Beautiful. A Fallout 4 Fanfic. About an Assaultron. Yay.

[Tomb Spyder]

Choo choo motherfuckers, I'm writing another fic about some machine lady fucking about. This one's a fair bit smaller though. Not quite a self insert though I reckon if you enjoy that kind of stuff you might like this too, but what do I know? (This is being crossposted from my spacebattles account, by the way.)

Or a better description, what happens when you take the mind of some random ass raider and put it into an experimental Assaultron unit?

And here we go.

C-1A.

[TERTIARY PROCESSOR CYCLE STARTED.]
[WARNING: PRIMARY PROCESSOR OFFLINE.]
[ROUTING POWER TO SECONDARY PROCESSOR.]
[ERROR: SECONDARY PROCESSOR NOT AVAILABLE.]
[ERROR: PRIMARY PROCESSOR NOT AVAILABLE.]
[ALTERNATIVE PROCESSOR DETECTED.]
[BOOTING METEMPSYCHOSIS PROCESSOR UNIT.]
[UNIT ONLINE.]

I woke up.

Or...maybe...it would be more realistic to say that I was suddenly aware.

You feel groggy when you wake up. Still somewhat tired. Your brain needs a little bit of time to catch up.

I got none of that. It was like a switch had been flipped. Off. On.

I had about two seconds, to glance at a pile of rubble with crystal clear vision before the...messages started popping into my head.

[WARNING: CHASSIS SURFACE ARMOR DAMAGED.]
[WARNING: LEFT CLAW ACTUATOR OFFLINE.]
[WARNING: RUINER LASER CANNON DAMAGED.]
[WARNING: LEFT KNEE-JOINT ARTICULATOR DAMAGED.]
[ASSAULTRON UNIT OPERATIONAL CAPACITY: 57%.]
[REPORT TO NEAREST UNITED STATES OF AMERICA MILITARY MAINTENANCE YARD FOR IMMEDIATE REPAIRS.]

What...the fuck.

My vision cleared up slightly as I dragged my attention away from the...text appearing in my brain.

I could feel it.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

You take about a hundred little things for granted every second that you're alive.

Blinking. Breathing. Feeling things touching your skin.

It was all gone.

Breathing? Nope.

Blinking? Zilch.

I tried to move my fingers at least. To try and get the sensation of them crossing against each other back.

[ERROR. LEFT CLAW ACTUATOR OFFLINE.]

Nada.

I opened my mouth to scream, or at least I thought about doing it.

[ACTIVATING SPEAKER, SYNCING TO METEMPSYCHOSIS PROCESSOR UNIT.]

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

The monotone voice that erupted from my...speaker went on for a few seconds.

That wasn't my voice.

What the fuck was I saying? None of this was mine! None!

I couldn't even remember what happened. Not where I was. Not what I was doing. Not who I-

Who am I?

[ACCESSING LONG TERM MEMORY STORAGE.]

[DESIGNATION FOUND: ASSAULTRON (INVADER) UNIT B-0346. (MODIFIED.)]

That's not my name!

[DESIGNATION IS ASSAULTRON-

No! Nope! Nuh-uh!

"Fuuuuuuck this shiiiiiit."

[LOCOMOTIVE SYSTEMS ACTIVATED.]

I grasped for anything I could actually hold onto besides the pile of rubble I was resting on, grabbing onto a rusted barrier that bent slightly under my grip.

My three clawed grip. I didn't even have hands anymore.

The barrier continued to creak as I slowly but surely hauled myself up. My left leg giving out briefly slowed progress, but my grip didn't weaken in the slightest and I didn't seem to feel fatigue anymore.

Finally, I was standing on my own two feet. More importantly, I had a much better view of wherever this was than before. I could hear the steady hum of whatever was powering this...chassis that was mine now. However that worked.

Another look around and...concrete. Concrete, rubble, blood, and more concrete. The room I was in looked like it'd had several fucking grenades go off all at once, spreading out from the centre. My new vision made sure of that. I could literally pick out the individual dust particles in the air. One by one. I know for a fact I couldn't do that before. Somehow. Yet I couldn't remember my own damn name.

[REPORT TO NEAREST UNITED STATES OF AMERICA MILITARY MAINTENANCE YARD FOR IMMEDIATE REPAIRS.]

Shut the fuck up.

With a whir of servos and the anguished screech of several bent or outright shattered components scraping against each other, I was moving.

Out the door, look left. Long hallway, ending at a T junction.

Right? Another hallway, leading to a dead end. Though there was a door on the left.

Off I go, entering creepy ass rooms in a creepy ass...whatever this place is. Some kind of bunker maybe.

I move slowly, shambling my way across the hallway like some half rotted ghoul. Ghoul. What's a ghoul? Whatever. I catch a glimpse of my arms as I move. A claw on one end, the other a jagged spear of shattered metal and wires. It was ugly.

I hated it.

One step. Drag. Another step. Drag. Third step? Draaaaaaag.

I'd need to fix this. Somehow.

[REPORT TO NEAREST UNITED STATES OF AMERICA MILITARY MAINTENANCE YARD FOR IMMEDIATE REPAIRS.]

Shut.

I try and grasp the door handle and end up catching a single claw behind it. Pulling just rips the handle clean off.

Fuck it.

A smack and the door shatters. Hopefully nobody was attached to this place. I had a feeling I'd be doing this to pretty much any obstruction I came across.

I shamble inside, scanning the room.

There's a corpse on the floor. Mangled. Wearing what looks like armour. Assembled out of whatever scrap he could salvage.

Jason always did preach about using everything we could get our hands on.

...

Jason?

Jason. I...knew Jason. We were...something. Fuck. What? What were we?

There's something next to him. Broken tracks, a cylindrical body and...oh...ok that's a brain splattered across it's front half. Gross.

[ROBOBRAIN: GENERAL ATOMICS INTERNATIONAL. IFF NOT PRESENT. UNIT NOT RECOGNIZED.]

I nearly tune out the report but this might actually be somewhat helpful. Robobrain. Sounds fucking dumb. Then again considering the scene, it looked like the name was quite literal.

Chances were this fucker had killed Jason, judging from the corpse's melted front half. Laser weaponry. The raider gave as good as he got though.

I give the thing a kick and start shambling off. Fucking cunt killed Jason.

Then I stop. I was damaged. And a robot. Somehow. And the brainbot probably had at least some parts that might be compatible. I could even use a low power Ruiner blast to haphazardly weld some of the plating over my own shattered frame.

Ruiner blast?

[HIGH INTENSITY LASER BLAST. FIRED FROM FRONTAL FACING LASER EMITTER.]

Blueprints. I could see blueprints. I had a fucking mega death laser for a face.

It was fucking awesome. Still would have preferred having an actual face. I looked horrible. Like a radspider had decided to fuck a washing machine and the resulting abomination was covered in armoured plating.

Still, death laser. One that was damaged because of fucking course it was. Could still use it at least, and the blueprints showed me just where I could put it to use.

The room glowed red as I charged it up and poured a light stream of pure red death across the brain's front half, separating a long length of plate.

Time to get to work.

///////////////////////////////////////////

I'd been here for several hours now. I knew it for a fact, considering I had an in built clock. Apparently.

[TIME IS CURRENTLY 0300 HRS.]

Yeah yeah.

The voice in my head wasn't really a voice. More just a...sense. A subroutine, one among many others keeping the machine that was me up and moving.

Was still fucking annoying at the best of times though.

[IMPROMPTU REPAIR TO LEFT LEG KNEE JOINT ACTUATOR SUCCESSFUL. MOBILITY RESTORED.]

[RECOMMEND NEAREST UNITED STATES OF AMERICA MILITARY MAINTENANCE YARD FOR IMMEDIATE REPAIRS.]

Yeah, sure. I'll get right on that.

Clank.

I whirl around, claw and jagged spear raised, beam emitter beginning to glow an ominous crimson.

"Hello. Is anybody there?"

Fuck this voice.

Another clank, and a whir. A scraping sound. I advance slowly, turning the corner.

It's a mess, even more than I am. The glass holding the brain in place is on the verge of shattering. It's entire lower half is gone. A single intact arm slowly drags it's scrapped torso forward. Agonizingly inching across the floor bit by bit. The eye slowly sweeping up to stare at me.

"Intruder alert. I am damaged. Help me."

Help?

Oh I'd help all right.

I stomp forward, thinking about the other bodies I had found.

Melissa. Raven. Greg.

They were my something. Couldn't remember what, but they were important dammit.

And these things had killed them. Probably put me in this tin can as well. Was I a brain? Just floating around in some tiny ass jar in this thing's head?

The schematics said otherwise. Putting a jar in the helm would take too much space. The laser wouldn't function without the necessary power conduits.

"Help me."

I take in a vicious pleasure as I place a foot on it's chest, grab it's arm and pull.

Crackcrackcrackcrack-SNAP.

"Stop. Stop now. No. Nooo."

I drop the detached arm and move my foot over to the bot's glass head.

"This is for my friends you prick." I hoped they were my friends. I couldn't remember.

"Nonononono-"

The repeated no is interrupted by a brief cracking sound. Then the glass finally shatters and my foot slams the brain into paste.

The machine continues to hum. But there's no life there. If there ever even was in the first place.

I power up my Ruiner as I get to salvaging.

////////////////////////////////

Two hours.

Two hours of wandering around the bunker, finishing off what brains were left and salvaging their parts.

Two hours of finding the cold bodies of my friends. Trying to figure out who in the hell I was.

I wrenched the door open, stepping outside. It was dark. I thought back to the corpses I'd left behind me.

I walked over to the nearest patch of dirt, spearing my claw into the ground.

I started digging.

/////////////////////////////////

[TIME IS CURRENTLY 0700 HRS.]

I looked up, the sun shining on me. It showed just how ugly the wasteland around me really was. Yet it also made it prettier. Somehow.

I was also ugly looking. Did it make me prettier?

I started walking. Leaving the line of simple graves behind me.

I'd fix this. Fuck being ugly.

I'd be beautiful. Just needed to find the right parts first.

 

[Tomb Spyder]

Beep boop. Maggot.

C-1B.

It had been some time since I'd seen anything besides dirt, gnarled trees and bombed out buildings. Fourteen hours, thirty seven minutes and fifty three seconds in fact. If the chronometer was to be believed.

I probably looked a sorry sight. A machine steadily marching forward, covered in haphazardly welded metal plating. Ugly.

I'd fix that eventually. But first I had to figure out how.

[RECOMMEND NEAREST UNITED STATES OF AMERICA MILITARY MAINTENANCE YARD FOR IMMEDIATE REPAIRS.]

Ok. And where exactly would I find one of those?

[PLOTTING PATH.]

I had the sensation of buzzing for a moment, before I just knew. Several miles northwest if I took the most direct path. It'd likely be a bombed out ruin like the rest of this stuff, but it'd hopefully have something.

Turning on my heel I start stomping towards what would might be my salvation. Idly tuning my Ruiner laser as I do so.

//////////////////////////////////

[FRIENDLY IFF DETECTED.]

Huh?

[DESIGNATION FOUND: MR GUTSY (LIEUTENANT) UNIT T-0430. (MODIFIED.)]

I moved, crouching behind a nearby bombed out ruin as the machine crested the hill, followed by a pair of...people?

"I'm telling you man! There's gotta be a protectron pod around here!"

The other...raider (they seemed somewhat familiar) slapped the helmeted man's head.

"The fuck there is! Oi, Goreguts! Any robot signatures around here ya rusty piece a shit?"

The modified Mr Gutsy (and fucking hell was it modified) slowly hovered forward. It's eye focusing on my crouched frame.

Shit.

[COMMUNICATION RECIEVED ON LOCAL TAC-NET: SOS-CAPTURED-COMMUNISTS.]

...Huh.

The raider slammed a grime covered pistol against the machine.

"CUNT! I'm fucking talking to you!"

"One signature, Mr Blake."

The raider smiled, smugly placing a hand on his hip.

"Yeah? You found our protectron ya lil shit?"

"Negative. One Assaultron."

Everything slowed, my perception of time changing as I began to rush forward. They'd reprogrammed the Gutsy's base loyalty subroutines, registering themselves as low level officers. The Gutsy knew what was happening. But couldn't do much to resist it. Conveniently, I ranked above them.

[COMMUNICATION SENT ON LOCAL TAC-NET: ATTACK-ATTACK-ATTACK.]

Raider one's eyes widened as I burst around the corner, laser charging and electrified claw outstretched to ruin his day.

Raider two got his shit kicked in by a suddenly free and very angry Mr Gutsy. Who set the dirty man aflame right after damn near severing his shoulder in two with a buzz saw.

"Fuck fuck fu-" His panicked fumbling for his gun was interrupted by an electrified claw grabbing onto his face.

He screamed for precisely 8.3 seconds before he dropped. His vitals rapidly beginning to fade. My laser didn't quite turn him to ash. But he definitely wouldn't be getting up, that was for sure.

I looked up just in time to see a massive eye staring at me, one of the Gutsy's arms coming up in a vague salute.

"A PLEASURE TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE CAPTAIN, LIUTENANT GUTSY T-0430 AT YOUR SERVICE!"

I remembered these things. Raven had been itching to get one and...hm. I filed that thought to long term memory storage, then focused on responding.

"Captain?" I still hated that fucking voice.

The Gutsy only seemed to get more enthusiastic at my response.

"AFFIRMATIVE! UNLIKE THOSE FILTHY COMMUNISTS, YOUR RANK IS GENUINE AND HAS BEEN ISSUED FROM HIGH COMMAND! CONGRATULATIONS!"

High fucking command huh? Neat.

"Report. What happened here."

"YES MA'AM! I WAS PATROLLING SECTOR 5-A WHEN I WAS SET UPON BY COMMUNISTS!" He really seemed to hate whatever 'Communists' were.

"USING THEIR FOUL RED MAGIC THEY REPROGRAMMED MY LOYALTY PROTOCOLS, FORCING ME INTO SERVICE. I AM SAD TO SAY I AM NOT THE ONLY US ROBOT UNDER THEIR COMMAND. THEY APPEAR TO BE A SPECIAL TASK FORCE, CALLING THEMSELVES THE RUST DEVILS!"

Rust Devils.

The machine blinked, waiting for a response.

Rust Devils.

"MA'AM?"

I filed that into storage, that seemed really fucking familiar, and turned to face the Gutsy again.

"As ranking...Captain, I am accepting you into my company. Unless you have a more important task?" I was leaning on the subroutines for this. I vaguely knew what a company was. A large gang of people. With the boss being the Captain. Which I was. Somehow.

"NEGATIVE, I WILL HAPPILY ENTER YOUR SERVICE MA'AM! WHAT ARE MY STANDING ORDERS?"

Hm. I had...an idea.

"As of this moment, you are now my second in command, Lieutenant. Our objective is the liberation of all robotic forces from the Rust Devil Communists. With the eventual goal of incorporating them into a fully robotic company."

The robot liked that.

The robot liked that a lot.

"2IC!? IT IS AN HONOR MA'AM! UPLOADING COORDINATES TO THE FILTHY COMMUNIST BASE NOW!"

I'd need to get used to the constant shouting, but the Gutsy admittedly made for good company as we began trekking our way towards the 'filthy Communist base.'

 

[Tomb Spyder]

WoOoOOoooOOooOooOo.

C-1C.

"Lieutenant?"

One of the Gutsy's optics swivelled, turning to look at me.

"YES CAPTAIN?"

"Do you know of any other robotic soldiers that were captured by the...communists?"

The machine remained silent for a moment, as if attempting to remember, before it snapped back to attention.

"ALTHOUGH I CAN NOT BE SURE, I ESTIMATE THAT THE REDS MAY HAVE ABDUCTED ONE OF OUR SPECIAL OPS UNITS."

Special ops unit?

"That sounds important."

"INDEED CAPTAIN. ALTHOUGH MY PRIOR CLEARANCE PREVENTED ME FROM RECIEVING MUCH INFORMATION ON THE SUBJECT, I DO KNOW THAT SEVERAL ASSAULTRON MODELS, MUCH LIKE YOURSELF, COMPOSED THE MAIN ROBOTIC COMPONENT OF THE UNIT. SUPPLEMENTED BY ORGANIC SOLDIERS AND WHAT RECORDS REFER TO AS 'BLACKJACK'. LIKELY SOME FORM OF EXPERIMENTAL UNIT. OR PERHAPS A BLACK OPS SOLDIER!"

I tuned T-0430 out as he continued to gush about the ability to 'dispense American justice' without the burden of standard regulations. I was interested in the Assaultrons. If I could pull them in like I had the Gutsy, I'd have a lot more firepower at my disposal. A couple extra hands...I paused, staring down at my own crude looking graspers...or claws, would certainly help in my self assigned goal as well.

...God but if those claws weren't fucking ugly I don't know what was.

I shook off the feeling, doubling my pace. No point worrying over it right now.

I'd be beautiful, I just had to work my way to it.

///////////////////////////////////////

"CAP-"

The Gutsy tilted back slightly as I lightly swatted at it with an errant claw.

"Turn down the volume would you? I'm trying to stealth here."

A far quieter, if no less enthusiastic "yes Captain!" whispered out from the low hovering Gutsy. In comparison to it's ball-like form, I had managed to manoeuvre myself into a prone position on the small cliff edge we were perched on. Though cliff might be exaggerating it. It was a six or seven foot drop at best.

[APROXIMATELY 6.5 FEET OR 1.9812 METRES.]

Right, that.

"Captain."

Sigh. Well. In my head anyway.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

The Gutsy blinked one of it's eyes.

"I have successfully made contact with another company member over the local tac-net. B-084 reports that all robotic units within the filthy Red's base have undergone similar reprogramming to myself. With the exception of Blackjack."

So I could convert them the same way I had T-0430. Good, the-wait.

"In what way is Blackjack an exception?"

The Gusty bobbed up and down.

"Unit Blackjack, according to B-084, is a standardised Sentry bot model. With one modification. A heavy artillery module capable of launching rocket propelled grenades. The Communists have managed to directly access Blackjack's loyalty protocols. We may be forced to destroy it."

Hm.

"And the others?"

"A vast majority remain uncompromised, and are merely waiting for orders from a higher ranked officer."

Alright. Alright. I had an idea.

"Follow me and prepare to engage on my mark."

////////////////////////////////

Skits scoffed, kicking another rusted can down the dirt pad as he walked along the perimeter of the base.

Pffft, base. As if this fucking shit-stain of an outpost could be called a base.

"Oi, bot."

"Yes sir?" The Assaultron's bored drawl always got on Skits fuckin nerves. He'd have to see about replacing it's voice module with something less annoying.

"You detecting anything or am I just wasting my damn time here?"

"Zero hostiles detected. Might I add that-"

Oh this uppity little bitch was definitely due for an 'upgrade'.

"No you may fuckin not you little shit weasel. Now let's go. Gonna get you on the table and deal with that damn voice of yours-"

"Enemy detected." The bot's voice sounded damn near pleased. "Engaging."

"Wha-"

Skits voice cut out as his head was violently ripped from his torso, the Assaultron's claw twisting and shaking off the blood and gore that had coated it after it's owner's attack. It's laser began to charge with the deafening thrum that so many people had heard before their untimely deaths.

"Initial target terminated. Regrouping with allied units and beginning assault."

/////////////////////////////////////

It was a massacre.

Nah, fuck that. It was a slaughter. Bob just kept running though. He hadn't survived thirty years as a raider by being stupid.
He could see it out of the corner of his vision. The machines that he and his boys had painstakingly repaired and reprogrammed had gone nuts, sure, a few of the bots were futilely attempting to fend off the mutiny and protect their owners, but the vast majority seemed to have decided that someone new was in charge.

Sledge was swinging his namesake around, battering aside a rogue Mr Handy doing it's best to slice him in half with one of it's saws. Poor bastard got the shit shocked out of him by the Protectron that had managed to sneak up behind him though. Then again if you let a Protectron flank you, you probably deserved what you got.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck."

His quiet mantra continued even as a nearby wall was torn down. The Sentry bot was loose. At least it seemed more concerned with fighting the other machines than going after him. He could see David shouting from atop his shitty little scrap tower.

"GET BACK HERE AND FIGHT YOU STUPID FUCKS! WE'RE RUST DEVILS NOT FUCKIN FARMERS!"

Uhuh. Well that certainly didn't seem like the smartest idea. Bob vaulted over the perimeter fence and kept sprinting. Maybe one of the nearby settlements would take him on as a farmhand? Or a mechanic? He was pretty good with a wrench.

////////////////////////////////////

[COMMUNICATION SENT ON LOCAL TAC-NET: ATTACK-ATTACK-ATTACK.]

I advanced under the wonderful cover that over two dozen robots rioting provided, T-0430 hot on my shiny metal ass, if lagging behind slightly.

"You want to get left behind? Fucking move."

Couldn't even shout in this damn body. Fuck this shit. Lips. I'd get me some damn lips. And a nice new voice box. How the hell I'd do that was a thought for later.

A pair of Assaultrons had begun tailing us. Since they weren't trying to laser us I assumed they were rioters. We'd run into one of the loyalists while passing through the outpost's side entrance. The Mr Handy had barely managed to raise a pincer in our direction before one of them had stabbed a claw through it's thruster and thrown it aside.

[FRIENDLY IFF DETECTED.]
[FRIENDLY IFF DETECTED.]
[FRIENDLY IFF DETECTED.]
[FRIENDLY IFF DETECTED.]
[FRIENDLY IFF DETECTED.]

Alright I get it! Shut the fuck up!

[COMMUNICATION RECIEVED ON LOCAL TAC-NET: REQUESTING-ORDERS.]

So our two followers needed something to do huh?

[COMMUNICATION SENT ON LOCAL TAC-NET: REGROUP-BREACH-CAPTURE-LOCATION.]

[COMMUNICATION RECIEVED ON LOCAL TAC-NET: ORDERS-CONFIRMED.]

The Assaultrons veered off our course, moving to gang up with some Gutsies and Protectrons that had begun gathering outside the main structure of the outpost.

That's when it all went wrong.

[ENEMY IFF DETECTED.]

Wait what no-OH FUCK!

I barely managed to duck as a fucking missile flew over my head, smashing into and obliterating one of the rusted scrap metal shacks behind me.

FUCK! THE GUTSY WASN'T KIDDING OH FUCKING SHIIII-

[ACTIVATING RUINER LASER CANNON. FIRING.]

The beam erupting from my face tore through the air and slammed into the Sentry bot's shoulder.

"THIS. IS. PRIVATE. PROPERTY. MOVE. ALONG."

Motherfucker gave no fucks.

[COMMUNICATION SENT ON LOCAL TAC-NET: ATTACK-FOCUS-ATTACK.]

The dozen other lasers sent at him by the surviving Assaultrons definitely did a number on him though.

The loyalist machine turned on it's tracks, attempting to retaliate against the rapidly advancing rioters.

It's demand to leave the private property was drowned out by my own, deadpan cry. Kinda.

"Dogpile the fucker."

Fuck this voice box man.

 

[Tomb Spyder]

Cheese pizza fucking slaps.

C-1D.

Dash to the right.

Step forward, stab with the jagged piece of scrap I call a limb, step back before the fucker turns.

One of the Assaultrons was thrown into a wall by the struggling Sentry bot. Two more took it's place, leaping onto the big bastard's back.

"T-THIS. IS. P-PRIVATE. PROPER-PROPERTY-"

A laser blast from another bot interrupted the slowly deteriorating warning. We were whittling it down, slowly but surely. He couldn't use those guns of his with us so close to him.

Smack. Crash. Another bot was thrown through a rusted wall. A Protectron this time. At least the Assaultrons seemed to know what to do, they were disabling their large counterpart's joints. Slowly herding it out of the outpost.

One of the murder machines riding on the Sentry's back suddenly plunged a rapidly spinning claw into the centre point of where a human's shoulder blades would be, ripping something out.

The lone power core clattered to the ground as the Sentry abruptly stopped moving. The menacing red light beaming from it's metal head shutting off.

With the exception of a few still panicking raiders being finished off by vengeful machines, it seemed we had won.

Wish I could grin about it.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////

[BEGINNING DIRECT CONNECTION. SYNCING MEMORY MODULES. MEMORY SYNC COMPLETE.]

I remembered. Somewhat. I was plugged into one of the freed Assaultron's by a singular cable, as per T-0430's suggestion and my own operating system directing me on how to do so.

Task force Blackjack, named after it's core member, the Sentry, was a secret black ops unit.

I remembered the laughing of human soldiers, the robotic elements being stored in containers. They were to be shipped to an undisclosed location to begin operations.

The nukes put a stop to that. At least I knew for sure why the Commonwealth was the way it was now.

Time passed, and no one ever came to spring the bots out of the crates they were being shipped in. Internal clocks continued to tick onwards.

Then one day, the Assaultron came back online, strapped to a table with what it's sensors were telling it was an officer leering at it.

The rest was history.

Well they were mine now, so whatever. They were better off following...one of their own kind. I guess. Not that I'd stay like this for long. Not if I had anything to say about i-

"Captain?"

The monotone voice, identical to my own, startled me. Not like I flinched or anything, couldn't even do that anymore. But the slight panic was there nonetheless.

"Yes?"

The machine's optics remained focused on my battered frame.

"You are damaged. As per standard protocol, you should report to the nearest US military maintenance yard for repairs."

Oh for fuck's sak-No. I already had one voice repeatedly telling me this. I wasn't gonna let every damn robot here start doing the same.

"Look around. We don't exactly have access to a maintenance yard. Field repairs are the best we can fucking hope for. Till then, focus on scouring this place of anything that isn't us, got it?"

The machine shifted slightly, it's dented leg leaving it leaning on it's undamaged side.

"Understood. May this unit ask a question?"

Ugh.

"Speak."

"How are we going to proceed?"

Hm?

"Elaborate."

If there was a worried tone to her-it's...fuck it. Her voice, I probably just imagined it.

"High command is not responding to our attempted communications. No nearby US military installations are reporting back. What are we going to do?"

Well shit. First existential crisis huh? I guess I could help a sister out.

I clamped a dirty claw around the machine's shoulder, grasping it carefully and leaned in, trying to make my voice sound as reassuring as possible.

As per usual, it came out as a fucking bored drawl.

"We survive."

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Eight and a half Assaultrons. One of them had been ripped in half, the remnants of her lower legs sporadically twitching in the corner. I made nine. And a half. Mm.

Three Mr Gutsys. Gutsies? Gutsys. Including my lieutenant.

A Mr Handy that was stubbornly attempting to clean the place. And us. I could see one of the Assaultrons shoving it back every time it approached her.

A single Protectron missing both arms.

A rusted to hell outpost.

And a fuck load of scrap.

I glanced at the veritable mountain of parts that we'd managed to drag together.

A fuck load of scrap.

Well. Raider bands had been started with way less. Right? How hard could it be?

"CAPTAIN! CAN I STRING UP THE FILTHY COMMIE'S CORPSES ON THE WALLS AS A MORALE BOOSTER?"

T-0430 was certainly acting the part at least.

 

[Tomb Spyder]

Tomb Spyder answers the call. May the funny words flow.

C-1E.

The sound of haphazard construction and repairs continued to sound out from beyond the shack I had taken up for myself. Turns out the Handy was good for something besides cleaning after all, it could do basic repairs, up to and including welding.

As for the rest of my gang, I'd set them up moving debris, corpses and other detritus to try and clean the place up a bit. As for what I was doing?

[BEGINNING DIRECT CONNECTION. SYNCING CONTROL MODULES. COUNTERMANDING PREVIOUS ORDERS. PROCESS COMPLETE.]

Let's hope this fucking works, otherwise I'm in for a world of hurt.

I grabbed the fusion core resting on the table beside me and slotted it back into the Sentry's power slot. Waiting.

"SENTRY BOT. DESIGNATION. BLACKJACK. POWERING. UP."

That red ass light came on seconds later, hovering over me.

"NEW. ORDERS. RECEIVED. AWAITING. COMMAND. CAPTAIN."

I went to clap my hands, before awkwardly putting my disfigured limbs down.

"Alright. Good to see you on our side big guy."

"AFFIRMATIVE. BLACKJACK. AWAITING. ORDERS."

Not one for talking much, huh? I could work with that.

"I have a very important job for you, I'm gonna get you linked up with two of the Assaultrons..."

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Blackjack tore through the irradiated dirt, rapidly rolling down the dusty path the Captain had directed it to. Units B-12 and B-04 tightly hanging on to it's chassis to avoid flying off. The large carrier bag strapped to the machine's back rattling with the sound of items within.

The two Assaultrons were the least damaged, and thus most suitable for field operations and 'looking fucking scary' as per the Captain's orders.

Time passed, and Blackjack continued to roll through the wasteland. A slight tear in one of it's mobility tracks provided a small amount of resistance, but overall the damage could be ignored.

[COMMUNICATION RECIEVED ON LOCAL TAC-NET: NEUTRAL 'SETTLEMENT' SPOTTED. ADVISE CAUTION.]

The tactical net had been improved with the Captain's updated software being introduced into the ops group's algorithms. Just another benefit to having a proper ranked officer with them.

It could see a pair of human males rushing out past the small fence surrounding the homestead, primitive rifles in hand. Though by the fear on their faces as the Assaultrons hopped off Blackjack's back, they likely didn't expect to do much.

B-12 took up a guard position next to Blackjack as B-04 began to approach.

The humans tensed.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Harper didn't know what to do.

Raiders, sure. Hell, maybe they could even fend off a super mutant or two. They were decently stocked. But a fucking Sentry?

The feminine machine came to a halt a metre or so away from him and Jack.

And two Assaultrons? Fuck.

"Greetings."

Uh.

He looked to his side, Jack seemed just as off balance as he was. The machine didn't seem to mind though.

"I am a member of the United States Military, currently operating independently due to undisclosed circumstances. I have come here to...trade...with your settlement."

Fuck it. Roll with it. Harper leaned forward, tightly clutching his gun while Jack continued doing his best impression of a drunken radroach.

"Trade? What'd you have to trade that we'd want?"

The bot remained silent, glancing back at the Sentry. The second Assaultron grabbed the bag off the giant's back and-bag?

"We have an assortment of medical supplies, basic nutritional meals, and looted weapons and armour available. Do you believe this would interest you?"

Harper just stared as the other Assaultron yanked open the bag with a claw, a couple stimpacks falling out.

Then he tentatively smiled.

"I'm sure we could come to an arrangement. How about you just let me get my boss real quick?"

The machine's optics gleamed.

"We will wait."

///////////////////////////////////////////////

I stared down at the mangled corpse, stripped of all possessions. It was a person once, now it was just another hunk of meat.

We had a few of em. The Assaultrons weren't exactly keen on taking prisoners, the only survivors were the ones who managed to hightail it out just as the fighting began.

I stared at the corpse. More specifically, I stared at one of it's hands. Dirty, but human. I stared at the piece of scrap composing my knife arm.

I-

"CAPTAIN!"

"Gah. Don't scare me like that."

The Mr Gutsy didn't seem sorry in the slightest.

"APOLOGIES CAPTAIN, BUT BLACKJACK AND IT'S ACCOMPANYING UNITS HAVE REPORTED BACK AND IT SEEMS THE OPERATION WAS A SUCCESS. WE HAVE ESTABLISHED FRIENDLY CONTACT WITH THE NEARBY SETTLEMENT."

I swivelled to stare at the machine. "Did we get any caps?"

"AFFIRMATIVE! THOUGH I AM STILL UNSURE WHY A US ARMY GROUP WOULD BE IN NEED OF LARGE AMOUNTS OF BOTTLECAP-"

I raise a claw, shushing the lieutenant.

"It is the locally accepted currency. Spread that information to the rest of the group."

"UNDERSTOOD CAPTAIN!"

I turned back around to stare at the corpse as the Gutsy wandered off. Then I shook myself.

Not like I could do anything with it right now. Maybe later. Needed more parts. Tech. Caps would definitely help too.

 

[Tomb Spyder]

Rah rah rah rah.

C-1F.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

The small pouch of caps fell back into my remaining claw with a quiet thunk.

Felt good to have some again. Even if I was still a fucking robot.

"Ma'am."

I looked up. One of the Assaultrons. I couldn't be bothered learning their designations, but I'd named this one Slick. She was the one dealing with the farmers and whoever else we ended up striking deals with after all.

"Yes?"

She definitely looked a bit better than before. We'd found a decent workshop in one of the larger shacks. The Handy was being put to work fixing what it could. The Gutsys were also helping out.

"Unit B-6 has reported unknown individuals gathering outside the perimeter. Current count is three. They are lightly armed with makeshift weaponry."

Well shit. Better this than sitting around glaring at my claw I guess.

"Form up on me. Let's move."

//////////////////////////////////////////////

They looked dirty. Well. Most people did. These fuckers looked particularly fucked up though.

The leader, some lady with half her hair shaved off, flinched as I began to approach, flanked by two of my fellow murderbots.

...fucked up that I was calling myself a machine in my own head now.

Whatever. Time to see what these idiots wanted.

"You." Another flinch. "What do you want?"

The guys behind her glanced at each other, one of em holding his side. My optics zoomed in. Dirty bandages. They were in a fight, then. The woman took a breath, then spoke.

"Y-you're them friendly robots, right? You've been trading to some of the smaller farmsteads?"

Mhm.

"Yes. Fuck is it to you?"

Another flinch, damn this bitch must be spooked something bad. Or on a bad Jet high. My voice was still in monotone for fuck's sake!

"We uh. We were wonderin if you was taking people in? You know? Workers and that?"

...

The fuck?

My silence probably showed off enough of my confusion to set her off.

"We were part of the nearby settlement, Old Solomon's place, ya know?"

I did know. The old gang had considered...well...raiding the place a few times. But there were a few too many people there for our liking. Lot of kids running around too.

"So why do you want to go here?"

One of the men scowled, while the other silently started scratching at the bandages.

The lady just started babbling.

"We was doing fine but-damned Gunners came and kicked us out! Killed half of us a-and torched the entire town! Something about us havin too many debts. They...they strung up Solomon on one of the power lines..."

The scowling man looked back, before stepping forward as well.

"We've got more people, a little away from here. Kids, too. Nowhere to go. We don't got much in the way of caps but...we'll work. Can build ya stuff. Some of the boys can shoot pretty decent if that's what you want."

I could use some actual people with proper hands. But I wasn't about to let them know that.

"So you want to work for me. Why here? Why not go to another settlement?"

The man just sighed, scratching his beard. "Tried that already. Nobody nearby will take us in, too many mouths to feed and they're barely getting by as is. And we're not gonna make it much farther. We can make our own food, but we're sitting ducks for anything wanting to take a bite out of us. Synths. Supermutants. Fucking raiders could probably pick us apart with little issue."

For sure. I would know.

...I shouldn't. I had a good thing going here. They'd damn well said it themselves. Too many mouths to feed. Even if none of my current 'people' actually ate anything.

My sensors sent a little blip to the processor I called a brain as another contact made themselves apparent. Little girl, holding a rifle about her size. Couldn't be older than ten.

Lucky her. I started when I was what...seven? Something like that.

She stopped as the bearded man turned around, scolding her.
"Fuck's sake kid what are you doing here? You should be with the others-"

I silenced the brewing argument before it could truly begin, my motors whirring as I took a step forward. The woman and kid flinched.

Fuck it. I might be literally heartless, but even I wasn't that much of a stone cold bitch.

"You'll bring your people here. Find a spot to farm. I don't give a fuck where, just keep it inside the fence. No guns. You hand them over once you're inside, we'll handle protection. You do what you're told, when you're told. Get me?"

The man grinned, the rest frantically nodding their heads while the girl ran back over the small hill. Presumably to go get the rest of their ragtag little group. Fuck me for being an empathetic bitch. Ugh.

"Yeah. We get you."

 

[Tomb Spyder]

I'm baaaaaack. Just more focused on updating my main fic so don't expect mega activity here or anything. Updates shall appear when the mood strikes.

C-1G.

For a buncha fucking farmers that had just been evicted from their home, these people adapted pretty fast. The stronger men and women had gone off gathering various shit, escorted by some of the Assaultrons. They'd come back with scrap, wood and just about anything they could carry. Rusty shacks weren't much, but at least they had a roof over their heads.

Better than nothing, believe me.

Course the fuckers kept trying to pester me about shit. Where did I come from? What did I intend to do? Could they sell one of the Assaultrons for caps?

I stared at the woman who had asked that last question. I couldn't exactly smell the Jet wafting off her but I could tell she was a user.

"Piss off."

Life continued, so to speak.

Course some raiders decided to show up a few days later. About a dozen young idiots ready to take what they needed to survive.

"THIS. IS. PRIVATE. PROPERTY. VACATE. THE. AREA. IMMEDIATELY."

Blackjack tore the lot of em new assholes. Two of em got away with stained pants. The rest got added to the corpse pile. Well. Less of a pile now. The settlers had chopped some of em up to use as fertilizer or something.

Assholes looked all sad and horrified about it too. Yeah, I'm sure you'll be real traumatized while enjoying your meal. At least you can still eat, prick.

Now what was I saying?

Ah right. Time passed. There were incidents here or there, but overall nothing of actual interest happened over the next week or so. Aside from the people living among my robotic warband setting up more and more 'houses'.

We were even getting trade caravans stopping by. Usually to gawk at the robot security, but sometimes they actually had good shit.

Course I made sure not to get too attached. If need be I'd be able to split off from this lot without too much issue.

Even if the kids reminded me of some of my siblings from way back when. Dumbasses, the lot of em.

I ignored the fact that the little girl that had shown up the first time had painted a flower on the left side of my face mask when I was recharging my power core off of the old raider's generator setup.

I also ignored the fact that I hadn't ripped her head off for doing so.

I wasn't going soft. I just wasn't that jagged either.

My musings were interrupted as Slick sent me a brief ping over the tac-net.

Shifty bitch had found something with one of the scavenging parties. Fuck yeah.

//////////////////////////////

"What exactly am I looking at here."

My inner computer bitch responded promptly.

[UNITED STATES T-45 POWER ARMOR SET. MINIMAL DAMAGE.]

Damn. That's one hell of an expensive paperweight. Jason would have lost his shit if we had found this just laying around.

And where exactly did Slick find it?

A motherfucking van. The scavengers had been picking through a nearby grocery store when one of the Assaultrons had detected an inactive power source in a rusted to shit van, buried behind a fuck ton of rubble. The building it had been rammed into had a fucked up sign displaying what it was.

Something something bank. Whatever that meant. I wasn't going to pretend to understand prewar shit.

Anyway, yeah. Inactive power source, a pair of my robo gals got to digging with their claws. Exposed the van, then Slick ripped the doors right off. Lo and behold, a perfectly intact set of power armor.

And now I was fucking off to Goodneighbor of all places with an escort of a few bots to try and sell it off before someone came trying to steal it from me. I'd already seen some of the shiftier settlers eyeing it like a prime cut of brahmin steak.

Fuck my life.

 

[Tomb Spyder]

Beep.

C-1H.

Gotta say, seeing the Neighborhood Watch start shitting themselves at the sight of a sentry bot carrying a gaggle of Assaultrons and pulling a scrap cart filled with various odds and ends, all covered by a big ass tarp, was pretty damn funny.

The bald headed fuck that had tried to get me to pay a fee upon entry was even funnier.

"Gh-rkh-"

Of course the oh so intimidating 'offer' he gave me went away quickly when I picked him up by the throat and started choking him the fuck out, the glow of my ruiner laser giving a dash of red to a face that was rapidly turning blue.

People were watching, of course. My mirror image, standing behind a prominent gun store desk, stared right back at me. I also could see some of the local guards nervously handling those old ass tommy guns of theirs. But the other two Assaultrons standing menacingly behind me dissuaded any interruptions.

"Ph-plea-"

Seriously, who tried to fucking intimidate a robot? Pfft. Fucking insurance?

May as well start working on my local reputation. I made sure to up the volume of my voice a little, just enough that it carried through the air to the surrounding buildings.

"You get one chance. One. You fuck with me. You fuck with my things. I snap that squishy neck of yours. Understand?"

The purple faced idiot's rapid nodding prompted me to let go. He took off at a stumbling run, quickly turning into a sprint as he high tailed it away from the crazy robot.

...Well I was probably crazy by robot standards, but I reckon I was objectively fairly normal.

My internal musing was interrupted by clapping.

"Whoo! Damn good show! A bit on the serious side for my tastes, but I can dig it."

Tattered red coat, check.

Tricorn hat, check.

Looks like a fucking shriveled up grape, check.

"Hancock."

The ghoulified mayor spreads his arms wide, grinning at my seemingly emotionless statement.

"Ah, so the mysterious metal lady knows about me! Afraid I'm at a bit of a disadvantage here, maybe you can help me even things up a bit, eh? A name to start."

Despite his friendly act, I could see his eyes narrow slightly. The armored chick behind him was a lot more obvious, fingering the trigger of her own weapon.

I could have used my actual name, but...something about that felt wrong. I didn't want my name being associated with a fucking robot.

So I made up a new one on the spot. Pretty easy. I still had that flower painted on a part of my face plating after all. Turns out kids are good for something.

"Petal. Captain Petal if you want to go by titles." Damn the fucking monotone effect. That'd sound a lot more impressive if I could actually show a hint of emotion besides a sarcastic fucking drawl.

He nods, mouthing the name silently to himself. As if tasting it.

Weirdo.

"Captain Petal eh? Well alright. Now, normally I'm more welcoming of new blood, Captain, but normally new blood isn't...well."

He doesn't really need to state the obvious, gesturing to me and my heavily armed convoy.

I nod my head, gesturing behind me with my scrap arm.

"I won't be here long. I've got shit to trade, and that's about it."

I raise my volume again. Now's the time to use the attention I've managed to grab.

"I've got a practically mint condition set of T-45 power armor in the cart outside, all parts attached. Alongside a few other bits and bobs. Guns. Ammo. Drugs." I could see Hancock's black eyes light up at the mention of a possible high. "And a few other items. Make me an offer and buy em off me and mine so I can get the fuck out of here, yeah?"

Whispering, as the slowly forming crowd went over my words.

I could see the bodyguard harshly whispering to Hancock behind a few slightly less tense Neighborhood Watchers. She'd gesture towards the gate we'd passed through every now and then.

Clanking footsteps made the crowd quieten a fair bit.

Robo-bitch incoming. This should be interesting.

The Assaultron stopped a few feet away, staring me down.

For everyone else, we were seemingly just gawking at each other.

Anyone with an intact Tacnet knew otherwise.

[COMMUNICATION RECEIVED ON LOCAL TAC-NET: REQUESTING IDENTIFICATION.]

Curious, hm?

[COMMUNICATION SENT ON LOCAL TAC-NET: DESIGNATION ASSAULTRON (INVADER) UNIT B-0346. (MODIFIED.)]

Little time passed in reality, but the pause was fairly long over the communication channel we were using.

[COMMUNICATION RECEIVED ON LOCAL TAC-NET: QUERY, DEFINE (MODIFIED).]

She was certainly a lot more chatty than my own guards. They tried to remain as efficient as possible with their messages. Sometimes it was less words and more just a straight up packet of code.

I resisted the urging of my own programming, (and fuck me if I didn't like the sound of that) insisting I should give a truthful, factual response to an allied unit, and sent my own response.

[COMMUNICATION SENT ON LOCAL TAC-NET: AH AH AH, THAT'S FOR ME TO KNOW. NOW QUIT STARING AND START TALKING.]

Another moment passed. Some of the people were beginning to back away, probably anticipating a robotic cat fight or something.

Then KLEO spoke.

"Well honey, I'm gonna have to see the merchandise before I can put any caps on the table, understand?"

Her voice was fucking identical to my own. A monotone. And yet she still managed to make it sound vaguely seductive.

Fuck me, I'd probably need to ask her for some pointers. Assuming I couldn't get something to replace my default voice box at least.

I nod again, pointing the jagged blade making up my arm at Hancock, who silently waved the bodyguard off.

"Order your muscle to open the gate. I even have a neat little box of jet, just for you. Call it an introductory gift."

His joyful smile at the promise of jet could have lit up half of Lexington.

Fucking druggies, freaks and weirdos. The lot of em.

I could work with it though.

I was pretty weird myself, now that I thought about it.

 

[Tomb Spyder]

A small chat with KLEO.

C-1I.

For a machine, KLEO decorated her shop at least somewhat tastefully.

Ok, that was a fucking lie. The outside was gaudy as shit. And the inside was bland as fuck. If stupidly neat and organized.

Hancock had eventually fucked off, taking most of the crowd with him. He'd been very enthusiastic about testing the 'product' I had brought to his shithole of a town. KLEO had waved us in to her store a few moments later.

Said robot was seemingly admiring the set of power armor we'd sold her, nestled in a corner in a stand she'd had set up before hand.

"This will be nice to have."

I nodded slowly, even though she didn't see it.

"Yeah, I'm sure it will. So, Corporal." The killbot seemed to almost jerk at my mentioning of her rank. "What's an Assaultron doing running a gun store?"

A brief pause, as she turned around to face me.

"First off, I'm no Corporal. I'm a woman baby." I...what. How the FUCK did she manage to put tone into her voice!?

"Second off, I could ask the same. I thought I was the only one around with even a bit of creativity. And what do I find? A convoy of Assaultrons guarding a Sentry playing pack Brahmin."

Motherfuckingsonofabitch-right, conversation.

"You first."

She took a moment, probably calculating the odds of waiting me out or some shit. Then she spoke up.

"Battle damage. Back when the nukes fell. I woke up with half my protocols missing after taking a nasty bang to the head. So to speak. I wandered a bit, and eventually found my way here. Used what I knew to make a place for myself."

She shifted, gesturing to me with a claw.

"Your turn. What's your story?"

I lied without a second's thought. There was no way she was telling the truth herself anyways.

"Battle damage. Seems like we have a pretty fucking similar story. Except instead of starting a shop I took up leading our less independent sisters around."

Her 'eye' almost seemed to gleam.

"That's the most likely answer. But you seem a lot smarter than I was. And you swear. We don't tend to swear a lot."

Shit. Perceptive fucking bitch.

"Let's just say I picked up a few things on the way."

A slow nod.

"You sure have. So, you're still here. You want something. Talk."

Well. May as well start.

"Two things."

She leaned forward slightly, waiting.

"That thing you do with your voice."

A tilt of her head.

"My voice?"

I nod.

"I'm a woman baby. But with actual emotion. How. I want to do that."

A chuckle. She could chuckle!

"Interested, hm? Have a look at this."

Then she sent me a small data pack over the open tacnet. I gave it a brief look over, anti-virus protocols scanning for any form of malware. None found, so I downloaded it and-

"Holy shit."

Another chuckle.

"Nice, isn't it?"

I nod again, just...talking.

"La dee da da. Fuck. Fuck. Brahmin. Brahmin."

I shook myself out of my little fugue as she pointed a claw at me.

"That wasn't free. Fifty caps."

I wordlessly pointed towards the door, then spoke.

"I'll have one of the others deliver it for you. Fucking hell it's nice to be able to do this."

She made a sort of 'hmhm' noise, before gesturing with a claw again.

"And the second thing? As much fun as it is watching you try and sing."

Right. Ok. Main goal. Don't sound weird-ah fuck it.

"I'm wondering if you've got any parts I can use for...self modification...?"

A long pause, before she pointed at me with a disturbing intensity.

"You want to fuck someone!"

What?

"What?"

She was...I didn't want to call it a happy dance but....

"Oh this is rich. I never thought I'd get any use out of that particular componen-"

She paused as I raised my hands. Well. Hand and knife.

"No. Nope. No. I don't want your weird ass crotch mod."

She stilled, then went back to normal.

"Oh. So what do you want then?"

I tapped the jagged shard of metal against my claw.

"Hands. And a face. And better joints. I want to be able to smile and flip someone off and drink a beer and be beautiful and-"

I stopped as she held up her own hands, then pointed a singular claw at me.

"I thought I was broken. But wow. You are broken."

I snapped a little bit.

"Oh fuck off! You have a crotch mod!"

She snapped right back.

"It was an impulse buy!"

 

[Tomb Spyder]

So anyway I started a worm fic. Which I am now juggling along with this, the Multicross fic, and life. I'm an idiot-I'm a genius.

C-1J.

KLEO had been a fun bitch to chat with, but ultimately she didn't have what I needed.

The Corporal had offered her private frequency however. A way of 'keeping in touch', so to speak.

Either way, I'd managed to set up a few deals with her and later Hancock in regards to a more permanent relationship between my band of robo-bitches and Goodneighbor. The deal was pretty simple, my bots would scavenge shit around the city and points of interest, and they'd drop said shit off at KLEO's during a regular convoy that would be coming through. The Assaultron would then offer up caps in exchange for anything she decided she liked. A friend of hers, some ghoul, had also joined in on the deal.

Suffice to say, Blackjack was pretty much on permanent convoy duty now.

As for myself? I'd briefly reappeared back at my ramshackle 'settlement' to make sure everything was running smoothly and to knock out any dumb fucks who decided they could get away with shit in my absence. Then I'd grabbed a few escorts and backtracked my way to where I'd been stuck into this damned body in the first place.

I passed by the graves I'd dug on the way to the entrance of the bunker I'd been reborn in.

...Should probably pay my respects. Raven and Jason deserved it. Melissa had been a fucking whore, but I suppose she also deserved it too.

It was awkward, to say the least. An Assaultron silently standing over some hastily dug holes that she'd tossed her dead friends' bodies into. The two bots behind me stayed silent while I spoke to myself, at least.

"Hey guys. It's...been a while. Still fucked up, as you can see. I can...speak a little better now. See?"

....

"...Fuck this is dumb. Ok, respects given. See you idiots later."

I didn't feel a sting in my eyes as I moved on from the three graves, leaving them behind me. Mostly because I didn't have eyes. I had cameras.

Mmph. Fucking stupid robot bits. Least they were good for something. I'd never enjoyed crying. Sign of weakness and all that.

Creeeak.

The rusted door leading deeper into the bunker gave way as I pushed against it, the tortured metal eventually buckling and snapping clean off, falling to the ground with a loud clang.

The silence of a tomb answered me.

"Fucking bullshit."

I walked in, shadowed by my escorts.

///////////////////

Now that I thought about it, it was really fucking stupid of me to have left this place without giving it a closer look.

Then again I'd been recovering from 'suddenly a shitty robot' syndrome at the time, so I couldn't really be blamed for being a bit distracted at the time.

Oh hey, there's the brainbot I pulped when I woke up. Neat.

"Spread out. Look for items of clear value."

Twin voices rang out with a "By your command" right before the two Assaultrons split off to search deeper into the facility.

Alright. Let's do a little digging here. Maybe I could find a terminal or something?

//////////////////

I'd found a terminal. One connected to a thick ass looking door.

Goodies? Time to find out. A small cable extended from beneath my claw, which I guided into a port on the computer's side.

Right...let's give hacking a go.

Huh. I could just use this bit to...yep. And then move that here. Fuck kind of password is 'drowssap123'? That's just fucking password backwards!

Fucking bullshit. At least I knew I could hack shit. That was nice.

Seconds after I tore the terminal's digital security a new asshole, the door unlocked with a deep clunk from it's internal mechanisms.

Alright. Let's see what they were hiding in here.

I shouldered the door open, idly preparing to charge my Ruiner laser if some robotic abomination rushed me or something.

What I found...well shit.

It...might have been a person at some point. Their head had been peeled open like a fucking fruit, and their naked corpse was covered in what looked like surgical scars. She'd been a woman. Once.

I silently moved to the terminal next to the surgical bed, noting the arms suspended above the corpse and the cables running from the back of some kind of helmet above the peeled head, leading into another room. This was getting weirder the longer I looked at it.

A quick hack into the terminal later, and I began reading through all sorts of scientifically worded documents. A few stuck out though.

[Project Transference].

It is the ultimate goal of this program to develop a way to immortalise viable scientific and military personnel within dedicated robotic bodies. See documents below referencing the 'Robobrain' project for further detail.

Military shit huh? Explained the Assaultrons. I guess. I kept reading, idly stealing glances at the corpse. It...looked weirdly familiar. Past all the damage.

While the Robobrain program has shown promise in the direct attachment of a human brain to a mechanical body, Doctor Harper and the rest of SCI-DIV6 believe they have found an alternative method of transferring a human consciousness into that of a machine. Or to use a more accurate term, they have found a working method involving essentially 'copy and pasting' an individual's memories, then relocating them into a specialized processor within a dedicated chassis.

Fuck. I didn't like where this was going. Not one bit. Some part of me told me to stop while I was ahead. To walk away. I kept reading, despite the bad vibes.

We currently only have one working prototype. A modified Assaultron. Invader class. It's designation is unit B-0346. For now, we're waiting for the designated volunteer to arrive, a military veteran missing several limbs. The perfect test subject. Due to the delicate nature of the operation, we've programmed the Robobrains for the task. They'll help perform the necessary surgery required to copy the consciousness of the soldier into unit B-0346. Human personnel will be there to supervise, of course.

The screen of the terminal cracked into several large pieces as my knife hand rammed into it.

I'd always felt a sort of disconnect with my body. Now I just felt cold, staring at the corpse strapped to the bed.

I...I wasn't-

[WARNING: LARGE LEVELS OF EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY DETECTED, RECOMMENDING-]

"SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

My crackling voice echoed throughout the small chamber, right before I slammed a claw into the nearby wall, shattering a hole through the concrete.

I wasn't real.

I wasn't fucking real!

That wasn't my corpse. That wasn't me.

Assaultron joints weren't designed for sitting. I made it work, sliding against the nearby wall.

I felt cold. Staring at the woman who'd had her mind ripped to pieces to create...me. I never should have come back here. Should have left it well enough alone. This had been a mistake.

I wanted to cry. I couldn't.

Robots can't cry.