Murder Drones Envy Fanart Novels & Stories

His confusion had me smiling and that confused him even more. “It was, Charles. You wouldn’t understand it. For you, this is just a job, something you got into thinking that it was much more glamorous than it really is. That’s why you’ll never make it in this world. For me, it’s an art. It’s a passion and there’s nothing more satisfying than that double tap sound as the bullets enter your skull,” I said. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” He asked. “Yes, I am. You lied to me, Charles, and that hurts.” He could see the truth of those words in my eyes as I straightened up. I aimed the gun at his forehead and he closed his eyes.

That cruel, demonesque smirk. It spoke louder and clearer than any word could ever say. He was going to find me and when he does... I clenched my eyes shut as my thoughts clouded. Through the haze of it, I could only see one thing on the canvas of my mind. My greys intermingled with black and then I was thrown into an odyssey of darkness. A maze of questions that didn't have answers. Madeline's form that awash the canvas scarlet and beside that Marienne's beautiful Turquoise eyes that held hatred for me.

"He’s an old-school corporate scrapper who bought out his own line-contract ten years ago. He doesn't answer to Vane Global, and he doesn't care about the High Council's collapse. He thinks a clean ledger just means there are no more police enforcers to stop him from digging the slums out from under our feet." As if on cue, the heavy shriek of the nearest drilling rig suddenly dropped in frequency. A massive, ivory-white security drone—painted in the blocky, utilitarian colors of the Independent Extraction Guilds—dropped through the sulfur fog, its underbelly spotlights flashing a cold, blinding white directly onto my face.

"Nobody closes it without my say." A Scrapper drone burst through the elbow joint. It was a fusion of a spider and a buzzsaw. I drove my hand forward. The vacuum of the Seventh Seal erupted from my palm. It caught the drone mid-air. The Multiversal market was open. The first customer was trying to break the shop.

"If we die no one knows where the secret bunkers are Julian look out" A group of Harvester Drones dove from the clouds. They were not from the Board. They belonged to the Eye. They did not fire bullets. They fired needles of purple light. The needles turned everything they hit into dust. Julian pushed the engines to the limit. The flyer screamed as it tore through the air. It moved between the buildings. "Maya help me" Julian cried out. The black bird on Julian’s shoulder flew off. It hit the window. It grew into a glowing blue shield. The purple needles bounced off the code.

I hissed, grabbing his forearm. In the gaping hole where the windows had been, three sleek, matte-black drones hovered, their optical sensors glowing a menacing crimson. This wasn't a standard assassination; this was a high-frequency surgical strike. The Architect wasn't just cleaning up; he was erasing the evidence. "I’ll draw their fire," Julian said, his thumb grazing my cheek, a fleeting, electric touch that felt like a goodbye. "When I move, you grab the drive. Don’t look back, Elara. Just run for the service stairs."

Her voice is a dry, useless rasp. Elias doesn’t even look at her. He’s staring at those screens like a god tracking a storm he created. “Variant Seven,” he murmurs. “Your mother’s final architecture… perfected. Airborne now. Elegant. Efficient.” He pinches the tablet, zooming in on a forest feed. A pale, greasy mist pours from the underbelly of the drones—thin, almost invisible as it drifts on the wind like dust pretending to be harmless. “It doesn’t kill them quickly,” Elias continues, his tone dripping with an unholy sort of pride. “That would be crude. It rewrites them from the marrow out.”

Agent Drake rubbed Agent Martinez on her back when her giggling caused her to cough. “So your daughter loves the boy band BTS!?” The gunman shouted out through his booming Texas drawl, startling Agent Martinez and Agent Drake. The terrorist couldn’t wait to interrupt their conversation. “All the members in that boy band are dead, aren’t they? It is incredible how Counterfeit technology can revive the living. I heard Counterfeit people don’t like it when you call them a machine. Counterfeit people think of themselves as being human, since they can reproduce and have babies and families like us. They’re our creation. You think they might take over the world?” The gunman stared fiercely at Agen

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, the only betrayal of the storm building within him. “Subject: Deceased. Adrium: Not detected.” The lead drone emitted a short, shrill beep, and the others responded with a synchronized retreat, lifting upward like vultures denied a feast. In seconds, they were gone, vanishing into the smog above the ruins. Tunde exhaled slowly. His eyes flicked to the crate. The shard glowed faintly in the shadows like a heart still beating.

“There.” I follow her gaze, heart kicking up. Footprints in the mud, fresh, leading into the woods. Too big for Aiden’s usual tread. “Not him,” I say, gut twisting. “Someone else.” Before we can move, a low hum cuts through the rain—a drone, barely visible, hovering just above the trees. Its red light blinks, locking onto us. Ember curses, yanking me down as a dart hisses past, embedding in the wall behind us. “Tranqs,” she hisses. “They’re not playing.”