Murder Drones: New Models

On the violet display: Reboot System Admin: Serial Designation N, Uzi Doorman In the darkness, two violet eyes appeared. Izun, groaning in pain, managed to crawl out from under the metal shelves that had pinned him down. Some of them had shattered into pieces. Izun: Ugh… Mom’s gonna kill me… The young Drone thought to himself. A wave of fear swept over him—Uzi might punish him harshly. Just remembering the house fire incident was enough. Though, to be fair, wrecking the basement and burning down the entire house were two very different levels of destruction… and rage. Still, his first priority was: “How do I fix the broken lock?” Considering Uzi rarely came down here—only on Sundays, their guaranteed day off—he could reseal the door and clean up the mess bit by bit during the week. Luckily, today was Monday. From this moment on, Monday became Izun’s favorite day, even though most kids his age hated it for marking the start of the school week. But for Izun, it felt like Sunday—because on that day, with both parents home, his father pushed him hard to study. And even though he understood the importance of learning, he didn’t exactly enjoy it. Still, Izun was two years ahead of his peers in terms of school knowledge. The current education system worked like this: grades 1–4 (elementary school) focused on theory, grades 5–9 (middle school) emphasized practice with occasional theory, and grades 10–11 (high school)… well, Izun didn’t know. He’d learned all elementary material at home and never attended school. Only his mother had gone to school, but back then, the system was different—so there was no one to ask. Lost in thought, Izun managed to patch the lock and make it look untouched. Now his mind turned to the real mystery: what the heck was that thing in the basement? He realized the railgun on the table had pulled him toward it, and when he tensed up, it responded with a green flash that blew up the room. Now he understood why his parents had forbidden him from going down there. But curiosity burned brighter than fear—he wanted to recreate the event himself. Out in the backyard, he began experimenting. At first, nothing happened. Izun just waved his arms, trying to “push out” an explosion. Exhausted, he sat on a lounge chair and gazed at the beautiful star-filled sky and the massive Copper-9 satellite. Despite the lack of a post-apocalyptic atmosphere, its rings still made it look majestic and threatening. Staring at the giant, Izun felt how small they all were in comparison. No force could tear it apart. He remembered the sensation of releasing that lime-green energy—it was like pushing something invisible yet tangible… or super ultra tiny. Wait! His mother had told him her railgun converted photons using a magnetic amplifier. Izun realized that to accelerate photons to destructive levels, some were already stored in the weapon—hence the acid-green glow. The amplifier then pulled those battle-ready photons, accelerated them, and released them in a single burst. Thinking further, the oil in the basement likely belonged to him. His mother must’ve implanted something inside him—since the photons had been drawn to him. That’s what she meant when she said the railgun was his gift and “no one would notice.” Izun shivered at the thought—but also marveled at the genius of it. At first, he assumed she’d installed the railgun in his inventory, like his father and other Disassembly Drones who could swap hands for tools. But this was better—the magnetic amplifier was embedded directly into his arms, inside the frame. Izun: HOLY CRAP! — he shouted, unable to contain his excitement. Just as he grasped the brilliance of it all, a new problem arose: how do you use it? FUN FACT: Originally, Uzi planned to give Izun a magnetic amplifier for his 10th birthday, and for his 8th, her own choker with the inscription “002,” which had become a family relic. But since it looked like a feminine accessory, she wanted to redesign it into a pendant. Eventually, she abandoned the idea—performing surgery on her son turned out to be easier. Izun resumed his practice. After two hours of air-pushing, he finally produced a small green beam that carved a shallow groove in the yard. Izun: YESSS! I did it! But joy was followed by trouble. The Drone suddenly felt sick, his head throbbed, and his system warned of overheating. Izun: A-a-a… Damn… I need to co-o-o-ol down… Barely making it inside, he climbed into the freezer—his best idea at the time. He sat there for 20 minutes, but the overheating barely subsided. Izun: Dad overheats too… He drinks that blue stuff from the bottles. And if there’s none, he stays with Mom and tells me to leave the room… Thinking about it, Izun spotted the very same blue bottles labeled “Freezer.” He climbed out, grabbed one, and drank it—despite the risk. Instantly, the overheating vanished. Joy returned—followed, once again, by pain. This time, his system warned of frostbite. If overheating felt like burning, frostbite felt like being stabbed by needles all over. Izun: What the heck is this curse?! There was only one way out. Grabbing another bottle, he rushed to the backyard. After a few more attempts, he fired another photon blast—stronger than before. Despite the power, he felt he could go even further. But again—overheating. He drank another bottle. And again—frostbite. Izun was desperate. He imagined dying or living in endless cycles of pain. But he decided on one last attempt. Like a drunk, he staggered to the kitchen, grabbed another bottle, and headed outside. Instead of firing, he drank the Freezer. His system began freezing—inside and out. Breathing became difficult. The words “Fatal Error” flickered before his eyes. The world darkened… until a wild scream tore through the silence, followed by a blinding green flash. Izun opened his eyes, lying on the ground. His system temperature had normalized. Rising to his feet, he saw a massive trench ahead, dust rising in a column. If he hadn’t collapsed and aimed the beam skyward, several neighboring yards might’ve been destroyed. Realizing the danger, the Drone rushed to cover the trench with branches—if his parents saw this, he’d be in serious trouble. And then there was still the basement… Izun: Crap! — he muttered. Deciding to deal with it tomorrow, he headed toward the house—but collapsed from exhaustion, his display flashing “Error.” From the rooftop, a mysterious Drone watched it all. Judging by the violet display, head-lights, and tail dripping with nanite acid—it was a Disassembly Drone. They spread their wings and flew off into the night.