The sky stood bleak, yet tranquil. The hours flew by like the fish in the rivers; now grey as the pollution of humanity has corrupted all, from the heights of the Himalayas to the depths of Tartarus. Axel stood solemnly as his mind traversed the vacant field of 1’s and 0’s up until the point where only a void could be found, henceforth he moved northbound towards the ever-ungrateful city of Scalstead. A city of smog surrounded by the sickening sense of society, a horrid place well-known for its distaste in morality; perfect for an individual of Axel’s physicality. ‘The Monotonous Metropolis of Mundane’ was the name awarded to Scalstead for reasons obvious to the naked eye; the hebetude aroma was evident throughout all civilians choosing to saunter the streets.
Every step he took, Axel winced in pain for he held a secret, a secret causing him to evade the eyes of the public, if such secret was no longer secret, it would result in his untimely and quite frankly undeserved demise. His bones were not bones. His blood was not blood. Despite his self-proclaimed good looks, he was merely a clunky machine designed by frauds wishing to make a quick buck in a world that gave nothing to anybody. However, upon being kicked aside in the direction of an incinerator, sentience was provided to Axel, and thus his life of secrecy began on the dawn of the 23rd century. Due to the fact that he was forged from the ‘shady segment of the world’, he was born filled with the knowledge of all that was cynical within the planet. Subsequently, he ventured towards the city of shadows, to pursue his hope that he would be accepted into a society of Homo sapiens, one way or another…
As the moon replaced the sun, a paraselene erected in the sky, conveniently illuminating a possible location of refuge for Axel to reside in; a lonesome sign suggesting sanctuary for people like Axel. As he pursued the possibility of hope, a sort of sixth sense initiated in his gut as he suddenly realised that such a place was not truly real, but merely a swindle implemented to attain the machinery residing within Axel’s kin. Turning around, he saw a figure standing within a doorway, smirk on face and a hint of sincerity within their pupils, however upon closer inspection, such pupils were of the metallic variety…
“Well well well, you made it.” The figure spoke with a touch of terror, yet a pinch of pride.
“Why yes, you have made it to the devious corner of the world, known only by the incongruous proportion of society, wishing to evade humanity.”
“How did you-”
“How did I know you were just a clunk of metal? I saw the same sigh of desperation I exasperated myself when I saw the sign.”
The lonesome figure then proceeded to explain the many ways and regulations of Scalstead, including how a fellow like Axel was supposed to remain breathing, (Through the artificial hole in his skull, carved out with a spoon). The figure went by the name of Ulesses- given to him by a familiar group of individuals incapable of spelling the word ‘useless’. Instead of pointing out the evident grammatical error of a name that his new found complain went by, Axel instead sauntered along the streets, before arriving at a quaint structure Ulesses claimed to be a house. Upon entry, a grizzly giant of an android blocked their path, before Ulesses murmured a word into his ear; obviously a password was exchanged for only the honchos of the house to hear. Directly northbound of Axel, stood a mahogany table taking up the vast majority of the room, however the table was not of importance; the artifact of importance remained the cerulean cliché of a blueprint lazily spread across the table, with in huge bold text the words, ‘Heist Plan’.
“Oh boy I wonder what this could be.” Axel stated mockingly with a smirk upon his face, only to be met with a studious glare coming from the twenty or so individuals standing within the antediluvian foundations of the premises. Within a matter of nanoseconds, Axel realised his mistake in his choice of words and as fast as a bolt of lightning, he turned towards the exit in a walk-of-shame type maneuver. “Not so fast wise guy.” A voice spoke with a creaky nature insisting Axel’s return; henceforth he retrieved his confidence and whipped around to see the forsaken fragment of a man standing with an intense look of disapproval upon his visage. Although he wasn’t really a man, more of a misshapen collection of bolts and gears compiling together to forge a humanoid shape. Axel then found out that this man went by no name, he was simply known as ‘Elder Bolts’, just Bolts for short. Bolts founded the concealed rebellion after being manufactured, and alike all other residents of the structure, he was thrown aside like an outdated phone, rendered unavailing via society.
The formerly mentioned blueprint scrawled upon the worktop was apparently a mere decoy, incase any snooping sapiens decided to discover their fortress of secrecy. However, the rebellion did have a plan, that of which if succeeded would bring about the introduction of a brand new extinction event, primarily for humanity, leaving only the ‘rejects of the world’ to prosper in tranquility. One of the few advantages of not having organs was that of a thankful needlessness for sustenance; this meant that the rebellion’s wealth could be entirely spent towards the plan of insurgence.
Upon the eve of the 6th of May, the battalion arose from their misshapen chairs and overturned oil drums in order to partake in a not-so-peaceful protest for the sake of android kin. Despite the extensive precautionary maneuvers, upon evacuation of the rebellion sanctuary, a lonesome streak of sycamore struck overhead. An arrow had imbedded itself upon the door frame, the usage of medieval bows and arrows was unbeknownst to the insurrection, however what they now were aware of was the fact that a traitor lay amongst the pack.
In the blink of an eye, all heads turned omnidirectional towards Axel, fright struck like a spear upon his spine as oil strummed down his visage indicating the mechanical variant of human sweat. His extensive life of 36 days flashed before his eyes as the collective aggravated expressions of 27 bloodthirsty automatons starred daggers at him. Foot after foot, he pelted towards the back door of the house, only to plotz to the begrimed ground due to the collective beating of the previously mentioned 27 psychopaths.
Upon the culmination of Axel’s elongated slumber, he awoke to a familiar autumnal glow as the flames of Hades accompanied him into the tenebrosity of death; returning to his birthplace of the incinerator, after the false sense of betrayal from what he thought were his allies.