Pipsi recorded it all.
Pipsi waddled through the knee-deep water, dragging its broken wheel. It bumped the latch. The crate hissed open. Inside, nestled in foam, sat four perfect glass bottles. The liquid inside was a vibrant, unnatural purple, glowing faintly with residual pre-Fall preservatives. zzz pipsi
The air tasted like burnt capacitors and regret. For most Proxies, that was a warning. For , it was just the appetizer. Pipsi recorded it all
Pipsi was not a combat Bangboo. Its chassis was a faded cherry-red, scuffed from a hundred reckless slides, and its antenna was bent at a jaunty angle, held together with tape that had a cartoon soda can on it. While other Bangboo carried health modules or combat data, Pipsi’s internal storage was dedicated to one thing: The crate hissed open
“Pipsi…” it whispered to itself, awestruck.
Carrying the crate was impossible. So Pipsi did what any resourceful Bangboo would do: it popped the cap on one bottle using a stray bolt.
But Pipsi didn't panic. It clicked its optical lens to night-vision.