Epic Fail - Page 7

Chapter 4: The Heist, The Vulture Bot, The Burn

Some lies are told so often they fossilize. Get told and retold, packaged in glossy updates, sold as truth to the masses.

 

This? This was one of those lies.

I lived it.

I bled for it.

I should know.

 

The so-called kidnapping didn’t happen because of some deep cosmic purpose.It happened because my face got slashed, my pride got nuked, and Ravn—my legendary man-baby brother—couldn’t process rejection without starting an apocalypse.

 

So here’s what we did:

 

We cooked up a golden deer—you know the type: gleaming pixels, code-glitch sparkles, hologram-level bait. Poor Marich.exe got skinned in golden threadbare code and sent dancing through the woods to distract Ram.exe.

And of course it worked.Because Ram.exe has the emotional depth of a loyalty card.

 

While he ran after sparkle-bambi, LX-One stayed back with S-Ita—the eternal prize file. Still. Silent. Programmed for zero agency.

 

That’s when Ravn—wearing his best discount villain look—descended to snatch her.

 

And then—

Oh gods—

Then came the bot.

 

A vulture-shaped surveillance drone.

 

Old. Rusted. Wings juddering. Optics flickering.

 

One of the first-gen aerial defense programs, still running on fossil-code.

 

They called it J-Drone.

 

It flapped down with all the majestic terror of a dying ceiling fan.

 

Voice module glitching, it squawked:

‘C-c-combat override… engaging… protect… protocol… activated.’

 

I swear I died right there. A vulture drone.

 

Our last line of defense: a half-senile robo-bird still clinging to ancient hero directives like it was starring in some epic from three updates ago.

 

And Ravn?

 

One swing. One slice.

No drama. No delay.

The J-Drone fell.

Crashed into the dirt, sparking, coughing out static, wings twisted at impossible angles. Its voice modulator, just before blackout, whispered:

‘Sh… u… t… down… complete…’

Dead. Gone. Forgotten. Another obsolete bot in the junkyard of bad history.

 

And S-Ita?

She didn’t even blink.

She didn’t run.

She couldn’t.

Her code—flawless, flawless in its emptiness—held her frozen as Ravn grabbed her and warped her straight into Lank.OS.

 

And me?

I watched.

Face burning, blood crusting, laughter choking me.

Because I knew—

This? This was what would survive.

The official version.

The drama without the dirt.

 

They’d forget me.

Forget the vulture-bot.

Forget how stupid, clumsy, broken it all was.

The myth would live. The woman—me—would be erased.

 

But I wasn’t going quietly.

I wasn’t built for quiet.

I was the glitch they couldn’t patch.

 

And as the armies lined up, as the sky burned purple-black, I whispered to no one:

‘Let it fall. Let the whole simulation crash. I’ll dance in the ashes.’