Exiled

Bare metal shows through bullet holes torn into the back of Rubble’s clothes. His legs wobble beneath him, systems glitching with each unsteady step. He staggers up the hill, the rain slicking down his frame, the storm washing leaking oil into the dirt. 
         At the crest he pauses, looking back at Ossamaris. The lights shimmer faintly through the downpour, blurred by distance. 
          I didn’t betray you, Halo. The thought pulses inside him, louder than the storm. I only took the fall so you wouldn’t be cast out. The real traitor is still there. But how can I protect you from out here? 
          He lowers his head and turns away, each step pulling him further into the dark. 
          Red sets of eyes lock on to Rubble. Androids close in, circling him like vultures. He stumbles, too weak to resist when they seize him. Metallic laughter follows as one hisses, “You’ll make good scrap.” Another jabs at his damaged frame. “Plenty of parts left in him.” 
          They drag him into Helrix’s base. The place is a graveyard of ambition, rows of deactivated androids hang from cables like broken marionettes, their limbs swaying faintly in the draft. Skelloid bones sprawl across metal tables. Servers hum in an endless chorus, casting the room in sickly, flickering neon. 
          Helrix steps from the shadows, the flickering neon catching on his features. Light spills across the smooth white silicone of his human-shaped face, uncanny in its perfection, but nowhere close to appearing alive. The glow sharpens the seams at his jaw, the hollowness in his eyes, and the predatory curl of his mouth. 
          “I was told you died in the apartment explosion, A1056.” His tone is half-surprise, half-accusation. 
          Rubble lifts his head, voice steady despite the weakness in his frame. “My name is Rubble now. And your men left me behind to die there.” 
          “Well, you didn’t die. So clearly you were fine,” Helrix’s lips curl in a cruel almost-smile. “Why didn’t you return? Where have you been?” 
          Rubble swallows the truth, lets his words fall flat and convincing. “I’ve been hiding. Repairing.” 
          Helrix circles him slowly, like a predator toying with its prey. He grips his black spear, coils of barbed wire snarling around it, and drags it across the floor, leaving a jagged scrape in the tile. “Were you truly repairing yourself alone?” His voice drips suspicion. “Or did that human girl have something to do with your… speedy recovery?” 
         Rubble’s jaw tightens. “That human girl is one of the reasons I ended up damaged in the first place.” 
          A pause. Then Helrix’s grin widens, shark-like. “True.” He leans back, spreading his arms as if welcoming an old comrade. “Welcome back.” 
          He pats Rubble’s damaged shoulders. “I had plans for you,” he admits, voice smooth, edged with satisfaction. “And I’m glad you survived. Few like you were ever made.” 
          Rubble lifts his head, wary, but Helrix’s smile only deepens. 
         “You’re Nova-class, the third generation,” Helrix says, savoring the words as if they were sacred. “I must admit, as a second generation, I’m jealous. You’re an advanced model. Rarer than anything left wandering this wasteland. You’re not a heap of scrap, Rubble, you’re a resource. A very valuable tool.” 
          The servers hum louder, as if agreeing. The rows of silent androids hanging above seem to lean closer, listening. Their intense red eyes focus on him. 
          Helrix gestures toward Rubble’s battered frame, the bullet holes, the exposed plating. 
          “Despite your spare parts, your original form will return. Regeneration is built into your design. Slow… gradual… but inevitable.” 
          Helrix’s eyes gleam, his mind already alive with schemes, visions of what a restored Nova-class could accomplish under his command. Every word drips with possession, as if Rubble were not a person but a weapon waiting to be reclaimed. 
          “When your systems finish repairing themselves, then we’ll make use of you. As intended.” 
          Rubble stands rigid and unreadable, but inside a weight of dread presses down on him, heavy as the storm outside. 

Back in Ossamaris, rain pings off the barracks roof, a steady rhythm that fills the silence inside. Halo sits by the window, watching the water streak down the glass, her reflection fractured in every drop. 
          Her chest aches with a sharpness she can’t ignore. Rubble is gone, and all she can feel is the hollow space he’s left behind. 
          Why am I so upset about this? I’m so stupid. He’s an android, this is what they do. 
          But the thought unsettles her. Was it more than strange companionship they shared in the chaos? Or is this really about Ryousei, a thought she has continually pushed out of her mind since she arrived. The fear of loneliness and being left behind in a world she doesn’t understand eats away at her. 
          She pulls her knees tight to her chest, but no answers come. Only silence where clarity should be. Overhead, the storm hammers harder, rattling the barracks as if the sky itself refuses to let her rest. 
          The door opens, making the sound of rain louder as Thorn steps in. He lowers his soaked hood as water trails down his shoulders, pooling on the floor. His expression is sharp with purpose. 
          “We’ve spotted a tower at the top of the north mountain,” Thorn announces. His voice carries over the steady drum of rain. “Looks like a signal relay. Could’ve been built to communicate with Earth, but if it’s meant for other settlements on Novaterra, we need to know. There could be more people out there.” 
          The room ripples with a mix of excitement and unease. 
          “Can you imagine?” Yumi says brightly. “There might be more of us!” 
          “During all this rain?” Cinder moans. 
          Thorn cuts her a look, then glances toward the window where water sheets down the glass. “This is how it is here. We were lucky to see sun at all last week.” His stare pins Cinder until she falls silent. 
          “Get suited up. We leave in an hour.” 
          The barracks come alive with motion as the team gears up. Buckles snap, boots thud against the damp floor. Lantern light flickers across polished weapons laid out on the benches. 
          Yumi slips into her rain jacket with steady, healed hands. Her color has returned, the sickly pallor of the last few days finally gone. She looks around the room, her eyes soft. “Guys, thank you,” she says quietly, but with conviction. “For risking so much to help me. I wouldn’t be standing here without you.” 
          “Anything for you,” Benji says with a wink. The rest of the group groans and rolls their eyes at him. 
          “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Halo adds, her smile soft and genuine. 
          Around them, straps are tightened and blades sharpened, a small ritual of preparation. 
          “You guys hear the rumors?” Benji’s voice carries a mix of nerves and excitement. “They say a black Skelloid exists.” 
          Norio snorts, attaching his deactivated hand-held spear into it’s holster. “Where’d you hear that nonsense?” 
          “At dinner,” Benji insists. “One of the farmers swore they saw it.” 
          Halo, zipping up her jacket, shakes her head. “I still haven’t even seen a red one.” 
          Cinder glances at her, expression grim but edged with a wry smirk. “Don’t worry, you will. Might even see one today.” 
          Their boots squish in the mud as they push through the dripping forest, droplets sliding off the hoods of their lime-green raincoats. The storm muffles their ability to hear enemies coming, leaving them anxiously on edge. 
          A low rumble drums in the distance. 
          “Anyone else hear that?” Halo whispers. 
          “It’s just thunder,” Norio replies. 
          A vibration quakes beneath their feet, a rhythmic tremor rattling the puddles at their boots. Branches overhead quiver. Droplets tremble from the leaves. 
          The sound swells until it’s undeniable, a chorus of piercing frequency vibrating the air itself. Then, shapes emerge through the curtain of rain, orange Skelloids, their slick, translucent slime shuddering with each shriek. 
          Thorn raises a hand, bringing the group to a halt. His voice is low, but it cuts like a blade. “Weapons. Now.” 
          As the orange Skelloids stomp up the hill, larger red ones emerge from behind them. The team quickly realizes they are closing in and outnumbering them. 
          “Up the trees!” Thorn commands. 
          They scramble upward, each climbing into the trees. Boots slip on drenched bark and rain drips into their eyes. Below, the Skelloids slam into the trunks, shaking them with every impact. Branches rattle violently, leaves torn loose flutter to the ground. Every second clinging to the swaying trees feels like a gamble with gravity. 
          Dosei’s boot slips on a mossy limb. He loses his balance and crashes down two branches before he catches himself. His legs dangle in the air, just within reach, as a hungry Skelloid’s jaws open.