into himself.

"That's 8-Bit," Brock said, noting the Bot's wariness. "He's only here, because he helped find you. He tracked your signal, and that's how we found you."

Ricochet didn't answer, but if he could roll his eye, he would have. Did Brock think that's what he wanted to know? The Bot look away from duo and fire, out into the dark and cold land. He could escape, quite easily.

"I'll be upfront with you, Ricochet." Brock spoke up again after a little while. "We were also sent by the Park to bring you back. But 8-Bit and I both agreed that Shelly and Colt's way was..." he trailed off, not quite sure how to word it.

"Stupid." 8-Bit offered in a voice that startled Ricochet a bit. That voice did not suit the robot. Something about that was amusing.

Brock laughed, placing a hand on the robot's head. "8-Bit, be nice."

He turned his attention back to Ricochet. "It was reckless of them to try and force you back, but it was also wrong of them."

Ricochet tapped his fingers in the sand, and he gave a sideway look to Brock.

Brock felt a small wave of relief. He was listening. He knew he hit the real problem here right on the mark. "Everyone at Starr Park works there because they want to."

8-Bit beeped at that remark sarcastically.

"Those are only rumors." Brock shushed him. "Anyway, you hardly had a say, right? Whether you were one of the original Bots, or you were built after the Uprise, you haven't gotten a chance to do what you want to do. Everyone expects you to listen just because they programmed you."

Ricochet processed his words and replayed them in his mind. He looked out to the distant, lonely landscape blankly. Then slowly, his head turned to the fire with a soft whir. "Yes." He answered.

Brock looked at him softly. There was nothing unkind or any underlying lies in his eyes, or smile. Not that Ricochet could sense that... but he surmised he didn't have to.

"You have been treated the same?" Ricochet asked him.

The man scratched his jaw. "Well... maybe not to the same extent," he chuckled lightly. "But let's say humans are programmed to make friends. I wasn't able to follow that programming for some reason, and I felt alone. So I turned to video games and blamed others for my loneliness. It was obviously their fault."

8-Bit blinked and looked at Brock as he talked.

Ricochet silently agreed with that comparison, but Brock wasn't done.

He sighed, "That's what I believed anyway. Thinking back, I can recall countless times when someone tried to be my friend but I pushed them away. I was so hurt by before I didn't even want to try."

Brock slid the glasses he has rested on his head down on his face. "I played so much, that I damaged my eyes and have to wear a special kind of shades now."

Ricochet looked at him curiously.

Brock elaborated. "If I don't wear them, I get horrible headaches. Er... like it overloads my eyes. Artificial lighting, bright sunlight, and even this little guy's screen," he patted 8-Bit's head, who protested in beeps. "Can affect me. So... in the long run, I really just made things worse for myself."

The Bot looked down, cycling through the man's words. He didn't know exactly what to make of it.

Brock stretched. "I guess, the bottom line is... I was told to bring you back, but I ain't gonna force you, you know? I chose to work at Starr Park, so you should be given that choice too. 8-Bit agrees, that's why we found you and charged you up here."

Ricochet looked at 8-Bit, who cast his glance away.

"We haven't reported yet that we found you... so it's completely your choice." Brock said. "You can camp with us tonight and tell us your decision in the morning, or you can just go now if you absolutely refuse. It's up to you."

Ricochet played the analytics through his mind, but hardly found a strong conclusion. He shook his head, and stood.

8-Bit looked up at him, leaned down and grabbed the blaster that belonged to him. He lifted it up and out to Ricochet.

Ricochet walked over and grabbed it. There he stood, staring at it. Finally, he holstered it.

"Thank you." Ricochet said. "I'll stay."

Brock grinned, "That's good to hear, man."

Ricochet looked up, "I leave in the morning."

Brock blinked, confused. "Oh. Alright. I thought...?"

"I'm just kidding." Ricochet told him.

8-Bit smiled. It was an obvious joke.

"Oh, I get it," Brock smirked. "You're a troublemaker too, aren't you? Just like this one!" He grabbed 8-Bit and shook him.

"Heeey!" 8-Bit whined, before trailing into a series of beeps.

"Hey, don't take that attitude OR those words with me, shorty!"

Ricochet felt positive now as he watched the scene with amusement. He sat down with them on the logs, watching the fire and hearing Brock and 8-Bit playfully fight in the background.

He wasn't built yesterday... he knew this whole Park ordeal he was getting himself into was a long trail of trouble with no end in sight.

But, just maybe... if they were there, he could handle it. He hardly knew them but he felt... like he was finally in place. And it was his choice.