Chapter 2: Rusty’s First Day

Berry woke up to the faint hum of Rusty’s systems whirring to life beside his bed. The previous night’s events still felt surreal—finding the broken KN-9 in the junkyard, cleaning him up, and giving him a name. Rusty. The name had felt perfect, and now, as Berry sat up, he realized just how much the robot dog already meant to him.

“Good morning,” Rusty said, its voice glitching slightly on the second syllable. “Time to initiate… protocols… wait… error: protocols not found.”

Berry smirked. “Good morning to you too, Rusty. Guess we’re both winging it today.”

He glanced at the clock. 7:15 AM. Time to get ready for school—a place Berry hated just a little less now that he had Rusty. But bringing him along? That was a risk.

“Rusty, you’ll stay here today, okay?” Berry said, pulling on his uniform.

Rusty tilted his head, his glowing eyes flickering. “Why? Are my systems insufficient for social engagement?”

“It’s not that,” Berry muttered. “It’s just… people might think you’re weird.”

Rusty paused for a moment, then replied with a tone Berry swore sounded smug. “Weirdness: statistically correlated with individuality. Individuality: optimal for personality development.”

Berry sighed. “Fine, but don’t embarrass me.”

Rusty’s tail, a mismatched piece of scrap Berry had hastily reattached, wagged with a faint clank-clank-clank.

Berry’s arrival at Crescent High was always a quiet affair. He kept his head down, avoiding Jason and his crew as he made his way to the bike rack. This time, however, Rusty trotted beside him, drawing immediate attention.

“Is that a KN-9?” someone whispered.

“Where’d he get that piece of junk?”

Berry felt his cheeks flush, but Rusty didn’t seem to notice—or care. He walked with the confidence of a state-of-the-art unit, even as his mismatched parts clinked with every step.

“Berry, wait up!”

Tim’s voice cut through the murmurs. He jogged over, his tray of breakfast burritos balanced precariously in one hand. His eyes widened when he saw Rusty.

“Dude, where the hell did you get that?” Tim asked, pointing with a burrito.

Berry hesitated. He didn’t want to admit he’d found Rusty in a junkyard—it sounded pathetic. “Uh… long story. Let’s just say he’s a work in progress.”

Rusty’s glowing eyes turned to Tim. “Greetings. I am Rusty, a KN-9 unit. My current condition is… suboptimal. Error logs available upon request.”

Tim blinked. “Okay, that’s both creepy and kinda awesome.”

“Thanks,” Berry mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

Before they could talk further, the school bell rang.

“Catch you at lunch,” Tim said, heading toward his class.

Berry exhaled, grateful for the escape.

Rusty followed Berry into his first-period class, earning more than a few stares. Mrs. Jensen, the grumpy chemistry teacher, raised an eyebrow as they walked in.

“Berry, is that—”

“A KN-9? Yeah,” Berry interrupted quickly, sliding into his seat. “He’s harmless.”

Rusty, as if on cue, barked—a glitchy, mechanical sound that made half the class jump.

Mrs. Jensen sighed. “Just keep it quiet.”

Berry slouched in his chair, wishing he could disappear.

By lunchtime, word of Berry’s KN-9 had spread across the school. As he and Tim sat at their usual table, a few students wandered over, curious about Rusty.

“Where’d you get it?” one girl asked.

“Why does it look so… old?” another added.

Berry’s stomach twisted, but Rusty answered before he could.

“My appearance is a result of environmental exposure and haphazard repairs. Functionality, however, remains sufficient for daily activities.”

Tim snorted into his soda. “Dude, your dog roasts himself better than I ever could.”

“Not helping,” Berry muttered, but a small smile crept onto his face.

Across the cafeteria, Lyla sat with her friends. She glanced over at Berry’s table, her gaze lingering on Rusty.

Tim noticed. “Hey, dude, Lyla’s checking out your KN-9. You should—”

“Nope,” Berry said quickly.

“Come on, man! This is your chance! Everyone knows she’s into tech stuff. Just go over there and—”

“Tim,” Berry interrupted, his voice firm. “Drop it.”

Tim shrugged. “Your loss.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. By the time Berry and Rusty returned home, Berry was exhausted. He flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Rusty sat by the door, his glowing eyes dimmed to a soft blue. “Analysis: social interactions today were suboptimal.”

Berry groaned. “Tell me about it.”

Rusty tilted his head. “You performed adequately. Better than predicted.”

Berry rolled over to look at him. “That’s your idea of a compliment?”

“Yes,” Rusty replied simply.

Berry laughed softly. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

That night, as Berry cleaned the grease off Rusty’s joints, he found himself thinking about the day. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel completely invisible.

Maybe, just maybe, Rusty wasn’t such a bad addition to his life after all.