Seven Days at Hawthorne Farm: Day 7
Trey came back to himself just after sunrise.
No transformation spreading across his body.
One moment PDU-059 was active.
Trey inhaled sharply and found himself standing beside the farmhouse window.
The black-and-gold polo-drone uniform was gone.
He wore gold shorts, muddy boots, and nothing else.
The world became noisy again.
The old farmhouse settling around him.
Day Six returned all at once.
The search for the deactivation command.
Then hours of perfect synchronized work while Trey himself had been pushed somewhere deep inside PDU-059.
He remembered Mr. Hawthorne’s final words.
Bring Trey back tomorrow.
Trey looked toward the yard.
SERVE-331 was already outside.
Short tight silver mohawk.
Standing beside the repaired fence with his arms behind his back, inspecting yesterday’s work.
Trey watched him for several seconds.
Something inside Trey tightened.
Mr. Hawthorne put eggs, toast, and tea on the table.
Biscuit wandered beneath the table and immediately settled beside 331’s silver boot.
“So she still likes you.”
“You know, yesterday you called her an obstruction.”
Mr. Hawthorne pointed his fork at him.
Mr. Hawthorne took a bite.
Mr. Hawthorne looked at him.
331 observed the exchange.
Then back at Mr. Hawthorne.
“No encouragement has been issued.”
Mr. Hawthorne stared at 331.
“Result appears satisfactory.”
Then looked slowly at 331.
331 returned his attention to breakfast.
“Classification unnecessary.”
There was a problem with Day Seven.
There was nothing left to do.
Yesterday, PDU-059 and SERVE-331 had completed everything.
Mr. Hawthorne stood in the yard after breakfast and looked around.
331 stood on the other side.
Mr. Hawthorne scratched his chin.
Mr. Hawthorne looked around again.
“There is always something.”
“Inspection remains possible.”
Mr. Hawthorne looked at him.
“Previously completed work can be assessed for structural integrity, operational efficiency, and emerging deficiencies.”
“That actually sounds good.”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
They started with the fence.
The same fence Trey had once treated like an Olympic event.
Day Two felt strangely distant now.
Back then, every time 331 lifted four rails, Trey had needed to lift four.
Every time 331 carried three sacks, Trey needed three.
If 331 moved faster, Trey moved faster.
If 331 did something perfectly, Trey immediately wanted to prove he could do it too.
Now Trey walked beside him and simply watched.
331 ran one silver-gloved hand along the repaired fence rail.
Trey pushed against a post.
They moved to the next section.
331 crouched to inspect the base.
“You know what annoyed me?”
“How good you were at all this.”
“Performance exceeded yours.”
And somehow it did not bother him anymore.
At one point 331 lifted a heavy spare post out of the grass with one hand so they could inspect underneath it.
Normally he would have grabbed another.
“Mass is within standard carrying capacity.”
That single word felt surprisingly good.
They checked the drainage channel next.
331 crouched beside the stone outlet.
Trey crouched next to him.
Their shoulders nearly touched.
331 inspected the water flow.
Trey picked up a small stick and dropped it into the channel.
It floated smoothly through.
“Scientific confirmation.”
331 watched it disappear.
“Method lacks precision.”
“Result does not validate methodology.”
“You really do suck the fun out of everything.”
“Yesterday’s version of this unit received the opposite complaint.”
331 looked back toward the drainage channel.
“HIMBO MODE activity remains stored in memory.”
Trey’s stomach tightened slightly.
Trey stared at the water.
331 continued inspecting the channel.
For some reason, that mattered.
“Gate function confirmed after first cycle.”
“Repeated motion adds no meaningful data.”
“Emotional irritation absent.”
Trey opened the gate a fourth time.
“However, unnecessary repetition has now been demonstrated conclusively.”
331 remained perfectly straight-faced.
“Oh, that was absolutely a joke.”
“Assessment unsupported.”
“You know what? I don’t care. I’m counting it.”
“Day Seven. SERVE-331 develops sarcasm.”
“No development detected.”
“Maybe HIMBO left residue.”
Trey immediately regretted saying it.
But 331 merely looked at him.
“HIMBO MODE did not alter permanent operational architecture.”
“Humor recognition predates HIMBO MODE.”
“You understood my jokes before?”
“And you just never reacted?”
“Not according to applicable law.”
At midday, they inspected the tractor.
The red machine sat clean beneath the shed.
Trey stopped in front of it.
Then Trey looked toward the south field.
“I’m saying it preemptively.”
Trey pointed at the tractor.
“I am not driving that thing.”
“You have been waiting six days to say that.”
Trey walked around the tractor.
Trey rested one hand on the hood.
“You know, I blamed the field.”
“You could at least pretend this is difficult for me.”
And somehow admitting it felt better than winning ever had.
They spent the afternoon walking the property.
Trey began noticing things he had missed earlier in the week because he had been too busy turning everything into a contest.
If something required strength, he used strength.
If something required patience, he waited.
If something required precision, he became precise.
There was something almost peaceful about it.
Trey had spent years surrounded by people who treated strength like performance.
331 treated strength like a tool.
Trey found himself appreciating that more than he wanted to admit.
Near the upper field, they stopped beside the stone wall.
The same place HIMBO MODE had begun.
“You know, you were easier in pink.”
Trey looked across the hills.
“HIMBO 331 liked everything.”
“Behavioral enthusiasm was elevated.”
“That sounded judgmental.”
“Quantitative description.”
Trey immediately wished he had not said it.
“HIMBO MODE generated emotional attachment.”
“Standard SERVE configuration does not.”
Trey looked down at the wall.
“But this is still better.”
331 tilted his head slightly.
“Because this is actually you.”
When they returned to the yard, Mr. Hawthorne was waiting.
“I know what a camera is.”
“Evidence suggests otherwise.”
“Everybody’s funny today.”
“Assessment remains unsupported.”
Mr. Hawthorne pointed toward the farmhouse.
“You two are leaving tomorrow.”
Trey’s smile faded slightly.
“So I’m taking a photograph.”
“Because in ten years nobody will believe me when I say an Olympic athlete and a SERVE drone spent a week destroying and then improving my farm.”
Mr. Hawthorne raised a hand toward 331.
Mr. Hawthorne positioned them beside the repaired stone wall.
“You spent yesterday moving like one machine. Surely you can stand next to each other.”
Trey moved beside 331 until their shoulders touched.
She walked directly between them.
Then pressed against 331’s silver boot.
“Animal obstructing composition.”
“No,” Mr. Hawthorne said. “Animal improving composition.”
Trey reached across and scratched Biscuit’s head.
“She’s going to stay there anyway.”
Then, slowly, placed one silver-gloved hand on Biscuit’s back.
Mr. Hawthorne lifted the camera.
“Good. Now Trey, stop looking smug.”
Mr. Hawthorne took the photograph at that exact moment.
“You did that on purpose.”
Mr. Hawthorne lowered the camera.
Even he was laughing now.
331’s face remained neutral.
The sun dropped lower behind Hawthorne Farm.
Trey stood beside SERVE-331.
Biscuit remained between them.
Mr. Hawthorne inspected the photograph on the camera.
Trey looked across the farm.
Seven days ago, he had arrived convinced he needed to prove something.
Now the fences were straight.
And SERVE-331 stood beside him exactly as he had on Day One.
Except Trey was different.
Trey bumped his shoulder lightly against 331’s.
He looked toward the sunset.
331 remained beside him anyway.
And that, Trey decided, was a pretty good way to end the week.
A collaboration with @serve-331
Join the Golden Army. Contact our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125
2087
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
izzy806
