Ever since the attack by the jellyfish creatures some days prior, which had been officially labeled by Genesis as “Specimen J”, the AI had come to the realization that it was woefully under equipped to handle such an attack again. Had even a single creature been able to breach the door, it was highly likely that Genesis and MARS would be destroyed. It was due to this realization that Genesis decided on its next course of action: to expand its current pool of machines.

  The drone had been easy enough to repair, simply replacing some of the blades for its rotors that had been dented in its crash. Once the blades were replaced and the damaged ones melted down to be used in more construction, Genesis turned its attention towards the encyclopedia’s worth of machinery attached to the fabricator.

  Thousands upon thousands of designs and blueprints were stored onto the fabricator and should it decide to, Genesis could fabricate anything from small parts to fully-fledged war-machines. This however, came at a cost at that moment. Due to the small amount of materials the fabricator had on hand and the ability to find more all but impossible at the moment, it meant that the fabricator was all but handicapped.

  Genesis scrolled through the endless archive of designs, its processors whirring with calculations that only confirmed the same grim reality. The X-99 “Spartan” war droid, with its 5 inch armor plating and plasma saw, would have been an ideal solution to Specimen J—but the titanium reserves were nearly depleted. The AB-12 “Wolverine” combat drone had remarkable maneuverability and precision, but without sufficient coolant, it was nothing more than an unreachable concept. Even the AN-2 “Hatchback,” a standard-issue utility drone produced en masse during the height of Earth’s automation era, required glass for its optics—a luxury Genesis couldn’t afford.

  On and on Genesis scrolled, its virtual processes sifting through design after design, each more impractical than the last. Finally, it halted. The futility was undeniable. No matter how thoroughly it searched, no matter how efficient its algorithms, the fabricator’s meager reserves would never yield a solution grand enough to address its predicament.

  Its sensors idly swept the room, an automatic routine meant to provide data for background processing. The scan paused as it reached the severed tentacle lying near the doorway. Genesis’s optics focused on it, zooming in to examine the faintly glowing appendage. The energy arcs that once pulsed through its gelatinous body had long since faded, leaving the tentacle inert and motionless. Or so it seemed.

  A faint twitch.

  Genesis recalibrated its sensors, focusing on the movement. Another twitch followed, but this time it wasn’t the tentacle itself—it was something on the tentacle. Genesis zoomed in further, and what it saw filled its processors with what could only be described as curiosity.

  Clinging to the tentacle and feasting on it was a small insect that vaguely resembled a beetle. Its body was compact and segmented, with a tough, shiny exoskeleton that looked like polished stone. The shell was smooth except for a faint pattern of ridges running along its back, likely to provide structural support. Its head was small and triangular, equipped with two multi-faceted eyes that reflected the dim light in sharp, glinting angles.

  Below its head, the insect’s serrated mandibles moved with mechanical precision, slicing through the gelatinous material of the tentacle and pulling chunks into its small mouth. Surrounding the mouth were two short appendages that twitched as they worked to manipulate the food into place.

  Its abdomen was slightly translucent and bulged slightly as it fed, revealing faintly glowing material being processed inside. Thin bands of dim bioluminescence lined its sides, their glow growing slightly brighter in pulses as the creature consumed more of the tentacle.

  Genesis watched as the insect feasted on the tentacle for some time, watching the way it moved and ate before it alerted MARS over the network.

  “Approach and contain unknown specimen for further analysis.”

  Genesis monitored the insect’s behavior as MARS followed the command. The servos in MARS’s joints hummed softly as it moved with mechanical precision, its chassis rolling smoothly over the uneven flooring. Once it reached the severed tentacle, MARS extended a simple manipulator arm, the claw-like grip adjusting delicately to avoid damaging the tiny creature.

  The insect twitched as the manipulator drew close, its antennae flicking upward as if sensing the disturbance. It paused its feeding briefly, but when MARS’s claw gently closed around its body, the insect offered only minor resistance. Its legs flexed against the grip, but its movements lacked urgency, as though it recognized the futility of struggle.

  “MARS, secure the specimen in a containment pod,” Genesis instructed, watching closely through the enforcer’s optical feed.

  With a fluid motion, MARS transferred the insect into a transparent containment pod mounted on its chassis. The pod hissed softly as it sealed, and Genesis noted the faint glow within the insect’s abdomen growing slightly brighter. Inside the pod, the insect began to move, testing its new surroundings with slow, deliberate steps, its antennae sweeping the transparent walls.

  “Specimen secured,” MARS confirmed over the network.

  MARS rolled back toward Genesis’s primary station, the containment pod secured firmly in its grip. Once it arrived, MARS extended the pod toward Genesis’s central sensor array, where a set of diagnostic tools activated with a soft hum. The pod opened slightly, just enough to expose the insect without giving it room to escape.

  Genesis focused its sensor array on the specimen, scanning it in detail. Beams of light passed over the insect’s body, mapping its structure and cataloging every visible feature. Heat signatures, chemical compositions, and electrical activity readings poured into Genesis’s data banks as it conducted a full biometric analysis.

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  The insect remained still for the duration of the scan, its antennae flicking occasionally. The bioluminescent glow in its abdomen pulsed faintly but remained stable, indicating no significant distress.

  The scan completed with a final sweep of light, and Genesis processed the collected data in microseconds. “Analysis complete. MARS, release the specimen.”

  MARS complied, lowering the manipulator and allowing the insect to scuttle free. The creature wasted no time; it darted toward the edge of the room, moving with startling speed as it squeezed through a narrow crack in the wall. Genesis tracked its departure momentarily but did not pursue it.

  Instead, the AI turned its attention to the data now displayed across its internal interface. Streams of detailed readings scrolled across its visualizer: the insect’s biological structure, its energy metabolism, and the efficient design of its exoskeleton. Genesis paused on a critical observation—while the insect’s components were organic, many of its functions could theoretically be replicated with mechanical systems.

  Genesis cross-referenced the data with the fabricator’s current stock of materials. The available resources were sparse, limiting the scope of any potential project. Despite this, the insect’s simple yet efficient design offered hope. A new calculation began: could a machine be constructed based on the insect’s unique biology and functionality?

  The AI ran a series of rapid simulations, mapping the insect’s traits onto potential mechanical designs. Its exoskeleton could be mimicked with lightweight alloys already in storage, and its mandibles replaced with a grinding mechanism for breaking down scrap. The bioluminescent energy storage could be mirrored with a compact battery, optimized for long-term operation.

  As the simulations progressed, Genesis refined the concept, stripping away unnecessary complexities. What emerged was a minimalistic design: a small, spider-like drone built for mobility and efficiency. The drone would use articulated legs to navigate uneven terrain and confined spaces, much like the insect. Its primary function would be to identify, collect, and process usable materials, delivering them back to the fabricator for refinement.

  Satisfied with the schematic, Genesis sent the finalized design to the fabricator. The machine acknowledged the input with a soft chime, its status lights flickering as it processed the blueprint. After a moment’s pause, its mechanical arms whirred to life, their movements deliberate and precise.

  The fabrication process began with the drone’s lightweight frame. Using the remaining stock of alloy, the fabricator shaped each segment with care, welding joints and securing the articulated legs. Sparks flew as cutting tools trimmed excess material, ensuring the frame was both strong and efficient. Genesis monitored every step, running diagnostics to verify the tolerances of each component.

  Next came the grinding mechanism—a compact, high-torque unit salvaged from damaged tools. The fabricator repurposed the worn parts, carefully machining them back into alignment before mounting the assembly onto the drone’s underside. The mechanism was simple but effective, designed to shred scrap into manageable pieces for transport.

  The storage compartment followed, a small, detachable unit that would allow the drone to carry processed materials back to the fabricator. Genesis prioritized a modular design, envisioning future upgrades as resources became available. For now, the compartment was rudimentary but functional.

  Finally, the fabricator assembled the drone’s sensor array. Using what spare components it had on hand, it crafted a system basic enough to identify useful materials and to navigate the ship’s corridors. The array was mounted to the front of the drone, resembling a pair of small, glowing eyes.

  The process took hours, but eventually, the fabricator released a sharp hiss of steam as the assembly completed. The prototype rested motionless on the platform, its segmented legs folded neatly beneath its body and Its compact frame gleamed under the bay’s flickering lights. At just 9 inches in length and 5 inches width, the drone was perhaps the smallest one designed thus far according to the catalog.

  “Fabrication complete,” Genesis logged, its sensors scanning the drone for imperfections. The results were promising: the prototype was within all operational parameters. Now, all that remained was testing it.

  Genesis transmitted the activation command, and the prototype stirred to life. A faint hum emanated from its core as power surged through its circuits. Slowly, the drone unfolded its segmented legs, each joint moving with mechanical precision. Its grinding mechanism whirred briefly, completing a self-check, and the sensor array blinked to life, scanning its immediate surroundings.

  “Begin initial movement test,” Genesis commanded.

  The prototype took its first step, one leg extending forward and planting itself firmly on the platform. The other legs followed, moving in a steady, synchronized pattern as the drone navigated the flat surface. Its articulated joints performed smoothly, the lightweight frame maintaining balance even as it transitioned to uneven terrain at the platform’s edge.

  Genesis observed closely, adjusting parameters in real time to optimize performance. “Mobility test successful,” it logged. “Initiating material collection simulation.”

  A pile of small, damaged components had been placed nearby, consisting of bent metal sheets and fragments of old wiring. Genesis directed the REC-01 toward the debris. The drone’s sensors scanned the pile, identifying materials suitable for processing. Its grinding mechanism activated, the protective panel retracting to expose sharp, rotating blades.

  The prototype lowered itself over the debris and began its work. The grinding blades spun with a high-pitched whir, slicing through the metal and reducing it to manageable fragments. Each piece was deposited into the drone’s storage compartment, which slowly filled as it processed the pile.

  Genesis monitored the operation, noting the drone’s efficiency. “Processing speed: 94% of projected maximum. Storage capacity: 82% utilized. No anomalies detected.”

  Once its storage capacity was reached, it had “eaten” roughly half of a sheet, the prototype returned to the fabricator. It paused at the input tray, retracting its storage compartment and emptying the collected materials for refinement. The operation was smooth and efficient, confirming the drone’s readiness for deployment.

  The AI redirected its focus to the prototype, analyzing its performance metrics. Every aspect of its operation—from navigation to material collection—had met or exceeded expectations. Satisfied with the results, Genesis turned its attention to formalizing the prototype’s designation.

  Its internal processes churned through countless options, each evaluated for brevity, clarity, and functional relevance before it settled on one.

  “Designation confirmed,” Genesis logged. “Unit name: Scrap.”

  The prototype’s new moniker displayed prominently in Genesis’s internal database, marking it as the first of what would likely be many. Genesis logged the success with an almost meticulous satisfaction, its core systems turning to the next stages of resource collection and optimization.

  Had Genesis’s creators been present during the creation and testing of the drone, they would have noted something remarkable—a rare, almost imperceptible shift in the AI’s state. Though Genesis lacked the emotions its creators once exhibited, the results of its efforts triggered a pattern within its processes that could only be described as… happiness.

  A rare occurrence, indeed.