Chapter Text
Serial Designation N was generally considered to be useless and terrible. His squad was probably right about that! He did have the lowest body counts after all, and he did seem to annoy V and J sometimes with how chatty he could be. He always felt rather sorry about it. It was just in his nature to fill the silence with joyful noise! It made being out here a lot more pleasant. When he was alone and between hunts he really liked to warble and chirp to the sky, calling to squadmates he couldn’t see.
Hello! Where are you? Friends! I found food!
Often, he would be met with no response…or when he did get a response, he would be hit with a hiss or a growl or a squawk that said Quiet or Bring it here or Go away.
He couldn’t blame them, really. He could get a little noisy. Maybe that’d disrupt the hunt. So he often contented himself with perching on street lamps or the like and warbling away at nearby rocks. The rocks were good listeners.
He whiled away many nights like that…until, eventually, J took a firm stance that he was being far too noisy, far too distracted, far too off-task…
That was his bad.
V had originally thought N’s relentless cheerfulness a touch annoying, in light of what they’d all lost. Sure, he didn’t remember a lick of it, but…still. Even if things objectively sucked, he would make excuses to justify it and never stop smiling. His little warbles would relentlessly fill the night when she was just trying to focus on her hunts, driving her up the wall sometimes. She had a job to do, and if she did it well, then That Thing would leave them all alone. Hopefully.
In retrospect, maybe the unwavering smile was a cry for help. Maybe if she had freaking done something, he would still be here.
If only she had dropped the act.
J had started cracking down hard on N’s performance the last several months. She said that they had no shot in hell of making top team that quarter if N kept “screwing around” and letting prey slip past him because he was trying to make pre-slaughter small talk. And hell hath no fury like a J that wanted a glowing performance review from “JCJenson.”
V had made the fatal error of being a bystander. She hung back and pretended not to care as J slapped N around, denied him rations, and called him names. She worried that J, like That Thing, might turn on her or exploit their bond if she revealed it existed. And maybe it was for the best that N be shaped up into a more efficient Disassembler? That Thing might do something drastic if they underperformed too badly as a squad. The thought sent spikes of terror through V’s core. She never wanted to draw Its attention ever again if she didn’t have to.
Looking back, drawing Its ire would have been worth it to save him.
It had started with just N’s body count, but it soon spiraled out of hand, with J punishing many instances of N just being his silly self. Lots of overly cheerful comments started drawing aggro from J, and still V hung back like a coward. Again she justified it to herself, thinking that he’d be more tolerable with less forced cheerfulness, less superfluous warbles clogging her audial feed.
J’s harsh treatment started to affect him soon enough. He became a lot quieter as the days went on. He stopped commenting on the night’s weather. He stopped congratulating the squad for a good night’s work every night. He stopped chattering about the cool rocks he’d find, and was silent about any cool human relics he uncovered. It was gradual, but soon V realized that N only ever talked about the night’s kill quota. And eventually…not even that. Even his basic chirps and warbles completely faded, shrouding him in utter silence as he went about his hunts. He knew what J expected of him, and he carried it out with cold efficiency.
His body counts were at an all time high, and J was incredibly satisfied with her work. Now most of her interactions with him were to praise his efficiency.
“You might even be our Employee of the Month,” J purred, looking through the week’s statistics one night. “Nice upwards trend, stud.”
N had snapped into a crisp salute, his faceplate void of any emotion, his body eerily still.
V realized all too late that she desperately missed N. The real N.
That’s how she found herself calling his name one night, approaching him after he’d wiped out a small Worker encampment. He turned to look at her with the same blank eyelights as always, saying nothing.
“…The toxic death storm is letting up a little tonight, if you want to…fly…”
She trailed off, noticing him silently shaking his head. He immediately started turning back to his kill. “Or! We could go hunting together, if you prefer! Night’s still young~!”
She forced a smile as N stared unblinkingly at her with those perfectly round eyelights.
He turned away, saying nothing. V felt something in her core break.
“Please, N, talk to me,” she begged, self-respect taking a nosedive out the window. “I…I miss you.”
He looked at her again, showing no emotion in light of her admission.
Then he spoke, his voice deeper than she was used to, flat and monotone and lifeless.
“I am what you wanted.”
Without another word he unfurled his wings and flew away, far away from her.
V fell to her knees, eyelights hollow.
Plaintively, she whistled up to the sky. I’m here, I miss you, where are you?
The only thing that answered her was the howling of the wind, and she quietly hung her head, lights dimming slightly.