David wasn’t about to reinvent the wheel without checking what he already had. He recalled the humanoid robot, brought it back into the workshop, and gave it a closer inspection. Sure enough, a solution was hiding in plain sight—well, half a solution.
The machine actually supported remote control over a 4G network. There was even a SIM card slot neatly tucked into its chest plate. The only issue? The small matter of the post-apocalyptic world outside, where cell towers had long since gone silent. Well, you know, if you count all iterations
“Figures,” David muttered, tapping the slot with a fingernail. “They planned for everything… except the end of civilization.”
He dove into the company’s database, fingers flying across the keyboard. Buried in the technical documentation was what he needed: the location of the nearest communication hub. To his surprise, it wasn’t far at all—right in the main building.
A short climb later, he was on the roof. There, bristling against the wind, stood the antenna. It took him hours—unscrewing panels, jury-rigging connections, flipping through page after page of the manuals on his laptop.
The equipment stubbornly refused to work without pinging its original central server—a server that was now sitting powerless somewhere in the dead city. With a sigh, David forced a reset, cutting out the dependency. But finally, a small victory: his screen lit up with a brand-new network.
david net.
Well, so what? He did all the work. His own private network.
“Congratulations, me,” he said aloud, grinning. “CEO of the last telecom company on Earth.”
David, having finally solved the communication issue, returned to the business of remote piloting. Thankfully, the humanoid prototype from the lab already carried a SIM card. The ones stacked in boxes at the warehouse, however, would need their own—and that meant scavenging the city.
He sent the robot trudging toward the distant skyline, but within minutes it was obvious this wasn’t going to work. The machine moved with all the speed of an average man, maybe slower, and at that pace the walk alone would take forty minutes.
“Fantastic,” David muttered from inside the VR headset. “By the time you get there, the next loop will start.”
He glanced through the robot’s feed and spotted salvation: a car, parked neatly by the curb. His grin widened.
“Now we’re talking.”
Clumsy robotic fingers rapped on the glass before smashing it in. Unlocking the door was an awkward mess—the VR controllers weren’t gloves, just sticks, and fine motor control was like trying to thread a needle with oven mitts. Still, after some fumbling, the lock gave way. The robot slid into the driver’s seat.
David laughed out loud. “Oh man… this is exactly like BSC (aka one of the most popular games in David’s world - Big Steal Car). Childhood dream come true.”
The pedals, though, proved another headache. Aligning the robot’s feet took endless micro-adjustments and he had to set up a custom menu to control legs separately, but eventually the engine coughed to life. David pushed it forward—too hard. The car lurched, swerved, and slammed nose-first into a lamp post. The lamp post had saved him from picking up dangerous speed, at least.
“Okay,” he said, steadying his breathing. “One accident.”
A few more adjustments, another attempt, and this time the vehicle rolled forward properly. A block later, the second accident: a crunching swerve into a trash bin. But after two accidents he adjusted, so he was not smashing into things.
The city loomed closer with every block Behind the VR headset, David couldn’t help but smirk at the absurdity of the whole setup. Controlling a humanoid robot, which in turn was clumsily driving a car—it was the very definition of overcomplication.
“Autopilot in Kevin’s car handled this way better,” he muttered under his breath. “I should really rip that software and jam it into one of these tin cans…”
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His train of thought was cut off when a gaunt, skinless dog darted onto the cracked asphalt ahead. David didn’t swerve. He gritted his teeth, steadied the VR controls, and let the bumper do the talking. The impact jolted through the robot’s shaky hands on the wheel, and the beast tumbled under the car with a wet crunch.
“See?” he said aloud, a grim sort of satisfaction curling his lips. “That’s the one thing autopilot doesn’t have—creativity.”
The streets of the city opened before him like an arena. Monstrous canines prowled in the distance, hungry and reckless. An idea sparked. Why just arrive when he could practice?
David pressed the pedal, the car growling as it picked up speed. He swung the wheel, lining up on another monster that was running out of town, where the real David was. The machine roared forward, and the dog barely had time to look up before the vehicle clipped it and sent it spinning across the pavement.
“Now THAT'S a lotta DAMAGE!” David laughed, adjusting the robot’s hands to fight the wobbling steering. The delay in response time, the clunky legwork on the pedals—it was like driving with drunk marionette strings. But every kill was a small victory, a brutal dance of steel and flesh. He even felt that the power that gave him levels was flying into his real body from afar
He tightened his grip on the VR controllers, eyes narrowing. If he was going to master this, he’d need to go all in. The city had become his track, the monsters his moving targets.
“Let’s hunt.”
After mowing down more monsters than he could count, David finally eased off the pedal. The car was hardly a car anymore—its hood dented, windshield spider-webbed, and sides smeared with gore. It looked less like a vehicle and more like something out of Angry John, that old post-apocalyptic Australian flick he half-remembered. Their apocalypse had been flashy, cinematic, full of fire and bizarre warlords. His? Dead silence, grey skies (well, not really, but you get the point) and monsters that looked like nightmares stitched together in a basement.
“Better this way,” he muttered, shaking his head inside the VR helmet. “Never wanted to fight homicidal dwarves with mohawks anyway.”
He moved toward a supermarket. The automatic doors were dead, of course, so he had the robot shove one aside and step into the stale, shadowed air (probably, the robot could not feel the air).
He got straight to work. SIM cards first—whole racks of them still hanging by the phone accessories section. He scooped them into a plastic basket like they were gold bars. Then he tossed in the essentials: chips, candy bars, a bottle of soda or two, some wine. Junk food galore.
“What? It’ll all reset anyway,” he said aloud, half-defensive, half-amused. “Calories don’t count when the world reboots.”
With his haul secured, he guided the battered car back onto the road. The sun was starting to dip, shadows stretching long across the pavement. The supermarket shrank in the mirrors, and the base drew closer with every block.
The returning robot didn’t exactly make a graceful entrance. It sputtered, lost power at the worst possible moment, and rolled straight into the complex gates. Now it lay half-crumpled against the bars, face-first into the deployed airbag like some exhausted drunk. David pulled off the VR headset, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Well… at least I parked close,” he muttered.
He hauled the supplies out of the wreck, spread them on a nearby table, and treated himself to a quick snack: a greasy handful of chips and a wedge of overpriced supermarket brie from the so-called gourmet section. Apocalypse or not, a man deserved a little dignity in his meals.
With the crumbs brushed off his hands, he got to work on the real prize— sim cards for robots. The stack of boxed-up robots waiting to be unpacked. David wasn’t forklift-certified by any stretch, but after a few minutes fumbling with the controls, he was driving the thing like it was second nature. He loaded the first stack, grinned, and promptly rammed the forklift through the front doors, splintering them off their hinges.
“Delivery!” he announced to no one in particular as the machine growled forward, boxes rattling in the front.
The corridors inside were mercifully wide enough for him to navigate, and after a couple of runs, most of the load was parked neatly in the robotics department.
It was quite a convenient way to move around the office. Still, he couldn’t help but think back to the supermarket. He was pretty sure he’d spotted a golf cart tucked between the shelves, gathering dust. That might be a smoother ride than the forklift. Especially since the forklift’s seat was not very comfortable.
David couldn’t resist one last joyride on the forklift. He rumbled down the hall toward his office, figuring he might as well grab his laptop before setting up camp in the robotics wing. For a while, it went smoothly—until it didn’t.
The corridor narrowed near his department, and the bulky machine wedged itself sideways with a metallic groan. David tried rocking it back and forth, fiddling with the controls, but it was no use. The forklift wasn’t going anywhere.
“Perfect,” he sighed, patting the dashboard as if it were a stubborn mule. “Guess this is your new home now. Don’t get too lonely.”
Climbing down, he squeezed through the gap, retrieved his laptop from the office, and slung the bag over his shoulder. From there, he chose the more traditional method of transport: walking. His footsteps echoed down the empty hallway as he headed back toward the robotics department, this time on his own two feet.
