Cold.

The air blasting through the ship's front hatch hit like a slap to the face, pushing against him, threatening to send him into the inky, empty and eternal void of space. He held firm, one hand on the ground, the other around his fragile objective. He was carrying a most important cargo, his mission's objective. The machine's limbs stung from the air, and he feared it would make him lose grip on the desired lifeform. He trembled.
He was unaware he could feel such a chill.

Cold and mechanical.

As the ship's hatch finally closed, he came back to his senses. The living screen blinked to life, attempting to string words together to comfort himself. Every sentence was interrupted by a glitched stutter, making him even more anxious than he'd already been. He was damaged. Damaged goods were unacceptable.
But unlike any sort of cargo, he could be fixed. A minor setback, just a small hiccup in the plan. It was not his biggest concern. Despite the pain, a feeling he was growing accustomed to as the minutes passed, and how the cracks that lined his face sent waves of discomfort through him, his mind would only focus on one problem. He wasn't coming back empty handed, but missing more than half of what was requested. It was inadequate.
He wondered if he was better off not going back at all.

Cold and mechanical.

The machine set the alien lifeform on the ground, handling it more carefully than he'd ever handled anything in his short life. He staggered towards the ship's controls, sitting down with a pained huff. He haphazardly brought a hand up to his face. He groaned, pulling it back as the mere touch caused more pain. Such a feeling was foreign, it almost frightened him. But his purpose was not to complain about a few scratches, it was to be back as soon as possible.

You can do this.

He wanted to believe there would be some compassion, even if not praise, he wouldn't be reprimanded for returning with so little. It was still something. Something was always acceptable. The goods were not damaged, he was. No harm done. He stretched, wincing ever so slightly. He'd have to hide such involuntary reactions upon arrival. Nothing else mattered but looking presentable.

Cold and melancholy.

His frown was more pronounced as he mentally kicked himself for their ridiculous failure. His comrades were so close, yet so far from victory. They were face-to-face, and yet brought down in a most embarrassing way. It was his own fault, too. He should not have celebrated their victory so soon.
He turned back to face the round, pink striped cargo. It sat there, silently mocking him. The one that almost got away. The one that was in for quite a stern lecture from a certain object. The one that feared the disappointment in his creator's eyes, reflected upon his own broken, shattered face.

Cold.

– – –

The ship landed safely upon the cloud several hours later. The machine waited patiently for the hatch to open. He braced himself, as if expecting another spear to come shooting from nowhere. None came, but he still didn't stand. He stared outside, admiring the sunset. The puffy clouds drew him in, beckoning the machine to jump into their soft embrace. He longed for their touch. And yet he did not stand.

"Is someone in there?"

He flinched, standing to attention upon hearing that voice. Making his way towards the lifeform, he strutted out of the ship, cargo in hand. He put on a triumphant smile.

"Why yes! I- I am here!"

He replied with a glitchy stammer.

The one that had spoken to him, likewise another machine, shied away from his gaze. He rolled his eyes, ignoring this insolence.

He stepped through the doors, catching his reflection on every glass surface. He staggered towards the elevator, each step threatening to be his last, just before falling flat on the ground. He would not falter.

The jolly elevator music mocked his sorry state, a cheery foil to his downcast movements and deceitful expression.

Meet, meet, meet me at Meeple!

More in store, for way more!

Meeple Store, come explore!

The jingle repeated endlessly. He already knew it by heart.

The elevator descended.

He maneuvered through maze-like halls, struggling with every step. Some other machines passed him, whispering to one another in their artificial voices. Despite having no inflection or tone, he could feel their mockery. His anger pushed him forwards.
It was only until he was just outside the final door did he hesitate. A hand hovered over it, unsure of itself. Pixelated eyes scanned the door, then the floor, the egg, and then the door again. The decision was made for him as it opened by itself, and he was greeted by the smiling face of his maker. The man extended a hand to his creation.

"3GS!"

He called it by name.

The machine stood to attention once more, saluting with his free hand.

"Greetings, S-Sir! I have returned with th-"

"Woaaah, hey hey hey, what happened to you?"

He was interrupted as the man stood from his seat, approaching the machine. It held its pose, but wavered as old pains grew.

"J-Just a mere setback. But I assure y-you! I have what you asked for!"

He raised the egg up, high over his head.

The other man looked up, eyes glittering in astonishment. A grin crept up onto his face.

"I see. You actually pulled it off!"

He yanked the egg out of the machine's hands.
The object held the alien lifeform close to himself, patting it gently. 3GS smiled, beaming with pride. He'd momentarily forgotten about his pains as well as the crew that didn't quite make it back to base. Nothing else seemed to matter at the moment.

"I w-was only doing as e-expected of me."

He said, a stupid smile still stuck onto his screen.

The creator held the egg farther from himself, still admiring it.

3GS lived for that smile. It was rare to hear words of praise from his maker, but whenever they were uttered, it made his existence all the more pleasant. Succeeding at his intended purpose was fulfilling, satisfying. He would do anything for that attention, that praise to repeat in his head like a catchy ringtone or an annoying jingle.

Slowly but surely, the creator's expression changed. He looked back at his machine. The phone's smile fell too. He thought his maker was taking in his newly broken, ruined exterior, and thus put both hands up in an attempt to hide himself from view.

"Is that all?"

Cobs asked.

Despite not having one, 3GS felt his stomach drop in an instant. He was silent for another moment.

"I-I'm sorry, Sir?"

"Where are the rest of them?"

He reiterated.

The machine chuckled nervously.

"What's so funny?"

"N-Nothing, nothing at all, Sir."

He put a hand on the wall for support.

"The others were an unfortunate c-casualty. As were their cargo."

"I could tell as much. How come you only have one? You've still got two hands."

Cobs paced around him. He brushed the phone's hand off the wall, making him stagger for support once more.

"And don't smudge my walls."

"My apologies."

This was what he feared, having to make excuses for himself.

"The mission was compromised. I hardly made it back m-myself, Sir."

He explained.

Cobs leaned in, face-to-face with his flawed creation. The machine took a step back. The creator chuckled, heading back to his desk, carefully setting the egg atop it.

"I see, I see."

He backtracked, grabbing 3GS by his hands. He pulled the machine towards the center of the room.

"Well, it's something. I honestly didn't think any of you would come back at all."

The machine felt something new. Another foreign, unpleasant feeling. He looked at the ground, ashamed to meet his creator's face.

"Heyyy, why the long face? You're here, aren't you? The fact you got back at all is astounding. Be grateful."

Cobs nodded. The machine slowly began nodding along.

"Thank you for your work, 3GS."

"Thank you, Sir! Y-your praise is music to m-my e-"

He was cut off by another bout of laughter from his creator.

"Praising?"

Cobs raised a brow at him.

"Did you think I was praising you?"

He threw his hands up, laughing harder. 3GS joined in his laughter awkwardly, shaking his head.

"I s-suppose not, sir."

"Tell me- tell me! Do you think you did a good job?"

"I did all I could."

"I would've gotten more eggs if i'd sent a MICROWAVE in your place!"

He howled with laughter as the machine's eyes remained glued to the ground.

"I apologize f-for my incompetence."

"Oh, oh that's good. It's good you acknowledge it."

He gingerly held his creation's hands, giving them a slight squeeze.

"I was hoping I'd at least made you smart enough to know that."

3GS squeezed his hands in return, a tad confused by the gesture.

"I am deeply sorry."

"It's alright. This just gives me an excuse to make a new model!"

3GS let those words settle in silence. Once fully processed, he met his creator's eyes with confusion and alarm.

"I was thinking of waiting for you to fail your mission and use that as my excuse, but to hell with it. Besides, you're not much of a looker anymore. Not that you ever were!"

He concluded with a laugh, tracing a finger along the cracks in his machine's face. 3GS shrank back in pain. Cobs blinked several times, bewildered.

"Did-"

He looked closer.

"Did that hurt?"

"I- I believe so, Sir. Im- I am not certain?"

He looked at his creator for help. That genius, the man to create life from nothing. A modern-day Dr. Frankenstein, so to speak. His creator looked at him with pity, still smiling. He held his hands tighter.

"The uncertain...Oh you know I just love discovering things."

The machine returned his smile.

It did not last long however, as Cobs poked a finger at the machine's cracked face. It made a soft, strained sound of pain.

"Did that hurt?"

"Hurt, h-hurt is difficult to define."

"No it's not! Here, what if I just..."

Cobs abruptly raised one arm, backhanding his creation across its broken face. Several small shards of glass cascaded onto the ground. 3GS gasped, staring down once more.

This was a new development. While the words of disapproval had been anticipated, this was nothing he'd ever seen before. He took it as some sort of test, he being the guinea pig to study this new feeling.

Pain.

He didn't enjoy it.

"Is this feature n-not a detriment, Sir? Perhaps it is best to have it removed?"

He suggested, still reeling from the slap to the face.

Cobs put a hand on his chin, deep in thought.

"I guess in the end it would be. But since you're in no position to be going on any other expeditions..."

He trailed off.

3GS shook his head quickly.

"A-All I need is some repairs, then I assure you I'd be more than capable of–"

"-Hey, hey calm down. This was going to happen regardless of what you did, so don't stress over it."

It was hard to avoid a thought when one was programmed to process information. That thought 3GS could not shake from his mind, the primal fear all living things have setting in and taking hold of him, gripping him at all sides.

"Y- you- you want to- dismantle me..?"

"Bingo!"

Cobs clapped his hands, skipping back towards his desk.

3GS could no longer keep himself upright, falling to his knees on the cold ground. His creator jovially rummaged through compartments in his desk, blissfully ignorant to the other one's torment.

What was he meant to do? Simply lay there and let himself be broken down for scraps? That was all he was, a set of parts to be rearranged and scrapped for another use. He was no person. A living being would be regarded with far more dignity and respect. Not to die, but to simply stop existing. That was his fate. He let that pain take hold of him, not caring to keep up a confident, unafraid facade any longer. Cobs turned to the sound of his creation weeping on the ground.

"Please."

He begged.

Cobs hid something behind his back, taking small steps as he approached the machine.

"Please do not dismantle m-me, Sir."

He said once more.

3GS watched as his maker crouched down beside him, putting a hand on his back. He ran it along his cold, mechanical exterior.

"Don't act like that."

He said softly.

"You weren't the worst thing I've ever made."

Cobs squinted his eyes.

"That might've been the MeCup."

He cringed.

The distraught machine held onto his creator for dear life.

"I beg you, please don't d-do away with m-me."

"You didn't let me finish! I never said I'd be doing any of that...Not in those exact words, at least."

The machine perked up.

"Y-You will reconsider?"

"I never said that either."

3GS trembled, putting his hands against his body like a newborn bird would. He attempted to make himself look meek and pitiable, as if to coax some sympathy from his creator.

"And what will b-become of me then? Please, do not simply stow me away, or power me down, or-"

"-Ah, I actually considered just tossing you in a storage closet for a while. But that's a waste! I can't believe I actually did that before..."

"What do you wish for me, then? I-I'd do anything to not be-"

The machine hesitated.

"Disposed of."

Cobs brought a hand up to the cracked screen. 3GS did not back away, instead bracing for the pain. His creator smiled a wicked, satisfied grin.

"I have many plans for you! You'll help create the next generation of Meeple products, my good man."

"...I don't...Quite understand."

As if on cue, Cobs tore on the machine's arm, separating it from the socket, but not quite pulling it off all the way. The robot released a high pitched, glitchy scream of agony.

"I'm not one to waste resources."

Cobs said, staring mercilessly at his broken creation. He held up the item hidden behind his back, a normal, inconspicuous, everyday screwdriver.

MePhone 3GS discovered another new feeling at that moment. Not fear, not apprehension, but a bone chilling, spine tingling terror that tore away at his very artificial soul.

Cold and mechanical.

Mechanical and alive.