The Author turned to Dick—
the drone hovered right in front of Dick’s face,
shooting an extreme close-up from a distance clearly not meant for human comfort.
“Once upon a time, recycling stations operated in orbit around Mülldeponie.
You all know that.
Decommissioned ships, satellites, platforms—
all of it got shredded and dumped into the ocean.”
He raised a finger.
“Over time, one stream started falling into the same exact point.
For decades.
Metal on metal.
Hull on hull.
Antennas, beams, reactor casings…”
He sucked in a breath like he’d just realized he forgot how to breathe.
“And that’s how Schrottnadel grew.”
Airi nodded and, like a tiny professor,
spread invisible data windows in the air with her fingers:
“Sēji-chama, you’re right. [＊☉౪ ⊙｡]
From above, it looks like a narrow metal mountain.
Height—around 500 to 700 feet.
Below—a chaotic cone of debris.
At the top—a narrow platform.
Used to be a service deck.
That’s where we’re going. [ﾉ´ヮ´]ﾉ:･ﾟ✧”
Dick grunted, annoyed, and muttered:
“‘Once upon a time…’
Why didn’t you start from the fucking Big Bang, you sonuva—Listen, Sage… you’re even worse than Jackie.”
He turned to her:
“Sorry, Baby, you don’t count. This is different.”
Then he inhaled again, louder this time:
“Who the hell even asked you for this trash-history lecture?
Is there a single person here who’s NOT a walking Wikipedia?!
I swear, all this extra info’s gonna burn out the neurons I actually need.”
He waved his hand like he was swatting flies.
“Alright… how long till we get there?”
Airi answered first—voice soft like a kitten,
and dangerous like a razor in that kitten’s paws:
“Dikku-dono-sama… don’t bully Jakkīi-nyan and Sēji-chama… [✖╭╮✖]
Otherwise… you’ll be swimming to the island.”
Shiori snapped from the pilot seat without even turning around:
“Airi-chan! Yamete! Shikkari shite!”
Airi replied calmly:
“Hai… [ ◡‿◡ ]”
then looked at Dick and added in a soft, service-smooth, slightly threatening tone:
“…Not long. [ง ื▿ ื]ว We’ll be there soon. Very soon. Couple minutes.”
Dick nodded, then leaned toward Jackie.
“Baby, come on, put something on from Butt Pimple. At least distract us.”
Jackie, still pissed at him, snorted:
“Fine, Dick.
I’ll play the next track… but I’ve got something to add.”
She poked him in the chest.
“Your life’s boring and miserable.
You piss everyone off.
Me. Todd. Even the Author.
How does Vella even tolerate you?”
The Author cut in, raising a finger like a lecturer:
“I’m not offended. My dear, I’m used to it.
I’ve read reviews from haters and agents where Dick looks like an angel of love compared to them.
He can rip out his hair—head, chest, butt, wherever he’s got it—for all I care.
I’m used to it.
But thank you for your concern.”
He glanced through the canopy glass:
below them stretched a black ocean, restlessly glinting with metal.
“By the way… those smoke columns we saw earlier…
we’re NOT heading there, right?”
Airi answered immediately—like she’d been waiting for that exact question:
“Iya, Sēji-chama… [⌐■_■]
That island is empty.
Completely destroyed.
We’ve already passed it.
But… the explosion in that area is likely connected to where we’re heading now.”
She frowned slightly—
which, for Airi, meant internal red flag: level ten.
At that moment, Jackie’s personal playlist kicked in—Butt Pimple blasting through the cabin.
Saxophone, screaming guitars, drums, and synths
collapsed into one chaotic mess—
a sound like the universe itself had decided to rehearse the end of the world.
And judging by the mix—
without a conductor.
The mood in the cockpit shifted instantly to one thing: shit was about to hit the fan.
The drone, which had been silently floating around the whole time,
kept moving from speaker to speaker,
switching between close-ups and wide shots—
like it had just completed a nine-hour course titled:
“Master Class: High-End Blocking & Staging”
—and was now defending its thesis live on stream.
But the moment the drums kicked in—
the drone started syncing to the beat,
switching into shaky-cam mode:
jerking the aperture, snapping the zoom back and forth, rocking its body in rhythm, giving viewers the feeling
that the stream was being filmed by an operator
with a space-grade version of Parkinson’s,
who also desperately wanted to become a TikTalk™ star.
The nausea in chat hit before the ship did.
As soon as the music cut out, Airi spoke in a casual tone—like she was commenting on the weather:
“We’re here, o[^▽^]o
Keikoku, keikoku.
I recommend we don’t interfere. We observe from here.
Zerosu-onī-chan is down there with Buraindi-kun.
Let’s see how this plays out…”
Shiori nodded in agreement:
“Hai… I won’t risk you.”
Then she looked at the Author.
He looked away like a schoolkid and mumbled:
“Shiori, I… yeah… I agree.
Better to stay up here—half a mile above.
We watch what happens first, then decide
whether we go down or not.”
Dick clapped his hands, squared his shoulders, and declared in a deep baritone:
“That’s what we’ll do.
BUT! ROUND IDIOT!”
The drone instantly jerked, like someone had punched its moral core, and hovered right in front of Dick’s face.
“Get down there and film everything.
Keep your distance.
YOU GOT THAT?!”
Jackie leaned closer, her voice soft—like she was sending a kitten off to war:
“Big-Eye… stay safe… and good luck.”