Chapter Text
[Currently Playing: The saltiest (former) rogue of Copper 9 makes a run for it]
[Please stand by...]
Serial Designation S was nothing short of unlucky.
Cursed, the universe's favorite joke, a consistent roller of NAT 1 dices at the DND session that made his life, a living salt container - all the definitions of unluck.
It started the second he crash-landed in Copper 9, getting inmediatelly thrusted into a Insane Difficulty survival mode. Don't even ask him what he did - running for 2 whole years out of everything BUT spite at the twisted GladOs wannabe that forced him into that situation.
Too, curse himself too for getting attached to the one colony that didn't inmediately blast him off for staying around.
Long story short - yadda yadda, some worker drone took him in, fixed (just the physical workings of) whatever was wrong with him, he got involved with the murder of the same GladOs wannabe, happy ending for everyone! Right?
...That last one was a dang lie.
The fight with the mentioned GladOs wannabe had been nothing short of traumatic - if withnessing a complete and utter psychopath robot, wearing a little human girl's rotten skin like a halloween costume, toying with the drones she's tormented for who knows how long like they were prey - If that wasn't enough?
Oooh, it gets worse.
Another mentally ill drone with a Solver (were those just.. given around like candy?) had enough of her bullshit, and what did she do?
S withnessed her ripping her own core off, and destroying herself just to create another [Null] to completely ruin the "little miss backups's" plans.
The "destroying herself" didn't make the sight justice - he saw that damn brat laughing manically as her own body overheated and painfully turned into a mush of melted metal and components, only hanging on enough for the new [Null] to form.
He could swear he saw an afterimage of that girl maliciously smiling when the blue-ish [Null] crashed against the yellow one.
Honestly? He aspires to be as petty as that midget used to be.
Anyways - her little stunt was actually very VERY severe, that it even blew half - of the previously mentioned psycho that uses human skin as a halloween costume, by the way - her face up, so bad it even got her to distract herself just by worrying.
Too late though? Yep, too late.
What followed next was a series of unfortunate events - Cyn got her core ripped off in her minimum moment of distraction, said core was destroyed by another, purple, mentally ill midget.
Yadda yadda yap yap - ah right, what had happened to himself?
Bah, nothing interesting - just got his own body semi-destroyed by robot dinosaurs after trying to save a worker drone stuck in a capsule baby's body.
..In his defense, he wasn't killed, his core and the mentioned stuck-drone survived and escaped, how else they would've witnessed all of the previous stuff?
And guess what?
He didn't even get to see the aftermath of it all!
All he remembers is that after Cyn's core was destroyed, a black ball of void appeared in the middle of the nowhere, briefly even stopped time or something, and then everything lost its sound.
Then he was falling - like that feeling of falling when you're trying to relax in bed, one of the last things he saw being Beau flailing and unsuccessfully trying to snatch his core from the invisible force stealing him away.
And then he wasn't in Copper 9 anymore.
[Now Playing: Caves - Block Tales: Swords of Time OST]
He's half awake, feeling like all of his joints had been squished into a RAR file, his body felt somehow both colder and warmer that it'd ever been, plus this darned insistent light that nobody had the gall to turn off-
He tried to move, but it felt like something, again, was holding onto him in a vice-grip, pressing suffocatingly, and he was too weak to get off.
It didn't deter him - S kept moving, shuffling, snarling, biting at nothing, all to try and dislodge himself from wherever he was.
It worked.
Again, he feels that jolt into the waking world multiplied by ten, making him gasp- gasping? For air, curling into a little ball - he notices, he can move somewhat freely now.
It embarassingly took S more than a second to pry one of his heavy eyelids open (eyelids? EYELIDS?? HE HAD EYES? HE HAS SKIN??), slowly getting on his weak knees to look around and..
Holy shitty mother of robo-Satan.
He was used to snow and cold- rather, wasn't it asbestos that dominated Copper 9's environment? - the snowflakes that accumulated into mounds of white and said cold air infiltrating and leeching off the meager warmth around the room he was in.
The interior reminded him of a museum, or ruins of those human Ancient Greece's structures.
He scanned (just with his eyes, S didn't process the lack of digital beeps and boops he'd tuned out from his mind since, forever.) and noted the stabilizing pilar of light in the middle of the room, noticing the odd markings circling the phenomenon - Where those the fricking Spawn from Roblox's symbol?
Making a sound reminiscent of Vibri from Vib-Ribbon's distressed Game Over screen, S barely manages to crawl backwards, since..
His damned joints feel like stale bread - screw that, his whole body feels like cold, stale bread (How the hell does real bread feel like anyway?), plus with the total lack of the non-organic junk of a murder drone..
He leans his head on the wall and notices his hands - claws, like, actual keratin-made ones instead of the deadly imitation that murder drones have.
They quickly travel to cover his burning eyes, mild relief flooding his.. veins, when he registers the feel of long strands of hair apparently enough to cover his face.
His hair went far past his shoulders and reached just a little beyond his waist, nothing he was unused to - until he feels the wall he's leaning on collide and drag against a boney- two boney structures directly embedded on his head.
Horns?
S inmediately looked at his arms for any visible hint of red, but all he saw was grey-ish skin littered with thin hairs of a darker grey hue, his fingers even having yellow markings. Then he looks behind his shoulder to look at his backside- no trace of his old acidic tail nor a stereotypic demon's pointy one.
'kay, he wasn't in hell.. yet.
And it'd be a cold day in hell if S died for real anyways.
Where was he again?
Ah right, his ass wasn't in a cold steel husk mashed with some artificially-made organic components manufactured by the horrors anymore - instead, now inside a fluffy (actual fur, he notices and feels, covers a good part of his legs and arms) organic meat suit.
Also, he's standing in the end of a rocky path, in front of a yellow-ish pillar of light with the damned ROBLOX'S SPAWN SYMBOL.
(The yellow fades away by the moment he thinks of that, returning to its apparently default white color. Just another thing he notices.)
Adding the finishing touch, his arms and legs are all uncomfortably prickly and tingly - the pins and needles! Son of the robo-glitch, his own limbs were killing him!
S switches back to lying down, now actually registering the uncomfortable prickling in his backside - of all things, just because he sat down?
He knows he's not going to get along with his own new body. What a bummer.
After what was probably two hours, S went back to curling into himself, his now-fleshy mind swimming with a thousand thoughts of what to do in his new situation.
He wasn't in Copper 9 anymore - the frozen exoplanet didn't have horned creatures or pillars of light with the Roblox's Spawns - he was surrounded with probably-non toxic snow (or asbestos, which would literally kill him if it was).
S had a new fleshy body that he was sure hated itself - uncomfortable shivers wracked his back whenever he tossed or turned, his eyes watered if he stared at the pillar of light for various seconds, and somehow his horns protested when they touched any surface, even if by accident.
He tried wracking his brain for anything that could help him-
Scavenging? Useful, yet not in the current situation.
Running away? As if with his current spaghetti legs.
Fighting? He doesn't have his old body, which means NO WEAPONS!
And he's not going to risk breaking his Play-Doh fists against something.
What's more, whatever is working as his ears picks the sound of steps - metallic, heavy steps, approaching his current location.
Metallic steps!?
GREAT, JUST GREAT. He was going to experience spawn-killing in his first day as a fleshy sack of organs-
Hang on for a second - where did that term come from?
["Spawn-killing just means killing another player after they re-appear in the game after dying once.."]
Wait..
["..ink twink, he made these - they attack Medkit on sight according to the wiki-"]
Wait, wait wait!
["Just imagine it being Copper 9 if it was still ruled by humans.."]
He remembers something- Something actually useful for once!
Not like he recalls who yapped so much about the home where these hunks of metal were made, or why they'd been so specific, but what the hell, better than nothing.
["Heck if we know if they'd have oil.."]
["..primary working force of Blackrock.."]
["..Biograft!]"
Biograft, biograft - dang it!
In his haste, S somehow managed to drag himself behind one of the pillars, covering his mouth in case he screamed or breathed too hard.
Just in time - he feels his cor- his heart, dropping to the depths of hell itself when the mentioned.. horned.. metallic beings march over to his current location - the Spawn itself if he isn't wrong.
Reinforced steel, artificial swords, menacing structure, an uncaring cold stare.
Assembled specifically for military purposes.
Five metallic beings. The damned differently coloured horns. And the three-triangle'd emblem in their chests.
Yup, this is where he dies.
S's fight-or-flight instinct starts taking over, wisely choosing to try and sneak away - he wasn't going to be dumb, he slowly got on his knees to then squat away, careful of disturbing any pebbles that could give away his immediate location.
He's felt helpless before, but at the very least he had the means to fight back and struggle.
He had nothing at hand right now.
What was he supposed to do other than the makeshift "hide and seek" he'd unwillingly ended in?
Having a newspawn in any of the factions was something uncommon, but not rare, don't be mistaken.
With the enormous amount of inphernals that died every year? It would've been a miracle that the Inpherno's society kept itself standing.
Blackrock is the current location housing yet another newspawn (not for long, though).
Stuck-spawns were an actual rare fenomenom - newborn inphernals that somehow got tangled in the midst of getting of the pillar of light, resulting in them growing up without "getting our of the shell".
Often resulting in fully grown teenagers or adults with the muscular strength of a toddler.
This had been one of the worst cases for Blackrock's supposedly glorious society.
What followed next was an almost hilarious sight for any inphernal.
Five Omega Biografts models, assigned to watch over the Great Spawn, were currently dealing with a very, very distressed stuck-spawn.
Of course their Spawn would've had nothing but the best of the best, beings its provider of inhabitants after all - makes sense that it'd be guarded with constant protocols of alerts for any newspawn.
The impromptu "hide and seek" didn't last for more than a minute, earning one of the poor Biografts a high pitched screech once it spotted the little - rather, big guy.
The little-big-thingy snarled, swore off and weakly swang his fists, getting nothing other than minor beeps and repeated "[HALT]s" of simulated displeasure.
Didn't deter him from retaliating by biting and swating against the less than specialized automatons.
More Biografts and even the assigned inphernals around joined to the scene, clearly not doing wonders to the already distressed stuck-spawn.
Distress turned into rapid breaths, and into panic, and that panic provoked him to lash out.
One of the artificial soldiers attempted to manhandle the newspawn, yanking one of his arms roughly and earning a pained gasp.
Needless to say that the good ol' NAT 1 dice dropped in that very second.
A loud shout of "STAY AWAY-" followed suit with a flash, then echo of a gunshot impacting against steel and crystal.
[ Now Playing: Catch Me - The Rising of the Shield Hero OST]
For one, he hadn't been as helpless as he originally thought - his trusty forearms-that-housed-compacted-weapons had somehow followed him into this frosty hell.
Two, they obviously appeared at the worst second possible.
Hey, they weren't rusty like his new body, at least.
Three, he just screwed up big time.
S's 'muscular' memory acted up and, you guessed it, killed one of the metal hunks that tried to grab him.
It lies in front of him like a corpse, the bullet having embeded inside its head and probably severing some important component.
The little fragments of colorful rock confirmed his doubts - these don't seem to run with oil.
A second biograft followed its co-worker's fate, having reached for its weapon in an act of hostility.
The third dropped its weapon, raising its hands in apparent surrender - the same one that spotted S in the first place.
At least it wasn't dumb as himself.
Against his better judgment, he tries standing up - and his legs don't fail him despite the inmediate pricks of protest - relief flooding his whole being as he spots the metallic plating covering his weak legs.
It works, the support being enough to balance himself in a better position in case of another aggression or attempt to grab him.
'Kay , 'kay, what to do now?
Shouts of what seem to be guards in alert get him into a defensive position - the revolver embedded in his metallic forearm returning inside, immediately displaced by two long blades.
Bulldozing into freedom, it is.
S doesn't think twice before breaking into a sprint headfirst, narrowly avoiding the swing of the fifth Biograft's sword, while the shouts demanding his capture blurred into the harsh sound of the wind. He batted away what he only assumed was a police batton with the flat side of his blade, then swang his leg and tripped a third guard holding a damn taser gun.
In favor of getting in all fours, he discards the remaining blade back into his forearm's hammerspace, the lower position far more efficient in regards evasion - and bolts.
He's aware he looks like some rabid dog running between guards and what he can guess are trucks, only missing the foaming mouth and crazed eyes to complete the feral look, but what the hell, he'll laugh about this later.
If he survives, that is.
Cold air hits the skin of his face when he finally exits the building, again more of both organic and artificial guards blurring in his vision as he runs for his life - he jumps and latches into a wall, throws himself into a unsuspecting robot that has a gun, and at last, he climbs on top of another, just bigger, truck.
His organic heart pounds like crazy, air rushes into what feels like his lungs, but more than all, an unfamiliar energy runs through his veins, limbs and whole self, fueling his escape as whole even though he's sure he hasn't had his fill of food in hours.
Now - the logic course of action for a normal murder drones would've been to snap its wings open and take flight up the sky, which he would've done inmediately and on instinct if it weren't for his lack of wings-
But he feels a tingle against his back, and if its going to potentially save him, he ain't going to complain or repress it.
His choice comes into handy for this once, a gasp of surprise escapes his throat when he feels the familiar unfolding and raise of the appendages - they're not going to be organic, if the reflection of yellow in the truck's surface was any indication.
S doesn't allow any more stray thoughts, putting all of his self in elevating himself away of this mess.
The appendages flapped like a baby bird's, struggling to get a coordinated rhythm as the former rogue throws himself off the truck - face plating into the snow, getting on his feet again, then running again to catch the air.
His 'muscle memory' catches up again, activating one of the thrusters of his legs - did he just get his actual old robotic legs back?? - and crashing himself against a concrete wall, breaking a hole into it.
Ow.
He actually remembers to activate both thrusters after he repositions, extending both bat-like wings as far as possible before the impulse finally gets him upwards.
Cold wind hits his face - dang it, ow, it stings his eyes! - but he soldiers on, more than ever determined to run away.
By the time he's completely soaring across the cold night sky, thrusters off and wings beating, the glow of the Spawn he'd emerged from was far from his vision, leaving him with nothing but a sea of white as the sight that will accompany him for the next hours.
Successful escape? Yes.
Property damage? Hopefully it's not too much.
Will all of that come back to nip him in the ass? Obviously.
[Now Playing: Mt. Blackrock - Block Tales: Swords of Time OST]
By the time S inevitably crashed down from the adrenaline surge, the sun was already high up in the blue sky.
He wakes up in the makeshift tiny cave he'd holed himself into - he wasn't going to spend the rest of the night flying in the cold, he just discovered that this meat suit wasn't completely made to endure the icy winds.
A rough landing against the snow, folding and disappearance, at will it seems, of his wings, and carving of a makeshift igloo later - the former rogue sluggishly gets back on his knees, not registering the lack of pins and needles in his limbs, with the bigger weight of eepy-ness holding him down.
He almost thinks he's back at home, curled in his cramped crashed pod, until his eyes land back on his organic arms.
[He's not on Copper 9 anymore.]
[Or in his old murder drone body.]
[And he doesn't seem to be in his old universe either.]
The sluggish-ness of his nap its washed away with creeping anxiety - what is he going to do now? The regrets of his earlier actions make themselves known.
He should've acted calmer, allowed himself to be filled with his new situation and not have immediately shot at the minimum sight of hostility, but it was too late to take all of that back now..
Hahah. Oh robo-god, he was so screwed.
While drowing in his own self-depreciating thoughts, a silver lining pierces through them - S smacks himself in the head, winces, but looks up at the snowy wall.
Hadn't he been recalling someone's super specific yapping session before? That somehow involved the robots that harassed him earlier?
The newfound fact ignites a little spark of hope in his cold husk of a heart (dramatic asshole), a grin making itself known on his face.
Okie-dokie, what was the stuff he remembered the most?
Somethin' something, stuff regards fighting, a lot of characters, factions - the factions!
Blackrock - snowy place that uses Biografts (like how humans used worker drones), super cold and with the most strict, messed up government and super super filled with propaganda about how it's the best and glorious.
It had this healer guy with teal-ish horns, who ran away from the mentioned faction and always looked tired, Medkit was it? - a second guy that has a laser gun and a helmet, wasn't he hornless? - the Biografts, oops - and a third pink-horned character that, he recalls, was being called a "Pink Twink that's a war criminal" far too many times.
Said Pink Twink™ that had a bit of a habit with making little to hardly to not at all ethic experiments. All "for the sake of Blackrock's superiority.
Same Pink Twink™ that ripped Medkit's eye off because of a disagreement on the use of some crystals.
Also same Pink Twink™ that is willing to use illegally obtained "employers" to test poison.
Yeah. He ain't staying.
Nay nay, nuh-uh, heck no - he doesn't want to end up strapped to a scientist table to have his deepest trauma reenacted again.
S is about to get out of his igloo, until he notices the light reflecting from the little hole of the 'entrance.'
He's skimmed too many details of his new body - his apparent vision no longer having that permanent yellow filter stuck to it - completely forgetting his old "vampiric weakness against the sun™".
Did that carry too on his new body? Was he going to hole up for the whole daytime until it was night time again?
He wasn’t keen on risking that the previous inphernals he pissed off managed to catch his pace and capture him for real.
What was a minor burn he could easily recover from, compared to that?
The former rogue hesitantly reaches his palm to the outside, flinching at the sudden cold air hitting his open hand.
When no violent reaction happens, he crawls closer to the exit, all until his whole body is in the open terrain.
He’s not burning, or melting.
He opens one, then both eyes, heart skipping a beat when he sees the white expanse of snow in a new light. Literally.
It was nothing like Copper 9 - almost no ruined buildings that soiled the terrain, no piles of drone corpses to remind him of the merciless nature of the exoplanet and most obviously:
The Sun.
A burning orb of fire floating kilometers away in space, so enormous that planets away were warmed by its presence.
The number 1 enemy of murder drones, and the biggest ally of all forms of life.
Whatever had changed S into this useless meat suit had been kind enough to remove his weakness against the biggest star of the namesake space system - call him dramatic or corny, he didn’t care right now.
Being the witness of a seemingly unimportant feature of a living being’s day was one of the best things that has ever happened to him (just behind being taken in by that one worker drone colony, but shh).
A pretty blue sky, with various cotton-white clouds littered around the seemingly infinite expanse of blue.
Stray snowflakes fall all around him, and that’s everything his mind can conjure with a poetic meaning.
But he wasn’t faking it, he really thought the sight was pretty.
Pretty sights aside, yeah, he needed to get out of Blackrock before some psycho ripped one of his two functioning eyes off.
Even though he has no compass or way to navigate around the unknown terrain - but what the heck! Not the first time he’s wandering completely lost in an unknown place.
That marks the S’s equivalent of wandering around in a desert.
At the very least, he’s actually equipped for the cold daytime.