The outside world was just as I left it. Wood and cobblestone homes and storefronts and, here, a multi-story apartment complex. It felt like a few hours after sunrise, and the streets were nearly empty. Nearby, a new tavern had been seemingly installed into what was once some type of smith. A line of crows cawed along the rooftops.
Tap.
Something poked me.
It was a trash can.
It stared into me with its manipulator arm half raised as if it were about to knock on a door but then suddenly realized it was the wrong house.
Tap.
It poked me again.
I had never taken a good, hard look at what I had become, but if I were anything like the thing sitting before me–
Tap.
It was just an ordinary recycler. My height, my dimensions, my own type of manipulator arm. The exterior was the usual gunmetal gray, a coin slot sat beneath the item selection buttons, and a weird aura of impatience emanated from it. An emblem of two fangs was painted on its face, and beneath that, was the number 11.
A state-sanctioned identifier that I was missing.
Tap.
Shunk. I stabbed it. It could've been a person, sure, or it could've been an AI. Either was probably trying to force me out of its turf in a pathetic attempt at business competition, but I knew all about cutthroat tactics.
My knife hand had ground through him, stunning him with the sharp, stabbing pain as I sliced off his manipulator arm. It clacked against the cobblestone path. With his defenses dismantled, I cut through him like a hot knife through an empty soda can.
I cut him open and peered inside.
The usual tidbits were there, empty containers, a few household goods in the vending slots--napkins, cups, utensils--but as I dissected this failed rival of mine, something erupted out from him.
It was a glowing mass of something that pulsed and throbbed with lumps. Heat was steaming from it, and as it cooled, it reformed into a grassy sawdust mass that expanded like foam. This was probably why I was able to store so much raw materials inside of me since I had no form of dimensional storage or the like. Though I knew instinctively that my body was compressing the raw elements, now I could actually see was my bile looked like.
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It was kinda gross, in a sense.
But as I continued to dig through this dying metal minion, I found the one thing that surprised me--the core.
It was a spherical contraption that contained a glowing orb, all wrapped up in machinery and tubes and copper wires of varying colors. Part of me wanted to further dissect it just to see what would happen, but an even greater experiment was needed.
I had come this far in trash-can-homicide anyway, so what was there to lose?
I snipped out the recycler core--the AI or the human soul--and chunked it into my mouth.
+1 Recycler core
“Recipe Unlocked: Recycler Core.”
Yes. An excellent choice. If I could somehow make more recyclers, I could create an army of half-sentient trash cans that could simply roll around and smother my foes. A perfect plan.
The nearby crows began to caw louder than usual. One descended and landed at the corpse and started digging around in the raw plant fiber materials. It retrieved a brownish green paste and gobbled it down. Nutrient paste, surely, used for making foods.
Gross, but this interloping bird was taking my kill.
I shot out my arm and waved it away, but the crow hopped around to evade. It returned to take smug little pecks at the nutrient mulch.
Alright, you little shit.
My hand snapped into a knife blade, and I slashed at it.
The crow fuckin’ parried it! With its beak!
It was a duel!
I swung hard in a wide slash.
I missed. The bird countered to attack my lid.
I used my gyroscope to dodge the attack. It missed, then I countered with a slap, but the crow gripped onto my arm with its crow feet!
This might've been noob-level warfare, but there was no lack of tension. This was raw combat, survival, a clash of wants and ideologies and Obi Imsi wasn’t gonna go down with a fight!
I lashed out again and missed, but it was a feint. As the bird dodged the strike gracefully, the middle of my arm buckled and bent around it, forcing him to get closer.
He was off balance, right where I wanted him. Now was the time for the finishing blow.
Caw! Caw! Caww! More crows dive-bombed in, forcing me to wave them away in a frantic panic. Caw! Caw! Even more reinforcements converged on me, then more, then more! It was a swarm, a crow hive, an entire raid!
I shifted my weight to one side to balance on my bottom rim, then spun back to put distance between me and their treasure. They saw me retreat, then went right to work to devour the carcass with only the largest among them to stand guard--staring me down defiantly with its fierce beady eyes and beak of resolve.
I had lost.
They fought well as true warriors, and even though I was severely handicapped, I respected the fight and their noble spirits. It wasn't every day I lost a battle--I could count the losses on one hand--but I knew where honor should be given.
Hmmmm-click. I reached into my vending slot and presented to them a token of peace--a premium deluxe candy bar.
The crow tilted its head, cawed once with ferocious acceptance, and received it. Soon, the other dozen crows hopped over with their own expectant faces. I remembered hearing about the intelligence of these black birds from passing stories and legends. There was certainly no tactical use for them but having at least one ally in this unforgiving world could be comforting, and after all, they deserved a victory treat.
Hmmmmm-click.