EEP.
EEP.
EEP.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-
The Rookie awoke, completely drenched in their own sweat. The light from outside had already penetrated the glass aperture, illuminating the dreary beige room. In one sloppy motion, they eased themselves to a sitting position and silenced the shrill cries of the alarm unit with a slap.
The night before hadn’t been kind to them. The pieces of junk that the colony’s administration had so creatively called ‘Prefabricated Residential Units’ were no better than a rat’s nest. Sure they worked fine during the first few days of residence, but it was all downhill from there.
The lights flickered so often you could pass the apartment off as a raving nightclub, the plaster on the walls was already flaking, and worst of all: the air conditioning unit was completely and utterly wrecked.
What a way to start the day.
The Rookie made their way from their bed to their ‘kitchen’ with all the energy of a geriatric slug smoking 500 pounds of cannabis. The ‘kitchen’ was in the same dilapidated state as the rest of their apartment. A miniature settlement composed of appliances, filthy utensils, and discarded meal packets sat atop the counter. Their eyes groggily swept all over the mess, scavenging for anything edible.
They found a piece of dehydrated meat that had been left unattended since last night, along with several lines of tiny black dots travelling between the plate and the crevices in the walls. They narrowed their eyes.
I was saving that piece for breakfast and those damn ants had to… Well, probably my fault for not putting it in the fridge.
They left the piece of meat to its fate and switched their gaze over to the fridge, yanking the door open. The interior was a barren wasteland of white compared to the rest of the ‘kitchen’, the only landmark being a handful of MREs stacked on top of each other like a 5-car pileup.
You’d think that working as a droid machinist for one of the biggest corporations in the sector would have been at least good enough to pay for a decent meal every once in a while. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to be the case. They wished they’d read the contract more thoroughly before accepting.
They reached in and grabbed one of the aluminum wrappers before tearing the side off with their teeth. The Rookie stared at the beige nutrient block waiting inside. Evidently, ‘appetizing’ wasn’t part of the manufacturer’s vocabulary.
They took a bite out of the ration, savoring the ever-so-recognizable flavor of nothing. As their jaws went about reducing the nutrient block to mush, the Rookie looked back at the piece of meat they had left and silently wondered if adding ants to their breakfast could add a bit of flavor.
A mouthful of mushed nutrient paste was already making its way down their esophagus when the comm-cell let loose a series of sharp pings and vibrated with nearly enough force to hop right out of their pocket.
Crap! Gonna be late!
They shut off the comm-cell alarm and quickly stuffed what was left of the MRE into their pocket before bolting out of their hovel.
The air outside reeked faintly of smoke and sulfur. Ruined skyscrapers pointed up at the smoggy sky, resembling the decrepit, skeletal fingers of a fallen giant. Blocky, commercial buildings crowded around them, battered and bruised by long-gone cannon fire.
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The city was a remnant, the barely functioning remains of a colony that had been caught in a crossfire between the military might of two galactic powers. Even after 15 years had passed, the Rookie could still see the scars that the battle had left. A discarded rifle here, a stray artillery shell there, and the veritable ocean of debris that lingered underneath the platform they were standing on.
The Rookie chanced a look down. It was a long drop. Not high enough to kill them outright at least, but they weren’t looking to test what did break upon impact.
Hovering above the sea of scrap were dozens upon dozens of industrial maintenance droids. They watched as the monolithic, mechanical giants scooped up heaps of refuse before dumping them into their onboard molecular furnaces and incinerating them, adding to the rampant pollution already in the atmosphere.
Then, they heard the engines.
Coming from behind one of the skyscrapers and approaching fast was a column of train carts, thundering down the railways so fast it looked like it could overshoot at any moment. The city’s rail network had been converted into a jury-rigged artillery platform during the war, used to quickly traverse through the labyrinthine urban grid and shell enemy targets from behind the safety of the steel walls. Now it had been restored back to its original purpose, ferrying hordes of the city’s inhabitants from their homes to their jobs.
It was a shame that its safety features were never restored along with it.
The Rookie took several steps back as the train neared, already making the necessary calculations in their head. The train never stopped for anyone, it had its own schedule to meet. You had to be willing to work for it, to fight for it, to risk your life every time you wanted to use it.
The train was getting closer. There was quite the distance between the platform and the railway, but it was possible. They had to time the jump right. Too early, and they would get turned into a pile of red mush. Too late, and they would go flying into the abyss.
The Rookie took in a deep breath. They could hear the tracks rattling now, the sound growing exponentially louder with each passing second. The train swung around the corner, turning so that its left flank faced them. That was the signal.
They broke into a sprint, running headfirst towards the blocks of reinforced steel travelling at 72 kilometers per hour. They could see it clearly now, the handles on the sides, just waiting for them to grab on.
They reached the edge of the platform. The last cart was passing now. They saw their chance, and took it.
The Rookie leapt, arms outstretched. Time seemed to slow to a halt as the handle moved farther and farther. The tips of their fingers made contact with the handle; that was all they needed. The rest of their hand immediately clamped onto the metal grip.
They could feel the wind whipping mercilessly at their face and their coat, threatening to push them off. One hand gripped the handle firm and tight, but the same could not be said for their free hand. Even as they willed it to move, it couldn’t. The wind was far too powerful and the train was moving far too fast.
It’s fine. I just need to hold on until my stop. It’ll work. I can still-
Their train of thought was cut short as the adrenaline subsided and the pain surging through their arm finally caught up with them. Years of eating MREs and cheap leftovers did not give them much nourishment, not enough for an arduous physical task like this one.
Their grasp was rapidly weakening now, fingers slipping off the smooth metal one by one. It was a lost cause now, what little strength was left in them was fighting a losing battle against the laws of physics.
The rail cart made another sharp turn, sending the Rookie flying off into the abyss and sealing their fate.
Nobody would remember them.
----------------------------------------
The industrial maintenance droid excavated another heap of debris with a sickening crunch, holding it in place for several seconds before dumping it into the fires of its molecular furnace. Its glowing, cyclopian photoreceptor scanned the ground, illuminating the surrounding area like a spotlight.
Its light passed over electronic waste, useless piles of scrap metal, overturned rusted vehicles, and the filthy carcasses of civilians. It did not pay any heed to what it found, its programming did not compel it to. Rubbish was rubbish, organic or otherwise, the only difference was how easy it was to burn.
The droid did not care when its photoreceptor passed over an eerily human-shaped indentation in the pile of garbage. It simply collected and incinerated, erasing any trace of what might have been.