OC Replika Oneshots
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An anthology of separate microstories featuring my original Replika units, along with important information about said Replika units. Generally fluffy in nature, though some darkness may lurk in the background...
Okay, I am trying to be fluffy with these, but my brain's insatiable hunger for horror may influence some of these stories. Feel free to leave feedback on the AO3 version!
ODTR-ROT-O108 and ODTR-ROT-O109 floated together, the white surface of the colonized moon contrasting against Prometheus's beige atmosphere, both thousands of kilometers away. The Replikas had found a nasty gash in the hull that threatened to compromise part of the facility if it wasn't dealt with. However, one of them had to hold in the affected plating so that it wouldn't become a new piece of space debris.
"You can hold it for me, right?" Nine asked.
Eight responded, "Sure," but doubt crept into her tone.
Nevertheless, Nine let her jetpack take her to the airlock as Eight hovered next to the hull, looking down at the surface of Rotfront.
A spacewalk was a routine endeavor for Ortolan units, but loneliness wasn't.
Eight grew anxious as minutes ticked by with no sign of her partner. "You'll be okay," she said to herself.
She did not feel okay.
As a corvette left the orbital platform, her hands shook. What if her Kosmonaut suit suddenly depressurized? What if her visor imploded?
What if she just floated away?
"No, I don't wanna leave, I don't wanna-"
Nine's hand brushed against her shoulder. She came with a fresh plate, ready to replace the old.
She apologized, "Sorry I took so long. Aras had a bit of difficulty finding the appropriate part."
"It's fine," Eight replied. "Just got a bit scared."
With a mind of its own, her hand grasped Nine's, causing the pair to smile.
"You're so cute, you know?" Nine said.
"No, you're the cute one!"
The two exchanged laughter before continuing their maintenance.
Luisa Maeng joined the crowd in applause as cries decrying the so-called ‘Great Vanguardist Revolution’ filled the room. Upon a podium stood La Patronne herself, Valentine Jeon, addressing the crowd with a sweeping gesture.
“Today, my comrades,” La Patronne said. “We share our art in defiance of a régime consumed by its lust for power, a régime wallowing in stagnation, a régime as despotic as the Empire itself!”
Another wave of cheers erupted from the crowd as the curtains behind the leader were drawn, revealing flags of the Eusanische Revolutionäre Avantgarde-Armee flanking a mural showing the an abstract, dynamic urban landscape full of whizzing gears and the arms of Replikas and Gestalts alike.
Luisa activated her electric lighter, arcs of plasma lighting up for precisely 2030 milliseconds, visible to those at the edge of the crowd. Its noise remained unnoticed among the din of the Avantgardists.
“Today, the tenth Avantgarde exhibition shall commence!”
Another hoorah bellowed out as Luisa’s compatriot, Léonie Miura, gave her a knowing wink. They exchanged a gesture before Léonie sunk into the shadows of the long-abandoned and massive underground warehouse.
Various ERAA members, Gestalts and degraded Replikas alike, began to guide the crowd through various chokepoints. Rows upon rows of artwork, no doubt bannable under one of many of the Nation’s Cultural Protection Acts, were unveiled. Abstract arrangements of shapes, blurred impressions of animals, and kaleidoscopic visions of various Vinetan metropolises flanked the walls of the ammunition depot-turned-exhibition hall.
La Patronne, brushing her auburn hair, walked with her bodyguards, almost blending in with the crowd.
“Degraded Elsters,” Luisa muttered as she followed her.
Luisa viewed the exhibitions along the way, making sure to keep up with Valentine. A man’s hand brushed her body.
“Gotta admire all this, right?” he, a middle-aged Gestalt named Otto Hsu asked.
“Yes,” Luisa replied. “Truly a marvel of the raw creativity of humanity.”
“Aye. We’ve gotta protect this freedom. Without it, who knows what those Vanguard Party dogs would do with life as we know it.”
“Agreed. Now, let us admire the arts.”
Otto nodded, letting Luisa go as she internally sighed in relief. La Patronne, thankfully, was still within eyesight.
A few artist booths later (one of which, she noted, was for a degraded Star of all people), La Patronne finally stopped to admire a painting. The diseased reds and oranges that the Gestalt used to paint Heimat’s great capital building as if it were a cancerous growth disgusted Luisa, but she held in her emotion.
As she took a few steps closer, La Patronne turned to face her.
“Ah, a new member?” she asked. Luisa nodded and introduced herself.
“Pleased to meet you, Luisa. I’m Valentine Jeon, as you know. Let me introduce you to my good friend Eckardt Sheng.”
“Pleasure to meet you this fine evening as well, Luisa,” the Gestalt said. Luisa took in his outrageously thick moustache which contrasted heavily against his bald head as she hid a smile from him. “Been a friend of La Patronne for as long as the ERAA’s been separate from the Vanguard Party.”
“Indeed,” Valentine said. “But please, call me Valentine, my dear Eckardt.”
Luisa suppressed her contempt for the artwork further before saying, “I couldn’t help but notice your painting back there,” pointing at the detestable depiction of Heimat’s capital building.
“Ah, this one! My newest work, Heimatastasis. Not my best, but everyone who’s seen it understood it instantly.”
“I can see that,” Luisa replied.
“Yep. Only a matter of time before those Vanguard Party dogs will get a taste of the people’s true feelings, I tell ya.”
“Indeed,” Valentine concurred. “Soon the winds of change will bless the Nation.”
“Yes,” Luisa added, “even if it requires painting the land with blood as red as that painting.” She gestured to Heimatastasis.
“It’s unfortunate,” Valentine remarked, “that there are still people who believe in what the Vanguard Party spoonfeeds them. We have no choice but to usher in the true Revolution by force.”
Luisa reluctantly nodded at Valentine before she excused herself and Eckardt, instructing one of her degraded Elsters to guard his booth. That was her cue to leave and follow the pair at a distance.
She stared up at the catwalk. Two faintly glowing blue lights greeted her from the darkness above. A signal was given from Luisa’s electronic lighter: five short pulses of plasma. The blue lights vanished.
Luisa followed the two Avantgarde leaders until they hid themselves behind a fortress of crates. The walls did not hide their conversation.
“...after this, we have to act. Only the propaganda of the deed can galvanize the proletariat,” Valentine insisted.
“Yes… The situation here is dire, given the active reconstruction efforts. It’s only a matter of time before Vinetans are just as brainwashed as Rotfronters,” Eckardt responded.
“We’ll plan some sort of sabotage soon. Dietrich and Mila will help us out with it. They’ve gathered that sectors C and D are optimal targets.”
“Good, good. After the exhibition, we’ll take a visit to The Sixth Pint. I’ll invite them there.”
“Agreed.”
The two soon exited their impromptu conference room, the remaining Elster following Valentine as the other one swapped places with Eckardt. Oblivious to her presence, La Patronne accidentally bumped into Luisa.
“Ah, sorry about that! Your body felt quite heavy, I must say.”
“Does it?” Luisa asked.
“Very much so, my dear.”
Before Luisa could react, Valentine held her hand. “Hm… quite plastic-y, if I do say so myself.”
Luisa sent the emergency go-signal from her internal radio module.
“Are you a–”
A shot rang out from Luisa’s Type-75, missing her intended target and instead hitting one of La Patronne’s bodyguards in the chest.
“Another degraded Replika lost to time…” she thought as Valentine shouted “You Nation dogs!” at her, the crowd scattering away from the two as Valentine drew her revolver.
Valentine took a shot at her assailant, but the bullet instead met bullet-resistant armor hidden under a jacket.
“What…” she gasped as the telltale hoof-steps of many Replikas came from behind Luisa. “What kind of Gestalt are you?!”
La Patronne’s other bodyguard attempted to tackle Luisa to the ground, but Luisa leaned into her momentum, sending the degraded Elster crashing into the floor. However, the Elster’s hand grabbed her face, and a silicone mask and synthetic wig were dragged down with her.
WRGR-L7604’s black hair and trademark blue eyes were exposed. La Patronne’s face paled as she saw Star units pour in from behind her.
“I wear no mask any longer,” the Würger said. “You are under arrest for terrorism, treason, and all manner of seditious acts against the Nation.”
“How?!” La Patronne shouted. “I swore this place was safe from you! I am not relinquishing my freedom this easily!”
She took a few more shots at the Protektors with her revolver, only managing to hit one of the Stars in the shoulder. The Elster, having gotten up from the floor, sacrificed herself as she opened fire on them with her Type-84. This bought enough time for Valentine to throw a smoke bomb, cloaking the area in fog.
Despite the Würger and the Protektors’ efforts, La Patronne had vanished into the shadows.
“Verdammit!” she shouted. “We lost her.”
“This wasn’t entirely for nothing,” she heard WRGR-L7605, having dropped the mask of Léonie Miura, say from behind her.
The sister unit dragged a cowering Eckardt Sheng towards her and the Stars escorting her. He, bound in handcuffs, begged for his life.
“We won’t kill you yet,” WRGR-L7604 said. “We have a lot of questions to ask of you.”
“Oh… oh no…” Eckardt gasped. “Why…? why…?”
He, along with tens of Avantgardists attending the event, would be dragged to a Nation prison. WRGR-L7604 personally looked forward to burning Heimatastasis.
This had turned out to be an excellent cycle.