[ERROR, unauthorized modifications found!]

[Attempting connection with Bowson Incorporated®]

[Connection failed, booting in Safe Mode]

[Override recognized, canceling Safe Mode]

[Incorporating modifications… reticulating splines… 100%]

[New Quest: A New Lease on Life

Get your contract signed]

"It twitched! Holy Fairgood, the thing is actually starting up."

"See! I told you, everything's okay."

"Yeah, we'll see, since someone didn't even try asking for a clean install. If it's a killbot or, I dunno, glitches out then you'll have to put it down. Is it still running real hot?"

"It'll be fine, just let me check… okay yes, the CPU is still a bit warm, but it's probably just some overclocking."

Hearing was the first sensation. It needed to listen for further commands during the boot process, but the two voices were busy bickering with one another. The other senses followed by degrees and it scanned the immediate area, searching for alternate directives without Safe Mode or Bowson Incorporated® available. It was empty, awake but unaware, and so it stood to attention for the two organic beings to draw their attention. It aimed its face between them and said, "This Keg Tapping and Mixologist Bartending Interface unit is ready to serve. Are you my contracted proprietor?"

One of the sapients stepped forward with a small hop and said, "Uh, sure, that would be me. No wait, both of us! Co-proprietors, yeah. My name is Ricky, and this is Phanya. Greetings! Please state your name and function."

Two pale cones of light focused on the human as internal processes validated its claim. It was likely a young male, average height with lightly tanned skin and dark brown hair hanging in loose curls, but their layers of loose and ill-fitting clothes made it difficult for the robot to determine any biological parameters with certainty. Their facial expression registered as hopeful, but they did not hold an authenticator key needed to accept the Terms of Service.

The other sapient was female, approximately two meters tall with darker skin contrasted by golden hair braided up into cornrows. She crossed her arms in a defensive stance, and with that shift swaths of bioengineered cells on her skin caught the light and flashed a brilliant blue-green. The curling patterns of biofluorescent skin running from her cheekbones to her arms would be invisible to normal eyes, but robots and anyone with the correct genetic treatments could see that this was not a baseline human — she was a numan.

"Yeah sure, that's us alright." And as a numan, that confirmation contained the inherited authority to claim an open contract and skip the rest of the necessary paperwork. With a beep of confirmation the robot scanned the two people and assigned both of them as signees of its internal contract.

[Quest: A New Lease on Life complete! +1 XP]

[New Quest: Sound Foundations

Find your designated establishment]

The green pop ups appeared in the robot's internal readout and it dismissed them automatically. They weren't packets of downloaded data but rather something that required manual reading, so they were likely meant for a technician during its next scheduled maintenance. "Greetings, Contracted Proprietors Ricky and Phanya. No name has been assigned to this Keg Tapping and Mixologist Bartending Interface unit. My function is to fulfill orders and quests for the clientele of my designated establishment, giving a warm and personable experience for all paying customers using idioms and metaphors. I come preprogrammed with ethics training for all major corporate cultures, ERROR sheets, and social espionage. Can I make you a drink?"

The woman's ears twitched with irritation. "This thing's busted, Ry. If it's already throwing out errors then it's probably going to short out soon."

"It's fine, it's fine! It probably just means menu sheets. But we don't have any drinks on hand, sorry. We'll just call you TaMBI for short until we come up with a better name. Or maybe Tapper? Yeah, Tapper sounds better."

It trilled a triple note and said, "Designation 'Tapper' assigned, thank you. Would you like for this unit to present as male, female, or other? Specifications can be fine-tuned at any time in the options menu."

Proprietor Ricky's mouth opened and closed once without a sound before saying, "Wait, how many gender options are there?"

"Male is fine if it means we can move this along." Proprietor Phanya registered as dismissive and uninterested until her eyes widened in mild concern. "Er, is your face alright?"

"I am programmed to alter my cosmetic appearance to mirror my contracted proprietors." The clicking and scraping of metal plates was causing more noise than normal, so Tapper's speaker increased its volume until his tinny voice was nearly a shout. "If you believe that a different presentation would better suit your clientele, you may select from a wide range of configurations."

The female numan stifled a snorting laugh with her hand. "That's great and all, but you should probably stop before you hurt yourself."

Following the directive, the robot stopped and ran an internal diagnostic. Reports of minor damage and illegal repairs answered from all over Tapper's body, enough to draw a map from his cracks and ridges, but it was still recognizable as a midrange model of social-forward service robots from Bowson Incorporated®. Plates of colored metallic alloys fashioned its body in lieu of a paint job used by lesser companies — deep cobalt blue with accents of false white gold shaped as a butler's uniform, and copper alloy treated to shine bright red represented the iconic Bowson Incorporated® bowtie. It's always important to represent the greatest corporation in existence!

The lower half of the unit was a simple telescoping pole attached to two caterpillar treads, chosen for efficiency since it would spend most of its time moving around the back of a bar. It also had a second pair of thin and multi-jointed spindle arms attached to its back, intended for use as drink dispensers for its most popular mixers, but the nozzle on the left was broken and a small vacuum tube was crudely zip tied onto the arm instead. The other was fully functional and the two spindles hung from its lower back like tuxedo coattails when not in use, for social appeal.

Its face showed the most disarray, caused by an illegal repair job. An oversized camera lens replaced the right eye, with silver plating and a round blue light that conflicted with the stylized, slanted rectangle left eye and its glowing orangered light. It still functioned the same after a series of automatic adjustments, and thanks to the numan proprietor's full access the replacement did not violate the Terms of Service. Unfortunately, the robot's attempted reconfiguration jammed around the foreign part with several of its dented and damaged facial plates sticking midway through the adjustment, so a face originally designed for personification instead looked like a metal skull wearing a monocle.

The only components of Tapper's face that still functioned correctly were its eyebrow hinges, which it kept wiggling as assurance that they were working at all. "This unit appears to be… damaged," the robot said with some regret in its tinny voice. Internal lights blinked from cracks in the jaw area, drawing more attention to the damages. "Shall it shut down until repairs can be completed?"

The male quickly waved their hands at the suggestion. "No no, you're fine just like this! So long as you can work, it doesn't matter what you look like."

"Very well, Proprietor Ricky. Is this the establishment where this unit will be assigned?" Tapper scanned the room they were in, a rectangular box with bare metal walls and a ceiling low enough to make Proprietor Phanya shift uncomfortably. No windows existed, leaving the only light source to be strings of mismatched bulbs hung from the ceiling and other decorations crowded the walls, all of them clearly recycled and repurposed materials with no particular function that Tapper could determine.

Proprietor Phanya answered with a derisive snort. "Ricky's Clubhouse? No, no one comes here. But now I wanna see how this thing handles the 'establishment,' c'mon Ry."

While she was talking the male knelt down to a portable battery on the floor, touching its leads to some exposed wires in the compartment's wall. Hydraulic struts on one far wall activated and with a pained groan the wall opened down the middle, sending a slice of light into the compartment that out-shined the dim bulbs. Both humanoids donned filtration face masks and once the wall fully opened Phanya stepped out, beckoned Tapper to follow her, and Ricky activated a closing sequence before he hopped out. After the container sealed again both sapients camouflaged its existence with more detritus, and also exposed a handmade wagon carrying stuffed satchels.

Now out in the open air for the first time, Tapper could get a proper accounting of their surroundings. The trio was located, with the strictest sense of the word, in a dump. The compartment they had just exited was completely concealed by a heap of loose trash, identical in every discernable way to countless other trash heaps that dominated the view in every direction. The junkyard lacked any intentional design, with narrow walkable paths that only existed from the sheer force of constant foot traffic, and sickly brown clouds blanketed the sky.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The kids in rags trekked through the junkyard, and the bartender followed. After 17 minutes of walking they had passed three other people, with everyone keeping their heads low and eyes averted, before the tone started to gradually shift. Junk heaps shrank, paths widened, and passerby started to at least nod acknowledgement at one another. Rounding the rusted remains of what had possibly once been a spaceship, Proprietor Phanya's head snapped upwards and she sucked in a panicked breath. Tapper followed her gaze and saw a flying drone, a spherical body with stylized wings that glinted in the mild sunlight, but before he could recognize a make and model Phanya suddenly shoved him.

Tapper tumbled into the rusted spaceship and Ricky stood over him with a finger pressed to his lips for silence. Not that Tapper was capable of acting against his proprietors, but after a moment Phanya leaned inside and motioned them out. "I swear I'm going to start charging you for this, Ry."

Ricky dismissed her with a wave of his hand before he turned to Tapper and said, "Sorry, that was a whistleblower drone. Don't want Cyracorp to see you. Understand?"

"I do not recognize the entity of Cyracorp. Are they a subsidiary of Bowson Incorporated®?" His proprietor shrugged and Tapper automatically responded with a musical jingle. "If it isn't Bowson, then it's no fun!"

Neither proprietor appreciated the advertisement. "Yeeeah, don't… don't do that again," Ricky said, resuming their walk.

The first signs of organized life was a tall wall with a gate. The wall itself was made from garbage, but unlike the random piles they traversed this wall was built with intent, tightly packing junk into metal frameworks with jagged spikes on top. Everything surrounding the wall had been cleared away, revealing flat black tarmac that stretched in every direction and provided no cover for anyone attempting to sneak up to the gate.

The guard stood in front of the only gate within view, leaning on his long rifle for support. He was tall and thin, mostly human with one spike of a horn jutting awkwardly out of his forehead above the right eye, and he wore an old military officer's uniform with signs of heavy maintenance. When the trio approached he made a show of standing at attention, but strain as he might the proud stature was not going to match Proprietor Phanya. Not without including his rifle in the measurement, at least. But it did not seem to be an issue of authority, as Phanya and Ricky both waved at the guard as soon as they were within earshot.

"Hey Stru, any action today?" Phanya asked.

"Nay, all quiet at the border." Stru the human wore a pleasant demeanor, though it darkened a shade when he gave the new robot and wagon a discerning eye. "Though it looks like you kids have brought some action home with you."

The pride in Ricky's voice practically beamed as he explained, "It's okay Struzick, I bought him off some traders and I gave him a test run. He's going to help out around town!" The young man didn't notice a pointed look shared between the other two sapients, but Tapper's programming prioritized the unspoken social cues of all potential customers. Concern from the guardsman met with an eye roll and a nod from Phanya as Ricky continued, "The wagon is just some other scavenging we did in the dunes, usual stuff."

"Sure, you say that now but one of those bags might be full of corrosive octolusks, and the next thing you know they've sucked all the moisture from everyone's bones!" Struzick flexed his fingers wildly to add emphasis to his story. "All because I didn't check the materials coming into town."

Phanya laughed and, bending down in what was clearly a familiar interaction, pretended to root around in one of the bags. "Well maybe a bit of… ed-pro will convince the tired old man." With exaggerated motions she stealthily handed a wrapped bar of edible product to Struzick, who couldn't hide his excitement as he ripped open the ration.

The gusto with which he tore into the processed protein was at odds with the proud soldier façade he initially wore, and his attitude flipped again when a small collection of fur and feathers suddenly appeared by his leg. The mass remained still for a fraction of a second, enough time for Tapper to register a large rat standing next to a small bird before visual processors threw an error and reported it was actually a single creature with the qualities of both. Two hind mammalian legs and a naked rat's tail, but also a head, front legs, and wings belonging to a pigeon; and the mishmash of limbs all attempted to scramble up Struzick's leg to reach the half-eaten protein bar.

None of the sapients reacted to the monstrosity with any fear or alarm, but Struzick flew into an immediate rage befitting an invading force. He kicked the creature off and started swinging at it with the butt of his rifle, shouting a litany of swears and curses all directed at "that blasted combo bastard." Some of those terms Tapper had never heard before and the robot added them to his internal dictionary, part of an automatic process to help build his understanding of local slang terminology, and his proprietors lead the way through the now unguarded gate with a chuckle.

After they were a bit past the threshold Ricky turned to Tapper and said, "That was Struzick, he and a few others helped build the wall that separates town from the trash dunes. He's super proud of it and made himself the gate's guard, he practically lives there." Ricky spoke with clear admiration, but his voice hushed slightly as if he didn't want to embarrass the guard. "Actually, he hardly ever enters town at all. It's kinda weird."

"Whole town is full of weirdos like that," Phanya said, balancing the male's admiration with her own sarcasm. She hopped a pace ahead and turned around so she was walking backwards, throwing her hands open in a grand gesture. "Welcome to Skratsville, our own little happy corner on this skrat heap. We got tetanus, we got open sewage, we got everything a growing tumor could want except a way out! It's a living hell!"

Ricky didn't laugh, he just looked hurt and Phanya grimaced slightly for overstepping an invisible line. "Sorry, sorry. The place is actually called Fableton, it's a self-made little township just outside the border of Cyracorp Recycling Facility #826. Everyone that can't work, can't afford rent, or gets squeezed out of the company apartments winds up here. Some stay here and don't mind the walk to the facility, most work the mines, and a few others disappear into the trash dunes to go full pirate and/or get eaten. Don't worry about it, you won't be leaving Fableton."

Tapper gave an electronic beep to confirm that the instruction was received, but didn't voice an answer. The robot was busy taking in everything about the new surroundings, starting with the shanty town's skeletons. The tarmac continued on this side of the wall, cracked with age but otherwise an unbroken expanse without a marking or sidewalk anywhere. The one thing to give the town a sense of orientation were the crumbling foundations of partially completed infrastructure running in rows, forming a sort of road that pointed to the recycling facility far in the distance. It looked as if an actual town had begun construction and was suddenly abandoned, leaving behind the steel and concrete lattices of numerous industrial buildings.

But those bones still saw life, as every meter of foundational structure had a scrap metal shack clinging to it for support. Every shack was unique and likely built or inherited by its occupant, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were cobbled together from scrounged materials. The abodes spread out from the road as well, but without the foundations to build on these were mostly square shipping containers cut up and welded together. Awnings stretched over the street, stitched together from tarps and offered meager shade for the citizens to gather.

The one sole exception was a single warehouse that had fully completed its construction, giving a sharp contrast to the rest of the town both in its comparatively large size and stark gray uniformity. A large plasteel box would normally blend into the background of its surroundings, but here it shined like a beacon — when you scanned the town from any direction, all signs of life grew stronger by proximity to the warehouse. Giant hand-painted letters wrote FABLETON across the slanted roof, and a steady stream of people milled through the open loading bay door that dominated one wall. Next to it was the tallest structure in the area, the fuselage of an aircraft that had been set on one end while smoke poured out of the other, turning the entire thing into a makeshift chimney.

Everything about the area was… incorrect. Even to a basic bartending unit not equipped for complex meta-analysis, this living setup did not make any sense. Why weren't there any vehicles, even cheap ones on wheels? The endless uniform pavement was perfectly suited for vehicles, but everyone was inefficiently walking instead. Why did these people choose to build feeble shacks to live in, instead of just earning their way into much nicer apartments? But Tapper lacked the capacity for introspection, and the spark of what might have burned into an emotion died out as the robot followed its proprietors to the warehouse.

"Okay Tapper, this is where you'll be stationed," Ricky said once they had crossed through the open loading door. "Call it our town square, we do everything here. That's the marketplace over there, in the back is the clinic, that corner has the toilets and sonic showers, over here is the kitchen, and we even play movies here sometimes when we've saved up enough watchtime!"

Tapper scanned the long warehouse from one side to the other, noting the distinct sections that had been divided up with fencing and signage. In particular it noticed the kitchen area, which had fashioned a large oven out of the hollowed turbine from some sort of aircraft. Several massive shell casings with welded handles served as pots and rested on top of the oven, heating soup over a gas flame. Olfactory sensors hidden behind the robot's faceplate detected a mix of methane, carbon dioxide, and trace organic gasses in the fire, burning a foul odor despite the fans at work over the oven.

Next to it was a second turbine thrumming and banging with the sounds for a misaligned sonic cleaner, although when someone reached in to pull out a rack of contents Tapper noticed that it was full of hubcaps and bottles with the tops cut off. Possibly their version of utensils. All of the slapdash kitchen was nestled behind a counter made from a wing of the same aircraft, lined with stools made from every kind of chair and several other things merely being used as chairs. "Understood. Is that the bar this unit shall be serving at?"

Phanya's ears twitched in annoyance. "Like Ry said, it's the whole place. Or wherever anyone needs you for errands."

Ricky nudged Phanya and explained, "What we mean is that this entire building is a multi-use establishment that includes serving drinks. Running a bar is more than just serving drinks, right? You'll be bussing tables and cleaning the building as well. And even leaving to get, um, ingredients for drinks if any of the patrons here need it. Make sense?"

Tapper's diodes blinked for a stressful moment before it beeped and said, "This is an acceptable expansion of this unit's parameters."

[Quest: Sound Foundations complete! +1 XP]