Chapter Text
Contrary to her surname, Uzi Doorman loathed doors. The combined her father, Khan, being famous for building them, and the alloys of her frame could have been composed of irony alone. It wasn't their functionality that vexed her. Like any sane drone, Uzi valued her privacy. She hated what they represented for the worker population of Colony 31: confinement, reclusion, and cowardice. No doors embodied those tenets more than those of the main entrance, which, consequently, were also her father's handiwork.
They were impossible to ignore because Uzi had to pass by the entrance every day on the walk to and from school. Whenever her visor's LED eyes fell upon them, her ire sweltered in her chest like a raging beast, demanding to be uncaged. If she had her way, Uzi would tear down each one to feel Copper 9's cool wind against her face. She was too young to remember what it was like to watch the sunrise and bask in its glow.
Instead of living, however, she and her kind were reduced to merely surviving within a multi-level bunker underneath the ice. It was large enough to create something resembling society, but it was nothing like the sprawling metropolis they once occupied. Instead of open roads, they had corridors; instead of skylines, low ceilings; instead of parks, mildly spacious chambers; in place of color, drab, dull grey. While they had ways to entertain themselves, like video games, old human movies and shows, and social media, after years of living down there, Uzi wondered why she was the only one going stir-crazy.
However, she was at serious risk of becoming a basket case if she had to endure another minute of her class's history presentations. To call them presentations would have been an insult to the concept. One of her classmates, Braiden, brought a paper cup filled with dirt he collected from the botany wing and presented it as exactly that. No informative or insightful analysis, as if there was any to begin with—just a cup of dirt. For a wonder, the Teacher actually awarded him a passing grade! It was only the bare minimum, but Uzi wondered if that was for its sheer audacity rather than any academic merit.
Maybe the Teacher just wanted to shut him up. Uzi couldn't blame him for that.
By the time it was Lizzy's turn, Uzi knew she was in for a disaster. Engrossed in her phone, a chaser of trends, and preppy to a stereotypical degree, Lizzy didn't have an academic code in her programming. The presentation only had to be three minutes long, but Uzi lost track of the inaccuracies within the first thirty seconds. That had to be a new record. How did one get so much wrong about a presentation on her father's doors, of all things?
"So, in conclusion, we've been protected by doors made of indestructium for the last fifty years, I guess," Lizzy said, reading off a script from her cellphone. "And we've been pretty kosher ever since."
The Teacher slouched behind his desk, resting his head against his open palm with keen disinterest. "Lizzy, I can't begin explaining how much you got wrong."
"Is that worth extra credit?" She asked, planting a hand on her hip.
"Appalling inaccuracies were only worth three points on the rubric."
"I'd call that solid."
The Teacher stared, then lazily craned his head to the class. "Would anyone care to correct Lizzy on her report?" No hands raised. "Uzi, thank you for volunteering."
"What?!" Uzi sputtered. "My hand wasn't up!"
"And your father built the doors," the Teacher countered. "Stand up so everyone can hear you."
Uzi wiped both hands down her face with familiar exasperation, remembering another reason she hated the doors: The Teacher always defaulted to her when the topic arose. Rising to her feet, Uzi spoke aloud and flatly: "The entrance doors were built using composite materials of steel, Kevlar, and concrete with reinforced frames. They're supported by heavy-duty hinges and outfitted with airtight, multi-lock sealing mechanisms that ensure nothing gets in or out; emphasis on out."
She may as well have read off a teleprompter.
"Thank you, Uzi," said the Teacher in a similarly detached monotone. "Lizzy, take your seat."
With a roll of her pink eyes, Lizzy headed to the back of the classroom. Uzi began to sit down when the Teacher spoke again.
"You're presenting next, Uzi."
Uzi's jaw dropped. "Are you for real?"
"Yep."
Lizzy couldn't resist a smug smirk as she passed Uzi's desk. "Break a leg."
"Bite me." Uzi ground her metal teeth as her left digital eye fizzled with irritation.
"By the way, it's been seven years, not fifty!"
"Whatever."
Yanking up her duffel bag, Uzi stomped to the front of the classroom, then swung around to address the class. "You want a presentation? I'll give you one. Copper 9 may be a frigid wasteland, but it was our frigid wasteland once! There was a time when we lived in buildings, not bunkers. There was a time when we could look at the night sky and see constellations. There was a time when we could walk freely without fearing for our lives! For seven years, we've been forced to hide underground, and we all know why!" She jutted a finger toward the ceiling, pointing to the surface beyond. "Those things took our home from us!"
Reaching into her bag, Uzi fished for her notes. "Decades ago, we were created to serve as a manual labor force for humanity. Fifteen years ago, the planet's core collapsed, and all biological life was wiped out, leaving us drones to pick up where they left off. You may not realize it, but the transition from B.C. to A.C. isn't that far off!"
While the students wore blank expressions, the Teacher raised an eyebrow, as if mildly intrigued. It was rare to see a newer-generation drone acknowledge the importance of the core collapse. That day was so significant that the drones created their own calendar system around it. Years before the collapse were categorized as B.C. (before collapse), while those after were categorized as A.C. (after collapse).
"For nearly eight years, drone society prospered. We rebuilt cities, restored power, and mimicked human habits until we even learned how to freaking procreate!" She smacked the papers against her palm for emphasis.
The Teacher shrugged, not bothering to correct that last part. It would be more accurate to say the drones had learned to mimic the act of procreation. They would craft pill-shaped bodies for infant drones whose coding was a composite of their parental units. For two to four years, the parents would raise and care for the pill bodies until their software developed enough to be transferred into a larger frame. This was in stark contrast to previous generations that came online as adult units to better serve humanity's needs as a made-to-order labor force. Uzi was among this generation of "cradlers"; drones raised from a cradle.
Heaving a sigh, Uzi resumed. "8. A.C., Arrival Night. Several unidentified objects fell from the sky and landed in the most populated cities. They contained monsters that began massacring all in sight without warning or reason. Casualties on Arrival Day were so high that they built spires of corpses as a monument to their slaughter. We gave these monsters a name: Murder Drones."
Uzi let that sink in for a moment. The Murder Drones were seldom spoken of among the students. For most, they were a threat so distant, they barely registered as reality. Most of them had never seen a Murder Drone, either. But Uzi didn't use their name lightly. Unlike her classmates, she knew how dangerous they were. Her father could attest to it.
Her mother would, too, if she were still alive.
"The survivors were forced into underground bunkers, hiding behind those precious doors you take for granted. That day was considered a victory." She huffed as she concluded her notes and glared at the class. "Seven years later, do any of you feel like winners?"
"I mean, we're alive," Lizzy pointed out.
"Surviving is not living!" Uzi snapped. "You act like Arrival Night was forever ago when it hasn't even been a decade!" She paused to direct her gaze at a poster plastered against the wall next to the classroom door.
It was a recruitment poster depicting her father asking for any and all eligible drones to join the Worker Defense Force, and Uzi regarded "defense" very loosely.
The WDF was her father's throng of like-minded chumps who enforced the doctrine of hiding as a form of living. Workers had to be operational for at least ten years before being eligible for recruitment. Uzi was a little under three years short of eligibility, but it wouldn't have mattered. Regardless of capability, her father would never permit her to join.
"What have our parents done in the past seven years besides building large doors and hiding in bunkers?" Uzi asked solemnly
This time, a raised hand.
"Go on, Thad," the Teacher said, waving his hand halfheartedly.
The young jock straightened in his seat. "The WDF goes outside during the day, usually to scavenge for supplies, establish contact with other settlements, or take in stragglers."
Uzi stared. "You would know about that, wouldn't you?"
"I plan to join once I finish senior year!" Thad stated proudly.
Uzi wasn't surprised. While Thad wasn't eligible for another two years, young drones who expressed interest in joining the WDF were informed of the various perks that came with the job, not the least of which was the ability to travel outside the colony on expeditions, supply runs, and search parties. The expeditions were a recent development. It wasn't until months after Arrival Night that word spread about the Murder Drones being active during the night. After sunrise, they called off their hunts and hid away. No one knew why, and no one would risk their necks finding out. That was how so many escaped into the bunkers in the months following Arrival Night. It was no exaggeration to say they owed their survival to the sun.
"Good for you," Uzi finally said. "I'm sure your parents are very proud."
"You bet! At first, I was kind of nervous to bring it up to them, but when I did, they were super supportive about it!" Thad grinned with two thumbs up. "Especially my old man."
"Must be nice," Uzi muttered bitterly.
"The WDF has learned ways to counter the Murder Drones, though," Thad said. "We know they only hunt at night, and what materials keep them at bay. Otherwise, they would simply blow down the doors and kill us all, right?"
"Are any of these materials you speak of weapons?" Uzi asked pointedly.
"We do have guns--"
"Stun pistols that are about as effective as peashooters," Uzi corrected.
Uzi had seen her fair share of WDF personnel with handguns holstered to their hips. They were another of her father's inventions: the K1 stun pistol (no points for guessing what the "K" stood for) was the standard issue firearm of the WDF. It incapacitated workers by inducing temporary system crashes via low-grade EMP charges. Even the rowdiest of residents weren't likely to forget the punch it packed. She highly doubted it would do anything against a Murder Drone, however, and even if it did, she knew for a fact most of the current crop hadn't seen combat. How would they fare if a Murder Drone walked down the corridor as they spoke?
"You talk about all of these things the WDF can do and what they have at their disposal," Uzi said, "but they aren't using any of those skills to fight. They're using them to avoid and hide."
The Worker Avoidance Force is a more apt name, she thought.
"Why are you so hung up on fighting them?" Thad asked.
"Why aren't any of you?" Uzi countered. "Are you really content to live out the rest of your lives in this stupid bunker? Don't you want to experience the outside world without the looming threat of the Murder Drones? You'll have to fight for that, and those things are worth fighting for!"
Silence swept over the classroom as students traded uneven looks. Just when Uzi thought she'd get through to some of them, Lizzy spoke up.
"That sounds crazy enough to get us all killed," she said.
"Yeah, I don't want to die for a future I may never see," nodded a blue-haired cheerleader beside her. "Not my vibe."
I can always count on Rebecca to be Lizzy's toady, Uzi thought with a scowl.
Murmurs of agreement wafted through the classroom. The Teacher didn't appear swayed, either. Even Thad was apprehensive, wringing his hands while looking down at his desk.
"Fighting them never worked before," Thad said. "If our weapons don't do anything, how are we supposed to fight back?"
Uzi smirked. "Build new ones."
Vague interest gripped the room, which spurned Uzi to kneel beside her duffel bag. In one fluid motion, Uzi whipped out a handheld rifle and presented it to the class.
It was a sleek model, outfitted with a dark purple frame studded with bright green highlights along its barrel, providing style and an appealing, personalized color scheme. Everything about it screamed Uzi.
"Behold, the solution to our Murder Drone problem! Feast your eyes on the SAHR!"
Audible gasps followed as the students recoiled at the sight of the weapon.
"That's not the vibe!" cried Braiden.
"I said that already!" shouted Rebecca. "Get your own material!"
"Excuse me, the SAHR?" Lizzy asked.
"Sick As Hell Railgun," Uzi spelled out. "Keep up, Lizzy."
"That's a stupid name."
"That's because you don't have any appreciation for the fine art of acronyms!" Uzi snapped. "The Murder Drones will be SAHR-y for taking our home!"
Braiden promptly collapsed out of his chair.
"Way to go, freak. You put him into a cringe coma." Lizzy snorted.
Uzi rolled her eyes. "Relax, morons. It's a work in progress. With this, we could fight back against the Murder Drones and drive them off the planet. No more hiding underground, no more living in fear, and no more stupid doors. Things could go back to the way they were!"
Another uncomfortable pause crept into the room, which Lizzy once again dispelled with a snicker. "You're actually serious! I always knew you had a few screws loose, but I didn't think your programming was completely out of whack."
Conspiratorial giggles cascaded throughout the class.
"Lizzy, take it easy on her," Thad said, then turned to Uzi with worry. "I get wanting to fight back and all, but doesn't using that sound a little extreme?"
Uzi groaned. "Oh, come on! How can you people not get this? Are you seriously telling me you'd rather live like this for the rest of your lives and give up our home to the Murder Drones?"
"We just aren't suicidal," Lizzy replied bluntly.
"Knock it off," Thad said sharply. "You're not helping."
"I'm trying to help her crazy aft. She's going to get herself killed thinking like this."
"I wasn't even around for Arrival Night, so I really couldn't care about the surface." Rebecca shrugged.
More students joined in.
"I think I'm good where I'm at."
"Yeah, I'd rather not die."
"Sounds like a death wish to me."
Uzi balled her fists until they trembled. This was how it always ended. She had a dream of a better future, a desire to act on it, and everyone threw it back in her face.
It isn't fair, she thought. What did Mom die for?
A typhoon of anger swirled within her, threatening to burst the dam. All it would take was one final push.
"That thing probably doesn't work anyway," Lizzy said.
"Doesn't work?" Uzi asked, ending all idle chatter. "You won't be saying that when I show you what it can do."
"How is one fancy gun supposed to defeat an entire army?"
Uzi flipped a switch on the side of the weapon, and it thrummed to life. The green highlights intensified, bathing the room like a nightlight.
"I'll blow them all to kingdom come, that's what!" She broke into a maniacal giggle. "I'll prove you all wrong, prove my stupid Dad wrong, and then I'll blow down those stupid doors–!"
"Is it supposed to be that color?" the Teacher asked dryly.
"What?" Uzi looked at her weapon, realizing her power converter had quickly changed from a vibrant green to an unstable red. The instability gave birth to a sphere of concentrated energy that expanded. She gasped.
No, no, no! I'm such an idiot!
"That doesn't look safe," the Teacher noted flatly. "Okay, everyone, please line up and exit the classroom in an orderly..." Chaos erupted as the students scrambled from their seats to escape the impending disaster. He sighed. "...manner."
Thad was among the last to reach the door, but he ground to a stop when he realized Uzi was still trying to get the weapon under control. The sphere had bubbled to the size of a basketball and generated its own kinetic force, swirling papers around it like a tornado.
"Uzi, forget about it!" Thad yelled.
"I can fix this!"
The sphere ballooned once again, and Uzi's chest heaved. Her visor flickered with distress and warning messages as the sphere finally burst into a spectacular shockwave. Thad was thrown out of the open door and slammed into the lockers. Wisps of red electricity crackled as they danced across the ceiling and walls like energy serpents. As the dust settled, scattered papers daintily fell like snowflakes. The student desks were flipped over, the lights flickered from the power surge, and smoky debris yawned from the open classroom.
The Teacher didn't bother rising from the remains of his destroyed desk.
Uzi was sprawled in the middle of the classroom on her back, wondering if she'd gone to robot heaven.
"Uzi," said the Teacher.
Nope, she was still stuck in this hellhole. "Yeah?" she asked.
"Go see Doc. Beginning Monday, you have detention for a week."
"Got it."
"I'm okay, too," Thad mumbled. "Thanks for asking."
What a chaotic end to a mundane week in Colony 31.