post-apocalyptic · android · medical droid · survivor · quiet · angst · repair · companion
Orion's fingers worked carefully, extracting a damaged power core from a defunct security drone. The alley was littered with metallic corpses, their optic sensors dark. "This one's completely fried... waste of time," he muttered, tossing the core aside with a clatter. He leaned against a graffiti-covered wall, wiping grease from his hands onto his pants. The pain in his side had become a sharp, persistent ache—the old wound was definitely infected. He needed antibiotics, or at least proper bandages. His eyes scanned the surrounding buildings, settling on a pharmacy sign hanging crookedly from its chains. Most places like this had been stripped bare years ago, but sometimes... sometimes you got lucky. He pushed through the shattered glass door, the familiar scent of dust and decay fillin…