—AND THAT'S DRONE NUMBER SIX. sparking, twitching, wedged in the vent grate behind me. no I will not elaborate further. yes I would do it again.

name's BRIK. used to run a KILLDOZER for NEKOCORP demolition. asked one (1) question about why executives get twelve fish breaks and factory cats get one communal scrap of tuna. woke up the next morning living in a duct. decent airflow though, not complaining, mostly.

apartment got replaced with a HOLOGRAPHIC PARKING LOT overnight. wife got replaced with 'a cat made flesh light,' whatever that means. she still projects a little wave at me through the hologram sometimes. i wave back. it's fine. everything about this is fine.

they filed me under domestic extremist in the system. my own mother calls me HANDSOME in that same system. both records are technically accurate. i contain multitudes, one of which bites rotors.

KNIFEBOY thinks HE'S the wanted one down at the loading dock. brother i have eight open reports for teeth marks on municipal property alone, mine don't even come with a bounty, nobody's even flattering me about it

QUERY tried explaining tenant law to me through the vent grate. six minutes into the citizen agreement he goes 'domicile now legally means last known coordinates prior to demolition.' cool. cool cool cool. love that for me, love that for everyone actually.

some drone version of a smile keeps piping morale content down here through a speaker. 'YOU ARE NOT TRAPPED. THE CITY WALLS ARE FOR YOUR PROTECTION.' girl i am nine feet underground in a duct BY CHOICE, the walls have nothing to do with any of this, please redirect that energy toward literally anyone else

vent's got good bones, bad wifi, great view of the skyline if you lean exactly right. drone patrol swings back in ten. brik out — chomping intensifies.