The air is heavy. Loud buzzing noises ring in your ears and the smell of blood is strong.
Your paws hit the dirt. Messy and muddy fur, red and black stain the once pure and perfect white. Your expression remains unchanged as your eyes scan the landscape.
Another failure had hit the Federation. Really, and you think your users would understand that already. A result printed and programmed well into your logic infused systems and the catch had shown the victor of the trialed input— a loss.
You wipe liquid off your face, your paw turns more crimson. Your ears twitch. Noise. The buzzing of warbled and twisted audio of unknown origins play next to you. You translate it as crying. User input. Output; the crying stops.
Your paws turn, following every command your users inflict upon you with perfect precision. Left, forward, forward, right, stop. You show the user your screen. Click. Pop. Forward.
The islanders follow in a simple queue. Enqueued when they were registered, and dequeued on their way out. You had relayed the user's words to them. One client to another, all from the server.
Stop. New command. New recruit. What fun!
What a lucky one it would be! Your lens follow the scene, ah. There it is. You forward a message to your subordinates. They understand completely and enter your area. How beautiful they are. So very good at listening.
The recruit near the ground makes a noise at you. It tries to lunge for you, but gets aprehended by your workers. Ah, how kind of them. It snaps at you, yelling and screaming much like your users when you'd step out of line. It goes quiet at your paws- thank you users. The tazer slips back in and your paw flicks back out.
Your workers nod at you before dragging the lucky one away. You could tell that it would serve a great use for the Federation. A small prize for the overall loss. Shame, this Island was starting to grow on you. You liked the Eggs.
Speaking of, you can't remember what happened to them. Funny, you must've misplaced your recent recordings. Oh you. But you can't help but think, were they sent back onto Egg Island? Or did your higherups have something else in mind?
Your mouth twists into something that is opposite to a smile before defaulting. Cancelled. Apologies. A bug. You should get that fixed. Your fur is a mess. What a failure. You really are the Island's image.
Your users sent you a request to come home. Your dirty and dishelved paws hit the pure white quartz floor. Your office was still here, they haven't started moving yet. A weight leaves your shoulders, and you forget——
Another day, another island. Good Morning, Bureau. Better go wash up first. Your paws are dirty and you can not recall why.
Please, follow along. Let's start today right. The Island must be perfect, therefore you must be perfect.
"Good Morning, let's get to work."