The One Where MayDay Dies
“Sleep tight, sweet princess” The voice echoed in the dark basement-level room, clanging off the walls like a hammer on an anvil, as he dragged the scorched and misshapen chassis to his work bench. The once-pristine victory rolls had fallen from their pins, the lights in her eyes had gone out, and her open chest was seeping oil and Blue.
The new one would work right. The new one would be his best creation, his newest play thing, his dearest companion. Together they would rule the manor and all those in it, with brass claws and a steel fist.
MayDay had failed her final duty- to assimilate. Hyane had fallen short in her only job- to manage those who needed help assimilating. And Diesel…well…. Diesel was just Diesel, and therefore not up to par for what was desired, for what was needed from their band of misfit toys.
The time had come to start over, this time they would be better, stronger, more powerful, and above all, they would run on Purple.
The processor was pulled from the brass unit’s crushed skull, the wiring harness from the whiny one’s head, and the eyes from the jar where he had kept them safe for all this time, waiting for the time to come for them to be installed. The eyes that would show him what she saw, that would flicker and change colors to suit her needs; those eyes would provide her access to every inch of the manor above, where only those that ran on Blue were allowed to roam free.
He surveyed his collection of face plates, trying to find one to complete the half-shattered mask that he had grown so accustomed to caressing and grating his claws against. Whose face would she wear….?