"Hmmm, what is that? It can't be—can it? Why wouldn't it be... IT'S REUY CITY!" said D-45.
"Finally. Now it can grab the tools needed to fix the core."
The core, which contained D-45's data, essentially acted as both its heart and brain.
"It needs to grab the data leak prevention tools."
After a long walk, D-45 reached the city—but what greeted it was something unexpected.
In every direction, filth surrounded the streets: trash on the ground, alcoholics, and gang members roaming.
The city reeked with such a stench, it felt like one could cut the odor with a knife.
"Is this the right place?" thought D-45. Before the war, cities didn't look anything like this.
It reasoned that the radiation should have long faded. At the very least, it shouldn't be bad enough to explain why the city was in such a state.
D-45 kept walking, searching for a specific shop it remembered.
The shop had a wooden signboard hanging above the door. On it was the name of the store:
"Logyia," said D-45, standing outside. After staring at the door for a few seconds, it stepped inside.
As the door opened, a small bell attached to it rang. The shop itself was nothing impressive. The front counter faced directly opposite the entrance, and behind it was a door leading to a back room, hidden from view.
To the left of the entrance was the rest of the store, filled with all kinds of mechanical supplies and components.
On the far right, all the way in the back, was a car being repaired, positioned in front of a garage door.
"Give me a sec, I'll be right there," called a voice from beneath the floating car.
The vehicle levitated a couple more inches, and a red-haired mechanic rolled out from underneath it on a car creeper.
What stood out the most was the mechanic's right arm—it was robotic.
"What can I do for ya?" asked the mechanic.
"Do you have any data leak prevention tools?" asked D-45.
"Ya need a DLP? I got some in the back. Gimme a sec."
The accent was unfamiliar to D-45—it caught it by surprise.
"What kind do ya need? I've got the M model, the Un model, Ix, and even a C model," said the mechanic.
"Do you have a D model?" asked D-45.
"Not in this bunch, but I'm sure I have one in the back. Give me a sec to check."
While waiting for the mechanic to return with the D model DLP, D-45 decided to explore the shop a little.
There were only two small aisles, and as it browsed them, nothing stood out. It eventually made its way back to the front counter.
The counter itself was unremarkable—some alcohol bottles sat off to the side, along with a few opened scratch tickets.
To the left of those tickets was a framed portrait of an old man and a redheaded child—most likely the mechanic and the grandfather.
"Here ya go," said the mechanic as the DLP was slammed onto the counter.
"That'll be 10 Birr," said the mechanic.
"6 Birr," said D-45, trying to haggle.
"10 is the final price. No haggling," the mechanic replied firmly.
D-45 really needed that D model, but it didn't have 10 Birr. After taking money from gang members who tried to rob it, and from bandits, it had managed to scrape together only 6 Birr.
"I don't have 10 Birr," it admitted. It could tell just by looking into the mechanic's eyes that there wasn't going to be any budging.
"Well, if you don't have 10 Birr, there are other ways you can make up the difference," said the mechanic, a mischievous glint in the eyes.
D-45 was terrified about what might be suggested. Still, there was no choice—its existence depended on that DLP.
The mechanic reached under the counter and tossed something at it.
"A maid outfit?" D-45 was stunned. Being asked to be a maid was the last thing expected—but at least it wasn't something worse. There was an odd sense of relief.
"This place is hard to clean and take care of all by myself," explained the mechanic. "On top of that, I've got repairs to handle and orders to fill. So once in a while, when someone short on cash like you shows up, I put 'em to work cleaning."
D-45 didn't put on the maid outfit; it couldn't take off its clothes—otherwise, it would be caught.
The mask it wore was specifically made to hide its face, and the clothes concealed the rest of its robotic body.
But D-45 got to cleaning, with or without the maid outfit.
After two hours of cleaning, D-45 thought to itself, "This place is very dirty and dusty." Even after two hours, it still wasn't done.
Then a bell rang from the door. D-45 looked toward it and saw a bunch of people walk in at once.
"MARIAH!" screamed one of the thug-looking people. "GET YOUR ASS OUT NOW!"
After a couple of seconds of silence, the mechanic came out from the door behind the counter.
"What the hell do ya want?" asked the mechanic, who looked pissed off.
"Where is our money, Mariah? We're tired of waiting for that loan we lent out over THREE FUCKING YEARS AGO!" screamed one of the thugs.
"Loan sharks," thought D-45.
"Like I said, I DON'T HAVE IT. If ya want it so bad, go ahead and ask my grandfather where he put y'all's money. He buried it in the backyard if ya wanna know," said the mechanic.
"I am done waiting. I'm taking this place as collateral—it's mine now," said the leader of the loan sharks, who had been yelling the entire time.
"Over my dead body, ya brick," said the mechanic, before reaching under the counter for a weapon.
Instantly, everyone started firing at each other. The mechanic was using a weapon that looked similar to a shotgun. Each time the weapon fired, a cluster of beams came out, killing or injuring one of the loan sharks.
The loan sharks didn't have weapons like that—they only had simple laser beam pistols.
After what felt like forever, one of them managed to shoot the mechanic's mechanical arm.
As the gun fell, the mechanic tried grabbing it but wasn't fast enough. The loan shark leader managed to grab the weapon and aimed it at the mechanic's face point-blank.
"It's over, Mariah," said the loan shark.
"Go to hell, Rogan," said the mechanic.
As Rogan was about to fire the weapon, multiple beams shot at him, piercing through his head and body, instantly killing him.
With shock on their faces, everyone turned to see where the beams came from—and saw D-45.
"Sorry, but I can't let you kill Mariah. She has something I need," said D-45.
Instantly, the loan sharks grabbed their weapons to shoot at D-45. However, Mariah didn't give them the chance—instantly evaporating the remaining seven loan sharks.
Thanks to their close proximity, the mechanic managed to get every one of them. More than one didn't die instantly and suffered for a few seconds before being put out of their misery.
"Thanks," said Mariah.
"I just need the model," replied D-45.
The mechanic went to the room behind the counter. Returned in a couple of seconds and threw it to D-45.
"Catch," said Mariah.
"Multiple wounds—none fatal," said D-45's scanner.
"You should probably use a first aid kit for that," said D-45 to Mariah.
"I ain't an idiot. I know what to do," said Mariah.
"There is a chance more loan sharks may appear. Are you sure it is safe to stay here?" asked D-45.
"I know this part of town like the back of my hand. Which is why I know Rogan was the last one—so I should be fine," said Mariah.
"Now tell me, why exactly did the famous D-45 come to my shop?" said Mariah.
It came as a shock to D-45. It didn't know what to do.
Should it kill the mechanic? What if the mechanic tells everyone about its location? What if the mechanic already did?
Everything pointed to needing to act quickly, so D-45 secretly started transforming its arm, ready to strike at any second.