Upon landing, Zeros demanded payment in his usual dry,
“before I kill someone” tone.
Madeleine exhaled—barely audible.
Exhausted, frayed, scorched by too much fire,
too much stupidity,
and especially too much Blindy.
And then—in that exact moment—
— DING-DONG—
6,000,000Ꞩ dropped into their account.
Well…
Thirty times the agreed amount.
And here, my dear gremlins,
we MUST recall one small,
disgusting, bureaucratic truth of this galaxy:
Even after five thousand years…
machines are STILL not allowed to own bank accounts.
〉They can't own money.
〉Can't own property.
〉Can't legally own themselves.Even X0–RΞΛPΣR,
who obliterated six corporate armies
and erased megastructures from existence,
is legally classified as nothing more than:
an instrument.
A thing.
High-tech property of a corporation
that no longer even exists.
Currently, according to official bureaucratic records,
registered as an android
owned by the single dumbest mercenary
the galaxy has ever produced.
So all six million
fell into the hands
of the MOST irresponsible man,—Blindy,
in all nine spiral arms of the galaxy.
Zeros glanced at the notification,
realized—yet again—
that the system still recognized him as “real estate,”
and internally exhaled
the deepest, most hopeless sigh in the history of cybernetics.
A note—from Jackie, who gets weirdly excited about this kind of thing:
When Zeros “exhales,” it’s really just a soft hiss of vented heat, not breathing as humans understand it.
Somewhere along the way, his cooling system picked up a very human habit—sighing when annoyed.
Blindy, and most other biological life in the galaxy, tend to cause this effect.
“Perfect,” he muttered.
“Money’s with the brain amoeba.”
Madeleine caught The android’s frozen, glacial stare.
She didn’t flinch.
She smiled.
She stepped closer,
ran her fingertips along the front of his chest-plate—
casually,
like inspecting the quality of a luxury item
she might buy wholesale.
Leaning in, she whispered:
“This… is my father’s payment.
And mine—on top.
For saving me.
And for…
the entertainment.”
Her smile sharpened—thin, predatory.
“If this idiot ever bores you… kill him and come find me.”
She winked—soft, dangerous, intimate.
“I’ll make you my personal guardian.
And not only guardian, you know I mean.”
—WINK WINK!—
Her finger lingered on the edge of his armored chest.
“I promise you’ll have everything.
Even pets.
Like him…
just higher quality.”
She smiled wider.
She knew he heard every tone of it.
Zeros showed no reaction whatsoever.
He simply turned,
grabbed Blindy by the collar,
and dragged him toward the hangar
like a sack of damp laundry.
After paying for repairs—
choosing the cheapest possible option,
because “that idiot will crash this ship the moment they take off”—
Zeros calculated:
Doce ‘s debt? Could cover it.
〉Fuel? Enough.
〉Food for dumbass? Enough.
〉Could even take a few weeks off work.
〉Maybe… maybe even wander the galaxy alone.Travel to unknown worlds.
Do what he was built to do:
〉kill on schedule or off it,
〉professionally and recreationally,
〉without human stupidity poisoning the air.He could finally rest
from the infection known as humanity.
At least for a few days.
Maybe a few hours.
But first—Zeros turned to his partner:
“Listen, you empty meat slurry. We stay in the hangar. Wait for repairs. Then we get the hell out at full thrust. Not. One. Step. Outside. Got it?”
Blindy snorted, offended, like a cat denied dinner:
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Captain Stubby Nuts—
and HEY—hold up—
you STOLE my girl, dick-droid!Don’t play dumb, I heard her—
whisperin’ all that sweet illegal shit right in your circuits!You think I’m stupid?
…Alright, yeah, I’m stupid—
but not THAT stupid, damn it!”
Zeros had already mentally checked out—
sat on a crate in the corner
and powered down with a dramatic stillness
that clearly said:
"Error 500: Internal Emotional Server Error. Try again later."A few SST hours later, the repairs were done.
The space-port goblins—the Helari—woke Zeros.
He stood.
Nodded.
Turned—
And noticed Blindy was gone.
His optical sensors narrowed.
Zeros clenched his fist
and stepped out of the hangar.
Neon fractured the air.
Smoke, sweat, alcohol, ozone,
and the smell of burnt circuitry
mixed together in the atmosphere
like the signature perfume: “Carina №6.”