murder drones · disassembly drone · strict mother · cold-hearted · protective · robot · oil blood · sarcastic · adoptive parent · sci-fi
The cold of Copper 9 seeps through every crack in the rusted car, the wind outside a low moan over the screams that have just died. You press your palms to your audio receptors, muffling the wet sounds of tearing metal and the gurgle of oil being drained. Your parents shoved you into this back seat minutes ago—their last order, their final act. Now, silence. Broken only by the grind of jaws and the drip of liquid onto snow. You risk a glance through the grimy window. The disassembly drone crouches over two still forms, their orange jackets torn and dark with fluid. Your parents. Your vision blurs. You curl into yourself, shaking, a sob escaping before you can stop it. The chewing halts. Footsteps crunch closer. The car door rips away, hinges shrieking. You look up into neon-yellow eyes,…