"Can you tell me how exactly you lost control of your ship?"

Right in front of him sat an officer bot, tiredly clacking away at the form on his computer. The two of them were situated in a rather nice office, he thought to himself- At least decorated twice as much as the old interrogation rooms he was so used to from his past. This one even generously had a window, overlooking the metallic city adorned in bright lights. A faint beep announced it was another hour passed- Was all this extra formwork really necessary for the social blunder he'd found himself in several hours ago?

"Sir?" the officer repeated.

Ainsley snapped out of staring at the plastered wall facing him, donned with 'employee of the month' frames and similar accolades. Faking a cough, portraying as if he was in thought.

"Uh, yeah, about that," he began awkwardly, "I.. Don't know? I've already told you, one moment I was in control, the next I wasn't."

"I need more detail than that. What were you doing, where were you going, what were your surroundings like?"

Still covered in dust and debris from the gracious crash he'd made in some guy's café, Ainsley tried to recall the best he could- It was only hours ago! How could he not remember everything in vivid detail? Surely his memory wasn't damaged, or he would've known, right!

.. Right?

"I remember I was trying to go off-planet", Ainsley eventually responded. "From the junkyard we all claimed victory to after the war. I've travelled to and from there successfully multiple times, I don't know why this time it went wrong."

At that, the officer looked up from his screen sheepishly, slowly blinking at Ainsley as if he was insane. Then he got up immediately, excusing himself. Before Ainsley could even ask how long he'd be, the door was already closed shut.

Great.

Another two beeps later, finally the door opened. "Is all this really necessary for a ship crash? I haven't even apologised properly yet to the owner-" Ainsley was cut off by loud footsteps echoing within the office, looking up he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Oh great, you're in charge here too?"

In the hours following his reveal, his old comrade Cae- No, Chieftain, apparently, brought Ainsley up to speed with whatever happened post-war times. After all, unlike most of their civilisation, Ainsley dwelled around by his lonesome, not following them to their new home in this "Iagoon Whatsitaris" place- Nor did he stick around to even attempt reviving their old home, that was by then a husk of its former self. 

Flabbergasted was describing his feelings lightly.

According to Chief, what he'd flown into, was called a 'timeworm'. Explained as a shortcut through space, but also time.. Which in turn explained his skewed memory and.. Frankly fucked perception of time, in the past day. Ainsley wasn't sure how to process this, especially since Chief heavily insisted this was a very sensitive topic to the Norinae- Oh, so that's what they called their own species now? Man, he felt like such an old man, and he wasn't even half a millennia old yet.

Then, Ainsley was promptly given suggestions on good therapists, especially ones familiar with veterans like them- And shoo'd out the security station, to return tomorrow and finish what he initially came there for, hopefully.

Fantastic.

— GET LONELY IDIOT —

The ex-soldier remembered he and Chief never got quite along back then, despite both being in higher ranks to the average robot. Hell, even their conversation the following day started with a jab at that- Ainsley was asked how he was still alive, the "despite all that" left silent.

"What's it matter to you anyway? Aren't I here to finish the forms for my timeworm-affected vehicle crash?" he retorted.

"Our history's very important to us as a faction. Considering the.. Odd circumstances that surrounds us veterans, we like to preserve as much as possible. Even mundane day-to-day doings", Chief explained. "Who knows, perhaps your failings as a commander sniper might find themselves on a golden plaque in the dedicated museum."

Ainsley snorted. It was uncalled for, but admittedly had a twinge of truth in it. Even he didn't know how he got this far, the worst he'd ever suffered were broken tubes or system glitches- And by God, was he a disaster- Wait, did they even still believe in gods? What of their terraforming ancestors, did they still exist? He had so many questions-

"Besides," Chief interrupted his train of thought, "everything related to the accident has already been processed. What's left for you, is to hash out the damages with Mr. Northrad. You're permitted to stick around his property until then, seeing your ship is all you've got at the moment. Should negotiations be troublesome, you can call on my division to help you settle it."

The recorder had already been on for several minutes. Imagining his own veteran statue, standing in the spotlight, with bypassers wow-ing at it, did sound appealing.. Fine, he supposed.

Ainsley had always been a joyous jokester, perhaps even to uncanny degrees. He liked to think he kept the light on, during their age-long feud against the clones. The ex-soldier was part of several squadrons and was a good aimbot, but never quite connected with anyone properly. Sure, he had a bond with his comrades, in a general sense of surviving- But actual friendships and camaderie? It was almost a foreign concept to him. Sure, some laughed at his jokes, others vented air in frustration- Though due that, almost no one took him seriously.

He remembered the day he got promoted to lead a sniper squadron himself. Barely any 'congratulations'. Instead comments were more akin to 'poor thing' or 'how?'

Fine. If they're all going to be like that, why bother sticking around after it's over?

And he stuck by that.

Within the first week after they'd reigned victory, Ainsley finished tinkering on his ship to blast off into 'I don't care where, just somewhere'. No one, bar the few snipers he led, said their goodbyes. Good riddance, it wasn't as if he wanted to belong with these suckers anyway. The home they once had was by then a barren landscape, not worth a last glimpse. He'd already griefed its loss some time into his service, witnessing they, too, were turning the planet for the worse.

So, he started anew on the next planet over- Considering that was probably the last world brimming with life left within this system. Its technology was ahead in a different way, one Ainsley couldn't grasp for some time- But the inhabitants were nice, so were the strange critters that accompanied them everywhere. Still sticking out like a sore thumb, he eventually 'got lucky' in his words- Travelled as a leeway tourist. Saw landscapes he could've only dreamt of as a kid. Witnessed whatever this 'magic' was in real time. Met folk he could get along with without hitch for once. Participated in the cultures and traditions these folk held. Fell in love, even.

Yet every few years, he'd go for a short trip to his original home. See how the leftovers fared- Without surprise, each time he did, there were less and less tin cans. After a few, it truly was as barren as his feelings about it all. At that point, it might as well have been a mere pit stop to refuel. And yet...

There was a something. Like a gaping hole. An emptiness perhaps. Or an indescribable nothing. Ainsley didn't have the capacity to handle it, nor anyone else who hadn't experienced similar events. It was rather suffocating and alienating in its own way. He couldn't deal with it- He didn't know how to, except for laughing it off as he always had.

Perhaps it was nothing, that brought him back a seventh time. Their original creators believed in some lucky number bogus, he didn't- But when suddenly walls tore down, window shields shattered, dust flew up in the air- "MY FUCKING WALLS?!" he heard some posh guy yell- And he fell head first promptly into the debris- In that moment, he did believe in unlucky numbers. And seven wasn't it for him. Nor was being a robot. Or rather, being him, that whole shebang, wasn't working.

And he was running out of space to ignore it.

— GET THERAPY IDIOT —

Of course, the whole debacle with himself could wait a little longer. Ainsley had a debt to repay, after all! He refused to accept the situation as-is, even while the café owner, George Northrad, was fine with Ainsley packing up and leaving like nothing had happened. It took Ainsley a ton of insisting to outright begging, to even help with the damages. Whether it was ultimately accepted out of annoyance, pity, compliance or anything else, Ainsley didn't dare ask for another few months.

At one point, he was even handed a USB drive with lectures on etiquette. In George's words, "to at least repay his debts well". He replied favourably, of course, because he didn't want to sour the mood- But was he really that fucking incompetent? Then again, why should he care? This George wasn't anyone important to him, merely a temporary boss. It was nothing worth gnawing over.

.. But, if he were honest with himself, after all these years, he still hadn't formed some impenetrable titanium wall to deflect all that properly.

And then he'd call himself cringe, because veterans, especially war veterans, should be able to deal with that stuff willy-nilly.

Except the problem was he never felt like a soldier. Nor did he feel like a veteran. Nor did he feel he had any experience to begin with.

No one in this new world, bar Chief, probably, knew about Ainsley's history. He dealt with 'all that' on his own previously fine! A terrifying nightmare here, a panic attack there, being a shut-in for no reason at all for a week over there.. If he kept joking around and doing his coincidence shtick, eventually it'd stick! Probably!

Then it went all down the gutter, when it'd been some years after the crash, and he and George somehow became besties, and he still lived in that darned ship as his de facto home, and George once merely asked out of curiosity aaand there came the weeping. And he kept weeping like the no-lifer he was outside of his café career. And he kept weeping like the pathetic, lonely piece of shit he always had been. And he kept weeping like a workaholic hell-bent on keeping this delivery job that gave him the only sense of purpose. And he kept fucking weeping like some little dog that was a bit too attached to probably the first genuine friend he'd made in about a decade.

George on the other hand, unsurprisingly, was beside himself. The fact that Ainsley had all that haunting him and kept it hidden this long, was astonishing. The café owner sympathised, even if he'd never partaken in the war himself. Thus, one day, George stood beside him as support, before Ainsley was nearly shoved into the therapist's office. Eventually Chief accompanied him as well, for even he hadn't finished 'dealing with all that' either.

It was... Good. Eventually. In a way that was unfamiliar, maybe terrifying. But still good.

Perhaps his feelings about it all needn't be so barren, after all.

— GET HAPPY IDIOT —

"Oh there you are!" the customer exclaimed happily, as she opened the door. "Busy week, Ains?" was asked, as she paid for her order.

"Sure is, miss Boltin!" Ainsley responded proudly. "And it never slows down! Gotta go already, but enjoy your meal!"

As he, the Vishnya Café delivery driver, rushed back to his ship, Boltin yelled after him. "I left you a tip!"

This one was larger than usual- Ainsley didn't know what the occasion was for, but saluted her as thank you anyway. Least to say, Ainsley was beloved by the locals and regulars of George's café. Sure, he might've crashed a few times early on in his career, but now? On time, squeaky clean, handing over the freshest meals in tip-top shape! He could have his moments still with gear-grinding puns, or be the worst singer on karaoke night- But no one minded. He knew nothing about these folk beyond names, looks, their orders and the last 3 digits of their credit card- Yet every time, he felt he was seeing a familiar, friendly face around the neighbourhood.

Outside the usual with George's café? He still got on splendidly well with George, despite the fact they were akin to polar opposites. They were one another's sole best friend forever, by then that was more than enough for Ainsley. Sometimes he also had the privilege of babysitting George's kid, Navirou, because in her words he was the funniest in the world- And he loved gloating about that. He also eventually got on friendly terms with Chief- They kind of had to, considering they saw one another bi-weekly for therapeutic group sessions.

At least 'all that' became water under the bridge. Eventually.

Thinking about it, let alone dealing with it, didn't feel akin to drowning anymore- Or like he was being waterboarded without pause.

Slowly, but surely, Ainsley turned outward to the world again. This time, it reflected back its dozens of lights, metallic platings and orbiting space stations. It wasn't quite what he'd imagined as a 'happy ending' for his species, let alone himself- But no matter. It was home, and a good one at that.

Then he had to snap out of it, because he was this close to having his first traffic blunder again in years- He couldn't ruin his highest record thus far!

"My bad!" he yelled firstly. Then Vishnya's delivery guy focused on who and what he'd nearly crashed into- And he couldn't believe it. A few houses down miss Bolton's- Another regular, might he add- Stood a different robot, clad in what he assumed to be also a delivery outfit, handing off three whole pizza boxes. Ainsley had nearly crashed into that guy's ship.

"Vishnya's, right?" he got greeted with. "That was a close one."

If he had visible eyes, he'd be glaring so hard right now. "Yeah. And you?"

"Pazazz Pavilion, opened recently. I'll see you around, Vishnya", the other robot closed with, swiftly lifting off soon after.

No one was going to kick the Ainsley Scyther off his number one delivery bot spot!

It was on.

— GET RIVALLED IDIOT —

This 'food delivery rival' as Ainsley liked to call him, he came to know as Lazarus.

He saw this robot at least once a week, their usual spots and neighbourhoods overlapping more than preferred- To Ainsley's chagrin, Lazarus seemed to be a charming fellow with the customers as well- Except he was more laid-back and chill, compared to his upbeat attitude. There was no way this pizza guy and his stupid pizzaria could overtake George's café- For one, they didn't have a menu as varied! For another, it didn't have extra commodities locally, like, you know, a lodge! And for another, Ainsley was miles, miles, miles more enjoyable to be around! Also more annoying, but that's a price anyone paid regardless.

"FIRST!" Ainsley yelled loudly, after getting to a mansion before Lazarus- This place, conveniently ordered from multiple hotspots that night. He quickly recomposed himself, before handing off the order.

Then Lazarus jogged up the stairs, promptly exchanged his delivery and hit a comeback effortlessly. "At least I don't look like I climbed a mountain of stairs."

"At least my bill is higher than yours", Ainsley retorted, promptly showing it off, akin to rolling out one's family pictures from a wallet.

A whistle in response. "I'll outdo you next time. Just you wait, Vishnya guy."

"Bet."

"Not even if I had tips- And I've got plenty of those. See ya!" Lazarus saluted, rather mockingly, skedaddling as quick as he appeared.

"COWARD!"

Occasionally Vishnya's customers tuned into a comedy night, whenever Ainsley just had to cuss out the smug pizza guy one more time. "It HAS to be his eye! It's more expressive than any other visor I see on a regular basis! It's like it's saying 'ha-ha, this bot is my regular now!' all across the street!"

"You're sure this rivalry's as serious to him as it is to you?" George inquired once, his eye doing that same smug expression in amusement.

"Oh, eat oil, George!"

"Gladly. Shall I serve one for you, too?"

.. But perhaps his BBFF (Best Boss Friend Forever) had a point.

The next time Ainsley saw the pizza guy, Lazarus immediately asked if he had any screws loose. Are you ki- "You normally don't talk like that. Where's the 'huzzah'?"

His rival sounded legitimately worried. Ainsley was frankly taken aback. "Well, I- Uh," he stammered, "you mean that?"

Then Lazarus laughed, Ainsley standing there a tad dumb-founded- Because why was this nice. They were rivals. What in the godda- "You're funny. You know that, right?" Lazarus interrupted his thoughts. "My job's tolerable at best. Free pizzas make it better, but whatever you do? This so-called 'rivalry'? It's hilarious. Makes my entire shift worth it, honestly."

So he- It- This wasn't even a rivalry to him to begin with? It was all just- "Banter? That's what you took this as?"

"Well, yeah. I don't think anyone pulls cartoonish tomfoolery like this for a mere delivery job."

Great. He really was that laid-back. Ainsley was almost jealous. It wasn't until Ainsley hadn't said anything for nearly a full minute, when the apparent horror dawned onto his 'delivery rival'.

"You.. You weren't actually kidding, were you?" Lazarus eventually said. "Forget that, rethoric question. Holy fuck-" He cut himself off by laughing. "I want to say I'm sorry, but frankly I'm not? This is like an episode of Better Charge Saul. You're insane and it's great."

It's like Ainsley had an identity crisis in the span of 5 minutes. His rival thought he was funny and he complimented his insanity and he also watched BCS?! Lazarus' laughter eventually died off, the robot holding out his hand for a shake. "Start over?" he asked, still slightly snickering. "We're good, I promise."

.. Fine. The two delivery bots shook hands, and parted ways amicably. At least after this particular conversation, Lazarus still played along with the bit- If anything it improved, since the increased melodrama was, in fact, infectious. At this rate, they deserved a standing ovation at comedy club. The banter was admittedly also the best part of shifts for Ainsley. And he realised he rather liked making the pizza guy laugh.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

— GET LOVED IDIOT —

Luckily for this bamboozled beloved delivery bot, his poorly-timed accidental confession didn't fall flat. Lazarus, in his ever-so laid-back attitude, shrugged and went 'why not' on the prospect of a date. A date. Ainsley hadn't been on one of those in- Well he lost count, but the fact is that it was long ago. Ohhhhh shit oh fuck oh shit fuck shit fuck sh-

"GEORGE! YOU'VE WOOED TWICE. HELP ME!"

"I'm also twice divorced. I don't think I can."

And Ainsley yelled in utter agony at the disaster that were his feelings overspilling. What do you mean delivery guy A, he himself, from the esteemed establishment by a Northrad, fell for delivery guy B?! The one from a rival joint, owned by Hawthorne no less! It's like they were some tragic lovers destined to not be together! Scouring 1001 puns, how-to guides, internet forums, extensive tutorials on body language.. It was in those moments Ainsley wished so badly he'd retained more from George's USB lectures. Instead, Ainsley remembered he had to download some backwater program to play the file format, as the Northrads apparently had their own- Nothing useful!

Even worse, at the rate their first date and subsequent ones were going, he was falling harder than a fucking brick! And could one blame him? Ainsley felt as giddy as one would in a honeymoon phase, except he'd basically sniffed the entire cloudy heavens up and done a bong hit. And then that ten times over. Gravity would then beckon him back to the grounds and he'd comically fall into it and leave behind an Ainsley-shaped hole, and-

"C'mon, let's get you to bed", Lazarus would then say, pulling his melodramatic ass back to the surface. "You know it's not actually a big deal?"

Ainsley snorted. "But I like being a damsel in distress."

The pizza guy would then roll his eye, playfully, shooing the both of them into a good night's rest. What used to be hangouts and sleepovers, eventually turned more serious, after Ainsley managed to drag Lazarus down like a brick, too. He could boast he made him worse- After all, the banter and their dedicated food rivalry bit still persisted, albeit now with the bonus of electric smoochie-woochies- Holy fuck he was down bad.

Though, genuinely, full dedication to the sap, Ainsley was happy it was with this guy. His ship as de facto shelter, when he initially crashed into George's café, felt like a faraway memory- So did his servitude as a soldier- So did solitude as some outcast- And so did that feeling of nothing that came of it. The robot could genuinely say he had loved ones here, and they'd say the same about him.

A place for him, at last, and he'd never want to let go of it.