Chapter 3: The Glitches We Call Progress

The soft hum of Rusty’s systems filled the room as Berry stared at the holographic projection of his homework. The floating screen flickered faintly in the dim light, a reminder of just how advanced the world around him was—and just how far behind he felt most of the time. In 2060, kids were practically born with neural interfaces and holographic assistants. Berry, on the other hand, relied on an outdated wristband for everything, including projecting his assignments.

Rusty, perched beside him like an eager study partner, tilted his head as the screen glitched momentarily.

“Error detected in visual display,” Rusty said, his tone unusually formal. “Recommendation: acquire updated hardware.”

Berry chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. Just need a few thousand credits I don’t have.”

Rusty’s glowing eyes narrowed slightly, as if processing Berry’s sarcasm. “Solution: explore alternative income streams. Scanning for job opportunities…”

Berry waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t bother. I’m not taking financial advice from a robot that literally came from a junkyard.”

Rusty’s tail wagged with a faint metallic clink. “Acknowledged. Financial planning suspended.”

The next morning, Berry’s usual routine was interrupted by a faint vibration from his wristband. A notification blinked across the screen: Crescent High Drone Races—Registration Closing Today!

Berry stared at the message, his mind spinning. Drone races were a big deal at Crescent High. The school’s tech yard housed state-of-the-art drone tracks that looped through neon-lit tunnels and simulated terrain. Participating in the races was a surefire way to gain attention—especially Lyla’s.

But there was a catch. Students needed to provide their own custom drones.

Berry sighed, glancing at Rusty. “Well, I guess that’s out. Not like I can just build a drone from scratch.”

Rusty’s eyes flickered. “Clarification: drone assembly is within feasible parameters. Junkyard resources are abundant.”

Berry blinked. “Wait, you’re saying we could actually make one?”

Rusty stood, his mismatched legs clanking softly. “Affirmative. Probability of success: 68.3%.”

Berry raised an eyebrow. “That’s… not very comforting.”

Rusty’s head tilted. “Revised probability: 72.6% with adequate motivation.”

Berry couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, Rusty. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The junkyard, as always, was a labyrinth of discarded tech. Berry followed Rusty through the maze of rusted metal and forgotten machines, the air thick with the smell of oil and ozone. Automated cranes in the distance sorted piles of scrap into neat towers, their movements precise and mechanical.

Rusty navigated the terrain like he’d been programmed for it, his glowing eyes scanning for usable parts.

“Target acquired,” Rusty announced, nudging a pile of scrap with his paw.

Berry crouched down and dug through the debris, unearthing what looked like the frame of an old delivery drone. Its sleek design, though battered, hinted at its potential.

“This could work,” Berry muttered, holding the frame up to inspect it.

“Required components include propulsion systems, stabilizers, and a control interface,” Rusty said. “Scanning vicinity…”

Rusty led Berry to another section of the junkyard, where they found a set of intact propellers, a damaged but repairable stabilization unit, and a neural control chip that was only slightly fried.

“This stuff’s ancient,” Berry said, stuffing the parts into his bag. “You sure it’ll work?”

“Optimism is recommended,” Rusty replied. “Alternatively, I can initiate motivational playback.”

Berry smirked. “Pass.”

Back home, Berry transformed the cluttered workbench in his dad’s shop into a makeshift drone assembly station. Holographic schematics hovered above the table, courtesy of Rusty’s internal systems.

“Let’s see…” Berry muttered, attaching the propellers to the drone frame. “If this thing flies for more than ten seconds without crashing, I’ll call it a win.”

Rusty observed intently, occasionally offering advice. “Propeller alignment off by 2.7 degrees. Correction is advised.”

Berry adjusted the propeller with a sigh. “You know, for a busted KN-9, you sure have a lot of opinions.”

Rusty’s tail wagged. “Feedback is essential for progress.”

Despite Rusty’s “help,” the process was painstaking. Hours passed as Berry wired components, soldered connections, and tested circuits. By the time the drone was fully assembled, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, amber glow.

Berry powered up the drone, holding his breath as its propellers began to spin. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a faint whirr, it lifted off the workbench, hovering unsteadily in the air.

“No way,” Berry breathed, a grin spreading across his face. “It actually works.”

“Achievement unlocked,” Rusty said, his tone oddly celebratory.

Berry laughed. “Alright, Rusty. Let’s see if this thing can handle the real deal.”

The next day at Crescent High, the tech yard buzzed with activity. Students crowded around the drone racing track, their drones gleaming under the neon lights. Berry felt a pang of nervousness as he carried his cobbled-together drone toward the registration desk.

“Hey, Berry!” Tim called, jogging over. His expression shifted when he saw the drone. “Dude… is that what you’re racing with?”

Berry hesitated. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

Tim scratched his head. “I mean, it’s… unique. But those other drones?” He gestured toward the competition. “They’re top-tier. Like, custom-built with the latest tech.”

Berry glanced at the track, his stomach twisting. He wasn’t blind—his drone looked like it belonged in a museum compared to the others.

Before he could second-guess himself, Lyla walked over. Her KN-9 followed closely, its pristine frame a stark contrast to Rusty’s patched-up body.

“Hey, Berry,” Lyla said, her smile warm. “Is that your drone?”

Berry nodded, his throat dry. “Uh, yeah. Just… something I threw together.”

Lyla crouched to inspect it, her eyes lighting up. “This is cool. Old-school tech with a modern twist. Did you salvage the parts yourself?”

Berry blinked. “Y-Yeah. Mostly from the junkyard.”

She straightened, her gaze meeting his. “That’s impressive. Most people wouldn’t even try with something like this.”

Berry’s heart raced, but before he could respond, Jason’s voice cut through the crowd.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” Jason said, his tone dripping with mockery. His KN-9 padded beside him, its polished frame gleaming under the lights. “Nice drone, Berry. Did you find that in the trash, too?”

Rusty’s glowing eyes narrowed. “Correction: drone components were salvaged from a junkyard, not trash.”

The crowd laughed, and even Berry couldn’t help but smile at Rusty’s unintentional sass.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Good luck, junkyard boy. You’ll need it.”

Berry clenched his fists, determination surging through him. “Come on, Rusty,” he muttered. “Let’s show them what we’ve got.”

As the race began, Berry’s heart pounded in his chest. The neon-lit track twisted and turned in a blur, each corner testing the drone’s limits. Rusty’s real-time guidance helped Berry navigate the course, and despite its age, the drone performed surprisingly well.

By the final lap, Berry was neck-and-neck with Jason, the crowd cheering as the two drones streaked toward the finish line.

“Come on,” Berry muttered, gripping the controls tightly.

Rusty’s voice cut through the noise. “Optimal trajectory calculated. Adjust flight path by 4.2 degrees.”

Berry made the adjustment, and in a burst of speed, his drone crossed the finish line first.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Berry felt something unfamiliar—pride.

Lyla approached him after the race, her smile brighter than the neon lights. “That was amazing, Berry. I knew you had it in you.”

Berry scratched the back of his neck, his face flushing. “Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without Rusty.”

Rusty’s tail wagged. “Acknowledged. Teamwork achieved.”

As they walked home that evening, Berry glanced at Rusty, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The little robot had been more than just a lucky find—he was the spark Berry didn’t know he needed.