Shaky plasma dances just above a rough piece of steel, its form unstable, but much like the steel it’s bound to, enduring nonetheless. A small cross guard pools the plasma and terminates it before it can reach its master's hand. The hand matching the sword, and the entirety of the wielder follows suit. The “tin can” helmet, with its heavy frontal visor obscuring the face of the wielder, whose only characteristic that can be seen is the emerald green glow, seeping its way through the slits in the visor, and onto the cold, damp walls of the cave. The metallic clink of metal hitting together can be heard as the Seeker plops down onto the ground, the end of the short fall accompanied by the squishing of the saturated ground. They look to their left, and beside them lies another Seeker, back turned skyward. Torn and battered, all the energy gone, arc flash marks cover the body.
The Seeker sighs, ascends to a kneeling position, and raises their visor, revealing a glowing green diode panel, on which a grim expression is displayed.
“You’ve gotta be the one, but let’s just make sure,” they say to themselves as they begin unfastening armor locks from the fallen Seeker.
As soon as the last lock is released the Seeker is rolled over so that they face skyward. Upon the chest of which is etched THETA - 0024.
“That’s the one,” they sigh.
“It’s always the new ones, never even had a chance to learn.”
“Still, why’d the steeltooths have to drag them all the way down here?” They glance across the room, to the two hunks of previously autonomous metal laying on the floor.
“Just tear out their energy reserves up top, makes my job a whole lot easier.”
They look at the state the Seeker is in.
“I hope the vault’s still accessible.”
They drop their backpack to the ground and pull out a connection tool with a speaker attached. They roll the Seeker over and scrape the mud off of their side until they find a port where they can connect to. The speaker begins producing pitiful sounds, sobbing and the like, and then the begging, falling on deaf ears, or maybe just primal ones. But nonetheless it didn’t stop the screaming that came afterwards. They pull the cord, having heard enough, still looking at the shell that lay before them.
“I can’t bring this back to them.”
“I shouldn’t be doing this either though,” they say as they plunge their arm into the chest cavity of the torn Seeker. They reach around until they find the heavy cube shaped object. Even with the damage the Seeker has sustained the vault still held on tightly; they heaved, elevating the level of fluid flowing to their arms, and pulled the vault from its rightful spot, a mess of wires pulled out with it. They reach to their waist and pull out a primitive sharpened steel knife and rip through the wires jaggedly. Picking a hole in the cave wall that’s both sufficiently deep, and small enough so that the vault may not be recovered, they throw the vault into it; walking back over to the seeker, they re-gear them, grab their bag and lift them over their shoulder.
“Come on, let’s get you back to your friends.”
“It’s a long hike out with you on my shoulder.”
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The arrival back to the farm brought much attention. As they approach the main living structure of the farm, they are met with many negative expressions displayed in all colors and varied intensities, shining from the panels of the Seekers present at the structure. The oldest, and the one who commissioned the Seeker pipes up.
“I guess you found 24.”
“I did.”
“Only two years old too,” the eldest says, still holding their neutral expression.
“They lived well while they were online, till the last I'm sure.”
“You’re sure? What do you mean by that?” the eldest curiously asks.
The seeker had reached the structure at this point, and lowered 24 to the ground for them to see.
“The vault’s gone. I searched a large area, but I couldn’t find it. Looks like he was dragged for a while, could be anywhere, I’m sorry I couldn’t locate it.”
“24, why’d you have to go off and chase danger like that,” a Seeker says from the back.
“They weren’t happy being a supplier and you know it!” another Seeker replies.
“Enough!” the eldest exclaims.
“None of that matters at this point, get preparations together to decommission them properly, 24 deserves that at least.”
The group of Seekers disperse, now focused on the task at hand, but electronic chatter still flies between them.
“Please excuse them, it’s hard on us all, we were the first Seekers 24 found after coming online, who knows how he got so close to Centauri without contacting anyone.”
“Your payment as agreed.” The elder sticks out their hand and in it lay 4 Chrome Centauri marks.
“Just two. I didn’t bring back the vault,” the seeker denied.
“As you wish,” they say as they retract 2 marks from the payment.
As the Seeker leaves the farm, they think about the audio from the vault, still fresh in accessible memory, and they wish nothing more than to get some rest so that they may compile it to deep storage.
Arriving back to Centauri half an hour later, just as they’re entering through the gatehouse into the city proper, they hear someone cry out to their side.
“EATTTYY!”
Just as they turn, another Seeker, slightly smaller than them, tackles them to the ground. Once everyone has settled the other Seeker’s panel is mere inches from Eaty’s, which as of this moment is wearing an annoyed expression.
“Can you get off of me,” Eaty says to the over zealous Seeker.
“I could, but I don’t know if I wanna”
“…please.” Eaty says, still holding the annoyed expression.
“Fine,” they say, getting back onto their feet,
“But this still doesn’t excuse you from going on a commission without me.”
Eaty gets up, and looks at the Seeker in front of them, their diode panel lit up to display pill shaped eyes staring at Eaty, and a mouth rendered in an upset shape, all illuminated in a red glow, an all too familiar expression to Eaty.
“Sorry 3487, it was spur of the moment, and I needed marks.”
“Yeah? Well you’re not the only one who needs them, plus, you could’ve gotten yourself hurt!”
“But I didn’t, and there will be plenty more commissions we can do together later.”
3487’s expression softens just a little.
“I made some marks, so how about we go get some fuel, this time’s on me.”
“Finneee,” 3487 says, now wearing a slightly annoyed expression.
They begin to walk off, towards their destination.
“You know I gave you a cool nickname, but you keep calling me ETA - 3487. When are you going to nickname me?
“Not happening.”
“Fine then I’m just going to start calling you ETA - 0327.”
“No you won’t.”
“Yeah… I won’t,” 3487 chuckles.