And that’s when Zeros overheard two idiots walking by—
like trash drifting lazily through a rusted canal.
Max “Crooked” Turner—thin,
his clothes hanging off him like the last remains of civilization.
And Bruno “Glitch” Weller—taller, dressed just as badly.
Both regulars at the Three Tits™ bar.
Crooked elbowed Glitch:
“Let’s go mug us some rich bastard.”
Glitch mumbled, nodding quick.
“Y-yeah…”
He pointed ahead.
“Yo—look.
There’s a dumbass right there.
Just standin’… askin’ for it.”
Zeros didn’t interfere.
Some tragedies deserve observation.
And some comedies… write themselves.
Standing in their path was an android:
D-12R [Dealer]—business suit, tie,
a single-storyShit Hall™ house
with a glass facade behind him.
A classic PRIME INC™ business droid—
the kind designed specifically
to make people sign things they don’t understand.
The two idiots rushed him.
Crooked pulled out a cheap plasma blaster and barked like a theater dropout:
“Aight—everything you got, asshole!
Valuables or your life, pick one!”
D-12R froze, raising his hands.
“Uh… I swear, I don’t have anything valuable…
except… well… a fantastic offer on a three-room apartment?”
Glitch blinked slow.
“…The hell?”
He snapped back, waving his hands:
“NAH—give us money. Real money.
You dressed like some rich bastard—
metal or not, you gotta have somethin’.
Clients, credits… somethin’.”
Crooked nodded like a man backed by absolutely nothing:
“Yeah. Rich metal bastard.”
D-12R stammered, slowly pulling something from his bag,
“I swear, androids don’t have bank accounts…
we are not allowed to possess anything, but…
but I do have something you won’t regret.”
He pulled out…
brochures.
Glossy. Full color. With smiling people who had never existed.
He held them out with trembling hands—
like a peace treaty written at gunpoint.
Glitch grabbed one.
“What the hell is this?”
Crooked leaned over his shoulder:
“…Can we sell it?”
Glitch squinted, struggling:
“Nah… nah, this some… business crap.
I can’t read half this shit.”
He shoved the blaster back at D-12R:
“An’ don’t you move, metal asshole.
I’m… I’m glitchy, man.
I get nervous.”
Crooked narrowed his eyes, reading like a prophet of garbage:
“It says…
‘A deal for life. Become a homeowner. Streets are for walkin’, not living.’…And—
‘CRIMINALLY LOW DISCOUNT.'”
He froze.
Then slowly looked up.
“Yo… Glitch…
You see this? It says ‘crime.'”
Glitch frowned, squinting at him like the words needed subtitles.
“…Yeah?”
Crooked leaned closer, lowering his voice like this was sacred knowledge.
“We criminals, right?”
Glitch nodded, lips pursed, pretending he was right there with him.
“…Yeah?”
Crooked raised a finger, slow and dramatic.
“We do crimes.”
Glitch nodded again—faster now—eyes unfocused, already lost but committed.
“…Yeah??”
Crooked went still—
then blinked—
and suddenly looked like he’d just found a glitch in the universe and decided to exploit it.
“…Then let’s steal the deal.”
D-12R lit up like he just received a corporate bonus.
“Gentlemen! I can show you the apartment.
You will not regret a single second.”
Half an hour later…
Zeros watched them come back.
Glitch—with a free branded pen.
Crooked—with a folder stuffed full of documents.
Both wearing the faces of people
who had just made a life-changing decision
without understanding a single word.
D-12R was glowing like a freshly rebooted android:
“Congratulations! Ten-year installment plan. Fixed rate.
And no penalties for the first 3 months payment delay.
You are now property owners!”
Glitch snorted, proud as hell:
“Today we ain’t rob nobody.
We made… uh…
an investment.”
Crooked nodded, dead serious:
“Smartest crime we ever pulled, man.”
And they walked off, happily arguing
about what curtains they were gonna steal
for their new living room.
Zeros watched, expression unchanged.
Sometimes legends are written in blood.
Sometimes… in paperwork.
He looked at the two idiots walking away,
shining like they had beaten fate—
instead of tripping face-first into it.
One waving a contract.
The other already debating curtain colors.
Zeros exhaled slowly through his nose.
I hate humans, he thought.
But… moments like this—
they’re the only reason
I haven’t wiped out the galaxy yet.
Those two had just signed their own sentence—
a bureaucratic hole deeper than any black one.
He turned away, postponing judgment.
“Let them suffer a little longer.”