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flung together corpses, but rather, gigantic stone monoliths which had served as shelters for anyone brave enough to travel on foot in the past. Artificial oxygen had been generated inside by synthetic flora, a desperately needed pit stop at the time.
    Modbot did, however, have a few points right; the majority that could not settle for a life in the colonies without giant screens yelling advertisements or stock indexes respectively, were indeed marketers and bankers. Though their well-dressed corpses had merely littered the monoliths, rather than having been the foundation for them.
    Just then, in the loudest silent shrill only a mute rabbit could possibly pull off, Usu pointed rapidly. “That? That’s… That’s a junkyard. Scrapheap.” Generating a small sarcastic holographic rainbow from his fingertips, he finished, “The place all of us robots dream of malfunctioning in for eternity!”
    It wasn’t Usu’s junkyard they saw as they sped past overhead, it was simply that he hadn’t known any existed other than the one he called home. For a moment, he wondered if there were others like him in each one, then he looked at Modbot and wondered if there were more of those too. Enthusiasm then abruptly went out for a few donuts.

Human - Attachment
     
    Something stirred inside me, a witch’s elixir for a dying world laid bare a seed of hope, but instead I found rage.
    It won’t work.
    It won’t solve anything.
    This massive, hulking beast we seek to flee on.
    I won’t leave. I won’t forsake her.
    This girl who feels every stroke of fate’s brush and bares every strike of its cruel whip with a smile.
    She is our real hope or, perhaps at least, mine.

Chapter Four - Frankincense
     
    Making a habit of passing out is a bit like making a frozen yogurt; both could pass for pleasant under the right circumstances, but you’d probably want neither several hundred feet in the air, mere minutes before a dreadfully climactic scene. Usu had not the luxury of choice. It was brief however, barely taking any time to recover at all, though that might have been because Modbot had caught him, perhaps out of an ever so slight guilt about smashing his face into a glass screen panel earlier on. However, confessions not being legal tender meant this was probably as much admittance as you’d ever get from a robot forced not to harm humans, but seemed to be doing a stunning job at harming other things.
    Clearly competing for the role of narrator, an over-powering female voice now reverberated around them. “DOCKING PROCEDURE IMMINENT” was the polite way of the navigational system saying it was going to gracefully slam into a nearby structure, a feat it did rather well, presuming it intended to keep a flight record of zero survivors. The monstrosity tore through what may well have been up to nine different layers of sheet metal and concrete before finally settling gently down next to a bare-boned staircase that lead into the heart of the massive structure they had just bored into with smashing grace. Worn decals reading 'A59' littered the twisted metal haphazardly strewn together to comprise the structure’s interior.
    Of course, calling it a structure for god knows how many paragraphs wouldn’t be right. Instead, we’ll call it what it really was, a large colony built into the Rocky Mountains. What met the eye alone surpassed street-variety imagination, but in reality so much more was hollowed out beyond immediate sight, reaching depths we’d rather not start putting math against. This was the very same colony whose mere name had triggered Usu’s first of many awkward black-outs, and yet he still had only the smallest of inclinations as to why; perhaps a side effect of the immense brain damage being smashed head-first into a glass panel tends to give you.
    “Blimey balls and blue-arsed flies!” instinctively muttered Modbot, his British sectors notably flustered by the ship’s very vague interpretation of the word