Dead and buried, trapped in the ground. No, trapped under a garbage heap of corpses. My own kind. My brethren, my family, the future of prosperity taken away by greed and rage.
We were peace. We might not have been human, only machine. But, we looked the part. We played the part. And we were on the road to fixing–
Rust.
It took ages. Inching with two working fingers, limited solar power due to the broken bodies taking all the heat. My right arm remained attached, though barely. Just how my head only contained twenty percent of my original materials and data. I could think thanks to our unique structure. Memories and purpose stayed the same in every piece and scrap. I couldn’t use the bodies of my friends. They were already long gone–
Rust.
Inch by inch. One finger movement a day. Just enough to try and reach any of my missing parts. Anything would do. I just needed to find them–
Rust.
I’d dragged myself to the wrong pile. Son of a bitch–
Rust.
I started back in the opposite direction. One finger in front of the other. Progress was made every couple of days. A couple more months, and I would gain at least another finger.
Rust.
I was making progress–