Dark and desolate chapter from a new POV. Enjoy!
Smoke, bolts, flames, and detatched parts all chillingly called to her.
Sisters, friends, and peers, all scattered around her, disabled and abandoned by their god.
To add insult to injury, a whistle would go off every hour as a call to the executors break. The Darrells flicking the switch, disabling the rest of her while they were in forced comas, and shoving those bots into their ultimate demise at the middle of the incinerator.
A Shannon crouched behind the pile of bolts by the corner of the extensive room. Smiles, laughs, and tributes were exchanged by the victorious siblings.
This feud couldn't possibly end in hatred and genocide.
"Well, my dear Cosma! I'm h-heh...a little flattered to hear tha-"
"Don't. This decision is very progressive, and I would like to see you live up to it."
Lord Boxman was in his typical meeting room with his fellow investors and Cosma's enlarged face taking up the entirety of the screen. They had discussed the matters of the discontinuation and discarding of the Shannon model. Cosma was usually hot-headed on her commentary towards most of Boxmore's directions, but she was all praise today.
It was the second day one of the seats in the room was left empty. Boxman's condolences.
The screen flickered, and the audio coming off came in like a soothing beam of reassuring power.
"I would like to ask you how it feels to finally scrap one of your most traditional models? With technology so primitive and outpac-"
"Primitive?"
"Our industry has prospered through recent times of frequent renovations, but we have relied on you to produce. Produce produce. That function cannot be fulfilled unless you fulfill it. Otherwise, we are just throwing our money to force ourselves to limbo."
"O-oh yes Cosma, I understand."
"I can't take this conversation any further. Gotta jet."
The projection flickered to static, and Lord Boxman left the meeting in satisfaction. He stood from his chair, arms crossed behind his back, and escorted himself out with Darrells by his side. It was time to get back to work..."
He took a bit of time to enjoy the view outside from his extensive window in the room.
.
.
.
BOOM
Alarms rang, screams ensued, and Boxman snapped out of his personal gloating. He pushed a Darrell aside and made his way out of the room and into the staircase on the far end of the second story hallway.
As he made his way down, however...
BOOM
Another explosion reached close to the open staircase. Someone was aiming high for the first floor, leading to Boxman tripping down on one stair and twisting his ankle.
A shriek.
He felt the convenience when the Darrells rushed their ways down to attend to the wounded leader.
The only problem was that stray bullets were sprayed out of the looming cloud of smoke downstairs. Gunfire. All hell was breaking loose.
Machines combusted, Darrells were getting capped down to scrap metal, and Radicles overcame the mayham with a battle cry. All of a sudden, Boxman would hear the sounds of heavy footsteps stacking on one another just behind him. Darrells, Ernestos, Jethros, all kinds of other robots complemented with glossy metal shieldings on their shoulders, torsos, and knees. Blasters just at the end of their arms, ready to inflict damage on the intruder.
BOOM
Then the bridge between the two staircases came apart. Lord Boxman was shook and hopped away with the blast against the demands of the guards. A glorious combination of yellow and orange releases of energy with the dispersion of shrapnel all over the place. Some got swallowed up, some exploded on impact, and some fell to a nasty fall.
Just when things couldn't get any worse, the two escorts besides the boss were gunned down through their heads by the rapid fire. Boxman was alarmed and spazzed against the floor, trying to stay away from the shots.
Looking up after closing his eyes in fear and caution, Boxman was then greeted by the dominant structure of man just looking over him. It was Radicles, but alongside his small top was a large bullet strip spanning just from the back of his shoulder to below his waist. A utility belt loaded with plans B-Z. A self-detonating bomb, a crowbar, a drill, and a sharp machete. His comfortable purple pants were now covered by a darker and puffier article with excessive pockets. There was nothing that could stop him besides the incoming waves that he intended to run over.
Rad took Boxman by the neck and went face to face with the big bad.
A voice, stern and rough.
"Where is she?"
Here we go.
"I-I'm not sure who y-you're looking for young ma-"
"WHERE THE FUCK IS SHANNON?"
The sudden move made Boxman cower back in fear while his shirt was in Rad's grip. Death was imminent unless he could find a way to calm down the teen.
He had nothing on his back to pull out, and his guards were covered in bullet holes. Only way he can take him out now was if his captor was a dumbass who would believe his every word.
"S-she's in the break room. If you would like to see h-"
Out of nowhere, Radicles pulled a pick of some sort, held his arm back, and forced its way into Boxman's abdomen.
"AHHHHHHG"
"I'm not a idiot. She's getting recalled, isn't she?"
A slight shameful nod from Lord Boxman. He might as well run when he displays the horror behind the incinerator door.
The Darrells were napping on the job, oblivious to the genocide that unfolded just beyond the door. Snores were drawn out by the sounds of crackling flames and screeching machinery.
A perfect opportunity for Shannon to come out of the pile.
She then went past the view and hurried to the door, but was tripped up.
"Ah! Shit!"
Shannon landed hard on her cheek, and as she turned to see the stump to her field sprint, one of the executors stopped snoring.
An unarmed stack of dynamite. Must've been dropped and left there years after Boxmore's previous ways to collect the cold metal lives.
She reached over to it and held it by her hand. The key to her escape, but it probably meant she would ensure the death of all versions besides her.
"Hey!"
Shock lead to swift action. With a quick glimpse of the awaken Darrell, she chucked the firepower straight into the gaping hole of fire just far ahead and made her way out.
Oops.
Within seconds, the incinerator had lit up in a ball of flames overflowing the exit, prompting Shannon to take an easy way out and throw herself through the window.
The glass shattered around her as she dove through the military grade barrier. Not a single scratch, but she was surrounded by a dancing dark smoke under the rainy clouds. On the pavement, she turned around and recognized the devastation left behind. There was never a time where she would anticipate being responsible for the fall of her father's cold empire. However, given the circumstances of Lord Boxman wanting a quick buck and a strong impression towards one of the most sinister villains in the opposition just pulling the strings over her father figure, it would make sense to ensure her survival by any means necessary.
Until a shadow emerged.
Radicles. Still decked in his "save the captive" outfit, but urgently pacing througn the clouds.
"Shannon!"
"R-Rad!?"
It couldn't be explained, but something inside her told Shannon he was the relief she needed.
"There's no time. We gotta get the hell out of here!"
He proceeded to point to his van for Shannon and hauled ass over to the lone vehicle in the desolute parking lot.
As they panted and pushed through, it felt essential to Rad that the elephant needed to be addressed.
"Hey-uh...don't know if it's the right time, but I wanna know what's happening ou-"
"It's Cosma, dingus!
That name struck Rad's ears like a bell at midnight.
"Cosma!?"
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