'FOUND XII'

  The camera of the rust-bucket door slung to the left, and then to the right, before locking in on me. From that point it went blue again, staring at the kid in particular and then back to me as if it were counting us. Looks like we're dealing with a pack of buckets, or maybe just one.

  This behaviour was worth making sure the kid understood, it's crucial he knows what information blue lights provide, it could easily save his life. Rust-buckets have a endless list of behaviours to keep track of, but the blue-light is the most understandable, for better or for worse.

  The tunnel we were in had a roof of melted glass and polymer, which had merged with the metal walls, leaving a trailing droplet pattern against the walls. This was a blackish colour, making it noticeable in comparison to the white ashy stains which built up on the lower half of the wall.

  The door itself was damaged quite badly, though obviously functional, it wasn't exactly secure. To this end I assume it's a sort of alarm trap. It's not surprising, but fairly unique among them.

  I crouch down to the rust-bucket door, and begin fiddling with the front panelling, all the controls are predictably broken. Looks like it's an inside job.

  "Alright kid, you know what the blue-light is?" I ask,

  "Nope." Kip instantly replied,

  I turn around to the kid in a bit of shock, though at the same time it adds up. It's clear the kid has been kept away from pretty much everything to do with scrapping.

  "You're not even gonna try to guess?" I amusingly ask,

  "No clue." Kip confidently reiterated,

  "Well then kid, lesson one, the blue-light can lie." I bluntly state,

  The kid stares for a second clearly confused. But regardless, I rip off the front of the rust-bucket door, and look into the internals of the door.

  The inside is a clear mess of muddled wiring, with extremely damaged circuitry, alongside the fact that the many scratches inside indicate rust-bucket work.

  "Ok? I don't understand what it's lying about though." Kip finally admitted,

  "A blue-light indicates connection, between one rust-bucket and another- one is red and the other is blue- the red one is the lead." I explain,

  I forcefully reattach the front panel of the rust-bucket, it's not even worth hotwiring, it's probably easier to pry the door open. Well, it would be if I had both hands.

  "Really? Just two?" Kip obliviously questioned,

  "Huh- no. There could be hundreds of blue-lights under the control of one red-light, it's a simple indicator, but it can also be replicated close enough to fool us." I boorishly answer,

  The kid looked toward the door, clearly thinking for a moment. I harshly slap the side of his wrist to wake him up from his stupor. Bad idea to lose track of a situation.

  "Keep your weapon ready, any rust-bucket activity indicates possibility of death." I sharply warn,

  "Oh- sorry." Kip quickly apologised,

  "You'll be sorry if you don't take the advice kid." I ominously reply,

  Need to put some fear in a scrapper in the early days is what I've learnt, less from my mentor and more from myself. A bit a fear is useful, stops you from losing things you'd rather keep.

  "So is that why there are swarms? Shouldn't we take a different path?" Kip worryingly commented,

  "Swarms aren't separate rust-buckets, they're all under one processing unit- a rust-bucket brain- very valuable. But, a blue-light can't be faked by a door, too simple, too stupid." I reply,

  "So different rust-buckets have more complex brains?" Kip attentively asked,

  "That's a question for a safer place. All you need to know for now is that once we get this door open, you need to be ready, but most importantly stay behind me." I dismissively state,

  I fumble through one of my side pouches on my mag-pack, before pulling out a small crowbar, and put down my multi-vision to check behind the door for heat signature.

  "So do you know how many are behind here?" Kip nervously asked,

  He held his gun in a weird position, but it was serviceable for his skill, I'll give him some handling tips later. But, I ignore his question for the moment.

  "Should I be looking out behind us, or should I be doing something else?" Kip impatiently asked,

  "There's only one rust-bucket, in an upper ventilation shaft, waiting for pounce. No more questions, problem first." I strictly order,

  The kid straightened himself up and I pointed a thumb indicating to look behind us, he begrudgingly decided to listen.

  I shove the crowbar in-between the gap of the door, but kept it there for a couple of seconds, the rust-bucket remained still in its position. Good.

  "Alright kid, I'm going to pry open the door. Aim over my shoulder, the moment you see movement, pull the trigger. If you make a mistake- well, one of us is losing something." I bluntly command,

  Kip nodded, and assumed a position behind me aiming toward the closed door. He was clearly shook still and not used to his new fingers- but I'm sure it'll be fine.

  I force the door open, the rust-bucket pounces, the kid fires.

  In a shocking explosiveness the rust-bucket flies forward straight into the floor as its internals are instantly fried by the pulse gun. No recoil, it's the best weapon for him.

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  "Wow, that was, easy?" Kip shakily said,

  "We're lucky it was a hot one, some rust-buckets don't have any heat signature." I comment,

  The rust-bucket was extremely degraded, with rotting panelling, rusted joints, and splintered limbs. It's only weaponry were the claw hands it had cultivated from scratching at the walls

  One of its arms was incredibly degraded, rotted down to its fundamental parts, a clear sign of massive acidic damage. My guess is that it got caught in the rain, or perhaps fell somewhere it shouldn't have. Regardless, it made the job easier.

  It's head had optics, but nothing else worth looking at, this thing was going to fall apart in a matter of days. This little ploy of its was a last resort to attempt to conserve itself while still proactively hunting for pieces to repair itself.

  There were large burn marks present on its back, another indication that its battery had been overheating, once again a sign of acidic damage or even heat damage. That begs the question of where this one actually came from- maybe a lower tunnel which has a bit of a heat problem?

  Or something worse, something which is capable of doing this to another rust-bucket may be a problem all on its own.

  "Why's that?" Kip still shakily asked,

  "Battery type and quality. Some batteries run cold, others run hot, and some are in the process of degrading." I calmly explain,

  I gave the kid a couple of seconds to regain his composure as he lowered the gun down to point at the floor. I stand up and put my hand on his shoulder to ground him a bit.

  "Congrats kid, that's your first rust-bucket, you know what you want to do with rust-buckets at least right?" I say,

  He looked at me cluelessly and after a moment decided to shake his head.

  "Well, remember the processor? We want that first and foremost, under all circumstances- besides death obviously- you take the processor. If you don't, well then you're not much of a scrapper." I explain,

  I examine the head of the rust-bucket for a couple of seconds, I find a clear side panel for access, and I take out my crowbar and force it open.

  "You want to be somewhat careful with these, bumps can halve their value." I inform,

  "Well what about all the rest of it?" Kip cluelessly asked,

  "Dead weight for the most part, this ones battery is showing heat, it's practically a walking scrap pile. Some could have weaponry or a worthwhile battery though, so keep that in mind- forever." I reply,

  "If all rust-buckets going to be that simple to take down, it seems like an easy job." Kip idiotically commented,

  I instinctively smack the kid on his oversized helmet quite harshly for that comment. Which immediately stopped us in our tracks as he had to adjust it back into place.

  "Ouch. Why'd you do that?" Kip innocently asked,

  "Keep that attitude and you're going to regret it kid. No rust-bucket is easy, there's only the desperate ones and the ones willing to wait." I sharply stated,

  He decided to mope behind me for the rest of the time we were walking down this area of the tunnel. It's refreshing to get a bit of silence at least. Well, 2 to 3 good hours of it.

  We eventually reach a canyon point, and luckily this one still had a functioning automatic bridge, which is just an elevator which goes horizontally rather than vertically. We get onto the shaky construct which was only scarcely drenched in acid.

  It starts with a mechanical screech before slowly drifting over the canyon, above us were an endless collection of shimmering hanging metal panelling which occasionally dripped liquid into some surface far below where we could actually see.

  On the canyon seemingly endlessly stretched east, west and down into dark voids. A typical sight in these sort of areas, the cabling which carried the cart occasionally rocked which caused the kid to jump and hold tightly onto the half obliterated railing.

  While it was still moving the kid decided to get over his moping, as clearly he had decided that attempting to garner sympathy via that method was not working.

  "The reason I said that kid was because the simple fact is that rust-buckets are not that different to us when it comes to surviving out here." I finally answer,

  "So they're also looking for scrap to collect?" Kip nervously replied,

  "Funnily enough, yes. Rust-buckets rot, slowly but surely- like us. They're always looking for pieces to replace their slowly degrading body; a new battery, a new optic, a new tool to use." I calmly explain,

  "So in a way every rust-bucket is a scrapper?" Kip shakily asked,

  "Well, sort of. Rust-buckets have acted like any job down here, because every job is crucial to survival, besides trade obviously- that's exclusively a person-thing." I confidently reply,

  The kid looked out into the abyss below us, and seemed to control his own breathing to help himself stay calm as the platform slowly moved across the canyon.

  "Don't like the height?" I comment,

  "No. I have a question." Kip reluctantly replied,

  I look at him and he decides to keep his eyes on the canyon below, despite there not being much too see. I pat him on the back a couple times in an attempt to calm him down myself.

  "I remember seeing a rust-bucket have a green light. We had a sort of pet one- and every time it looked at me it had a green light. What does that mean?" Kip attentively asked,

  "A green light? Let me tell you something kid, I've been scrapping for- how old are you?" I say,

  "Thirteen" Kip confidently replied,

  "I've been scrapping for about as long as you've existed. In that time I've seen more then I probably should've, but that's mostly my fault. I've never seen a green light on a rust-bucket before." I answer,

  The platform finally finished its journey across the canyon, and we got off making our way down the adjacent tunnel. This tunnel begins going to lower levels, but we'll ascend near the end.

  This tunnel way had an array of rooms which stretched across a large portion of its length, each had a large pully door, which when opened revealed a simple storage area. Sometimes these places have a good amount of supply, but I've already been through here- there's nothing.

  Eventually we make our way to an intersection between three separate pathways, and we take a slight detour down the west tunnel into a small maintenance tunnel in-between the walls. Through there we eventually reached a small maintenance bay.

  In the circular room there was a barrel in the centre, a broken light hanging from the ceiling, and a multitude of broken panels, glass instruments, and array of screens which were in various states of destruction. An overall good area to stay for the moment.

  We lay our mag-packs down at one side of the room and sit on the other side, where I made myself comfortable on a cushion less stool, whilst the kid simply sat on the floor.

  "We'll rest here for a couple hours and then go back to the intersection, where we'll go down the northern tunnel. Got that?" I say,

  "Yup, are you going to sleep?" Kip replied,

  "You need rest more than me kid, besides I got plenty back at the previous point, unlike you I'm used to prolonged journeys. So get your sleep in." I state,

  "Are you sure?" Kip annoyingly asked,

  "The journey ahead is about 20 hours worth of walking, and from that point who knows how much more until we encounter a caravan. I'm perfectly fine, you won't be if you don't get some rest." I sharply answer,

  The kid turned around to look toward the wall for an odd reason, and took off his helmet and mask as he looked into the particular direction.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" I ask,

  "Looking toward home." Kip whimsically replied,

  "I guess this is the furthest you've been from your den, but you'll live, for the better if you ask me." I comment,

  He looked quite distraught at my comment for a few seconds, before then turning back toward the wall where he seemed generally quite depressive.

  "Listen kid, most people don't get a good experience with their home den. But, I can understand you're a bit homesick." I say,

  No reply.

  "Alright, want me to tell you a bit of a story?" I apologetically ask,

  The kid turned to look at me with newfound interest in his eyes, and he fully rotated his balled up form around to properly face me.

  "A story? About what?" Kip curiously replied,

  "Well, that's the best part, it's up to you. You're curious about a lot so I'll give you a couple choices; my arm, my home, or my mentor. Pick one it's all you're getting for the... month." I offer,

  This was an old trick my mentor used on me to curb my curiosity, stop me from asking questions, and to also distract me from horrific situations. Works every time.

  "Oh- well, where did you come from?" Kip asked with newfound wonder,

  To be fair that's the one I was half thinking of not including, but I'm old enough to look back on it with a bit less anguish, you just get over some things eventually.

  "Well then, where do I start... Ah, I know." I say,

  I took off my mask with a fair bit of caution, letting it hang off the side of my face, once again showing the kid the disgusting state of my lower mechanical jaw.

  "Let's start here..." I began.