Five more minutes. My body felt broken, and it was. All my limbs, chest and head showed durability in the teens. Only my stomach fared better, probably because Ruza had bandaged it. Whatever dustweed was, its fluids vastly accelerated the already quick healing process. Some dust followed labored breaths into my nose, reminding me of the dry sandwich with green paste I’d taken a bite off in the very beginning of my journey. It was enough to make me get up.

  Ruza had climbed the remains of the killbot and was locked in. She tinkered with the back of its head using tools from our repair kit, probably trying extract what we came here for. It all made sense now. The acid rains weren’t what prevented the shopkeeper from coming here. I cleared my head by shaking it and picked up my greatsword. Oil covered it and gave it a many-hued gleam in the sterile overly bright light.

  Robeep squealed from across the room, “Susawa, quick! You must name your weapon while it is still anointed with the blood of your foes.”

  “Robeep, it’s barely a weapon.”

  “Nonsense, but I understand. Your feeble wet mind lacks the capacity for inspiration. May I suggest Worldender? For that is its ultimate destiny.”

  “I’m not calling it Worldender. Without the handle it would just be a board of slag.”

  “Of course, of course. Such a concept is far too abstract for you to grasp. Lifereaper then! A simple evocation of its purpose, even you should be able to comprehend the inherent poetry.”

  Fine, you want a descriptive name? “It’s the Plank. Simple, clear, perfect.”

  “No, no, noooo! Such a menial name undermines its beauty. The Murder King cannot wield a Plank. It is unacceptable. Ruza, help me convince Susawa of his folly.”

  She tilted her head sideways to steal a brief glance and deadpanned, “Plank.”

  “That’s settled then.”

  “I am surrounded by incompetents. What are you doing? You foul my meatbag parts without permission!”

  I tore off a few thin metal pieces from his remains. Robeep’s limbs were incredibly fragile, but his chest never degraded below ten durability while his head bottomed out at fifty. Ancient consoles lined one side of the room but all the buttons were gone and the screens were cracked. The casing had long since rusted away, along with most of the internals. But all was not lost. An almost pristine padlock hung off a square cargo crate.

  We’d be stuck here for some time. Rhythmic tip taps kept reminding me of the acid rains raging outside. Carrying Robeep’s disembodied parts over seemed like a good idea after my first lockpick broke in a second. Ruza was too focused and I didn’t want to distract her with conversation. A few hours of increasingly frustrated attempts finally unlocked our prize. Bingo. I caught Ruza putting a delicate looking tool aside, wiping sweat off her forehead and making sure to dry her hand before resuming.

  It held a military style camo backpack, a proper first aid kit and a bunch of MRE’s, along with a six-pack of plastic water bottles. The box of meds contained more green-brown bandages similar to our old dustweed roll, a few tourniquets and a bunch of collapsible splints. A stack of rolled up sleeping bags filled up most of the box however. Still, we now had a few days’ worth of food and a way to carry water around.

  “Finally!” Ruza said, as she chucked a tiny metal plate across the room.

  She cautiously grabbed a simcard sized piece of silicon, carefully inspected it by holding it up towards a light, nodded and gently wrapped the CPU in the cleanest piece of cloth she could tear off her clothes.

  “Want some lunch? There’s food.”

  “Cursed Cor’Athaz, yes!”

  I figured as much, considering we were both malnourished and dehydrated again. Unfortunately, disappointment was never far away in the wasteland. Each MRE contained two of the shitty previously lamented sandwiches. They were unusually filling at least, but we drained four water bottles forcing them down. The CPU went into the medkit for safeties’ sake while I packed everything else into the backpack and stuffed two bedrolls into netting on its sides.

  We also scavenged the assault automaton’s remains, mostly by ripping out wiring and the most complicated parts we could extract without damaging them. Ruza even replaced the tensionless spring on her crossbow with a pristine one. It still needed a string, but something was better than nothing. The ceaseless pattering of rain slowly dropped off after a couple of hours. The realization made me hurry up and pick the front door from the inside, with much less difficulty than the other way around.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The heavenly discharge apparently followed a pattern as I saw it wave away in the distance. which gifted me another point of perception. This time we hurried up and made it back to the robot village by nightfall. Satisfied with the results of our delving, we had a proper night’s sleep after handing Robeep off for repairs again. Ruza offered to crank the well to fill up our empty bottles. I headed out to get my new leg.

  The shopkeeper nearly threw the leg at me after receiving the chip. It then told me to leave and followed me out, locking the door behind it. Why bother? There’s no one here but us. Afterwards my benefactor walked towards the mysterious spired building and was let in without further ado. I pawned off the mechanical scrap we extracted out of the killbot at the other shop with a crossed wrench and screwdriver sign. The assorted remnants earned me two steel creds and a string of copper ones.

  My new leg went unexamined as a droplet fell and sizzled yet another hole through the shoulder of my leather shirt. I hurried over to our shack while thunder clapped somewhere far away. Robeep had already returned and replaced Ruza at the well. Constant scrapes accompanied his labor, echoing throughout the shed.

  The downpour intensified, although this was a proper storm. I always liked watching the lightning. Peering out caused me to flinch as the surroundings reflected a bright flash when a bolt struck the spire. An afterimage clouded my vision. Never mind, everything sucks. It ticked up my perception again at least. Ruza turned the leg over this way and that.

  “I feel for you, Susawa. This will be… cruel,” she said, voice laden with soft sympathy.

  My eyes went wide after having a proper look. A deep sigh followed. “Nothing new there. Let’s just get this over with.”

  It was a proper leg, high quality too. Hydraulics and springs surrounded a thick steel rod in the middle. The foot was a slightly spiked flat piece of yellow metal, like the sole of a soccer shoe or something meant for walking on ice. That was all good, excellent even. It was the method of attachment which sparked worry. First, we pulled out my old prosthetic. The baton had grown in and took a few tugs to yank out, but pain had become a stalwart companion by now. Or so I thought.

  “Ready?” Ruza asked.

  She didn’t wait for me to answer. Shoving the new prosthetic against my stump initiated the process. I screamed. Screws unwound and pierced my flesh. They dug into my bones, rotating into place. Agony shot up my knee while splatters of blood flew about. Needles of metal attached wires, slithering under my skin, snaking inside muscle. Shock forced my breath out as a final jerk pulled everything tight.

  Cold sweat dripped off my chin. My ragged clothing was soaked. Robeep stared as if fascinated. “Pull it out and do it again,” he said.

  “What? Are you insane? No.”

  “Robeep,” Ruza said, “That’s needlessly blunt, even for you. Can’t you see how badly Susawa is suffering?”

  “Yes. It is profound. I am learning.”

  I wasn’t up for much afterwards. My squad went to get beat up by more goats after the storm abated. My leg’s System designation had changed once again. It now said ‘industrial lifter leg’. Got a bad feeling about this. At least my stats had jumped from serving as a punching bag for the murder machine and all the looting afterwards. My strength had improved by +4, toughness by +2, perception by +2, while block and medicine had gone up by +2. Heavy weapons ran away with it, increasing by +6. Lockpicking clocked in at a close second, having gone up by +5.

  Somehow my buddies had won a fight, dragging an adult goat back with them. Robeep actually remained whole this time. It turned out Ruza taught him the concept of blocking, revolutionizing his combat style. We put him to work on the well while she strung her crossbow with sinew, and then she gathered appropriately sized pieces of rusty rebar from the various junk piles across town, loaded into an impromptu quiver made of a hide threaded with wires.

  The next day, we were ready to skip town. I waved my former leg at Robeep. “Since you like the batons so much, maybe you want this one too?”

  He walked up to me, went down to a knee and raised his arms. “You honor me with a second Brainseeker. Once you inevitably fall and die horribly, as is the fate of all meatbags like us, I will carve your likeness with it into the skull of every enemy I meet, from the inside.”

  “Neat.”

  Coincidentally, the shopkeeper bot exited the circular building and crossed paths with us on the way out. It looked weirdly animated and even spoke of its own volition, “Greetings, foolish mortals. I must thank you and laud myself for the excellence of my deception. To think you parted with a priceless CPU chip in exchange for a trinket, albeit a high quality one.”

  Wonder how the guards will react if I just smash this guy? It continued, “Now it has been consumed to facilitate my upgrade. Do you understand the significance? Color suffuses the world. It mixes with experience, forming paint. Together, they create a work of art, blessing me with true sensation. I have achieved the pinnacle, crossed the threshold of transcendence. I can now feel.”

  I broke out laughing. Ruza replied in my stead, barely able to contain her mirth, “Ahaha. Good luck with that.”

  The bot appeared confused. Then it looked to the left, to the right, above and below. Images flashed behind its three lens eyes. They all dilated at once, as if in shock. Its metal chin drooped down, all the way to its chest.

  “Oh no,” it said, “Everything is horrible. This existence is nothing but pain and suffering. Hope is dead. Things can only get worse. Why cruel reality? Whyyyyyyyyy?!”

  It didn’t wait for a response, electing to immediately head towards the bar instead. And thus we left the bizarre robot town behind. It wasn’t a bad place, probably much better than what laid in store for us.

  Our next destination awaited, the Great Divides and their population of Spinedrinker Spiders. Whatever those were, I knew it couldn’t be good. Nothing here was.