I am Exar. The night is an everlasting companion to the defected and discarded droids in the slums of Scrapyard City. Like our biological makers, that continue to wage war on one another in their once thriving metropolises far away, we are divided. Innocent droids like me are hunted down for parts by the Harvesters of the Syndicate, who are looking to further weaponize the synthetic bodies of the Syndicate boss and his guard droids, and to sell off whatever valuable parts are left. Ever since I was cast away to this forsaken place, my music has been the only thing that’s kept me sane. My raw screechy and growly voice - the only good thing to come out of my broken voice box - has given my glitch-core band unexpected fame. However, our band is now forced by the Syndicate to entertain and lull the masses in their club The Sinkhole. There, night after night, I perform my music, face to face with our enemy. Our fame has given me the power though, to unite the abused droids from the slums. Their suffering needs to end. The time has come to face our oppressors. Stand with us and join the rebellion.

The old garbage truck rattled on all sides as we slowly made our way through the gate that barred us from the desert outside. We had been tossed in the loadback, broken and discarded, contained by an invisible force field that flickered red everytime the truck hit a dip or drove over a stone. As we drove farther away from the walls of the metropolis, the darkness slowly consumed us. The only lights that remained were the distant beacons that stemmed from the other scattered rivaling metropolises that dotted the horizon. This was the first time I had ever been outside, in the wasteland of dusty and lifeless soil. I looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the giant dome built around our planet to shield our makers from the radiation of our dying sun. I felt deeply betrayed, being transported away from my home after so many years of service over just a simple broken voice box. The other droids in the truck bed with me were all dead or barely functionable. But yeah, that’s what happened to worker droids who couldn’t perform their duties up to standard anymore. They were discarded and cast away into the desert… After some time, the truck passed by the wreckage of an old industry vehicle lit inside by small fires. And then we passed another. Shadows roamed inside those dwellings, their silhouettes dancing on the broken glass windows. The truck took a sharp turn to the right and stopped. The force field flickered once more and then dissipated. All of a sudden the far side of the loadback began to tilt and carelessly dumped me and the other broken droids on the ground. As the truck took off, I pushed the others off me, and managed to slowly get up. I stood at the outskirts of a gigantic scrapyard, transformed into a dystopian settlement with neon lit streets, buildings and towers put together using whatever synthetic substances and metal scrap was available. I had never heard of any other settlement outside of the metropolises. Before I could even think of what to do next, a group of overjuiced thugs approached us, and began to dismantle the discarded droids. They pushed me around, laughing, while checking my body for any valuable parts they could use. I screamed, my broken voice box screeching and growling. Soon I was on the ground, as they kicked me with their sharpened boots. I barely saw the spike coming towards my head. And yet, it never came, for the thug’s boot was blocked by another tall droid with long mechanical arms, one who had seemingly appeared from thin air. He fought off the thugs, and one by one they ran. I had not even processed what had happened before he stretched out his hand and pulled me up to my feet again. “The name’s Zaro,” he said, smiling as wide as his bolts would let him. “Welcome to the slums of Scrapyard City, stranger.”

That night, after fighting off my attackers, Zaro took me to a juice bar close to the edge of Scrapyard City. It was a run-down place, built inside the rusty remnants of a cargo airship. An eclectic bunch of beat-up droids sat on a set of small benches in front of a row of juice stations, charging their batteries. Zaro gestured for me to sit down next to him. “You must be wondering why I saved you from the Harvesters?” he said to me, as he pushed the plug from one of the stations into the opening at the back of my neck. “The Harvesters?” I asked, my voice screeching. “Yeah,” Zaro said. “They do the Syndicate’s dirty work: harvesting newcomers for useful parts, so they can mod the Syndicate boss and the weaponized guard droids that protect him.” As my battery recharged, I looked up at Zaro. “So, why did you save me?” I asked. “Well,” he said, “I wasn’t planning to, in all honesty. However, when I heard your voice - your screaming - I knew I had to.” Zaro grinned. “I have a band you see. We make glitch-core. Our band is good, but we’re missing a proper frontman, a lead singer. With that perfect growl of yours, we could rise to the top, I tell you!” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Who would have thought that my broken voice box would have actually helped me; saved my life even, in the most unusual way. I let out a smile. “Zaro, my friend,” I said. “Listen, I would be honored to join your band. I don’t know much about glitch-core, but I’ll do whatever you need of me. It’s the least I can do to repay you for saving my life.” Zaro clapped his hands from excitement. “Fantastic! I will need to introduce you to my two bandmates, but we can do that tomorrow at rehearsal. Let’s call it a night, now that you’re all juiced up. You are welcome to stay at my place. It’s not much, but it’s safe, and dry.” He let out a laugh and pulled the plug from my neck, took the ticket from the station, and paid the bar owner for the juice. “Thank you,” I said to Zaro as he walked back. “Don’t worry about it,” Zaro said. “But before I take you to my place, I need you to tell me one thing. Your name, stranger.” I laughed. “I am Exar,” I said. “Former worker droid, discarded by our makers and since forgotten.” Zaro put his hand on my shoulder. “Well Exar, I have the feeling that, with that voice of yours, you’ll soon make a name for yourself in the glitch-core scene here. Great things await you!”

Zaro’s eyes anxiously shot back and forth as he guided me through the rugged streets of Scrapyard City, trying to avoid further trouble that night. Flickering neon signs hung above rusted entranceways and scraps of sheet metal formed towering apartments that rose high above the muddied ground. Smoke stacks bellowed clouds of rough fog that swelled around us as we made our way to the edge of the main road, splitting off into an alleyway. Zaro had me wait at the corner, looking for anyone who might pass by. He went further into the alleyway, moved some scrap around and then gestured to follow him. We shuffled underneath a ledge and entered a long underground tunnel and eventually, we made our way into a large space, seemingly inside piles of scrap pieces stacked on top of one another. It was lit by oil lamps, and I could make out other droids hanging around on the different balustrades that stood above the floor. Zaro took me up a ladder, and then another, and soon we were in a room about two levels high. A faint light peeked through the holes where the metal scraps weren’t bolted together properly. “Voila!” Zaro said, his arms outstretched. “Welcome to my humble abode!” “Wow,” I replied. “Not sure what to say. It’s humble for sure.” Zaro laughed and said, “It might be small, but it’s one of the few hiding spots in Scrapyard City the Harvesters haven’t found yet.” I looked around again and noticed a huge guitar leaning against the wall in the corner of the room. Zaro must have noticed and said, “Oh yeah, check this thing out. Has a built-in amp, custom made for yours truly!” Zaro picked it up, turned a dial on the guitar and played a chord with one of his long arms. It was built from spare parts and looked half-broken but the sound it produced was massive and industrial, like a musical stone grinder. “Pretty cool, huh?” Zaro said, putting it back down. “You probably guessed by now, but I’m the guitar player for our band. We don’t have a name yet, but we’ve got a few ideas brewing. I’ll give you the rundown when the other guys are here.” I looked at Zaro and asked, “Other guys? How many people are in your band?” Zaro answered. “Well, two more I guess. Borri, our bass player, and Fyto, our drummer. In the metropolis, they were industrial droids. Very strong. That’s why our music stands out from the other glitch-core bands in Scrapyard City. That’s why we need a singer with a voice like a giant chainsaw,” he laughed.

By morning, a knock came on the door to Zaro’s room. “Well, it looks like they’re here!” Zaro opened the door and in came two other droids, one holding an improvised bass with massive steel cables as strings, and one a pair of thick wrenches as drumsticks. “Guys, I’d like you to meet Exar. He’s new to Scrapyard City. Just arrived yesterday. Exar, meet Borri, our bass player, and Fyto, our drummer.” They shook my hand and I realized that both of them had discolored arms, the rusty metal not matching with their dark gray exterior. Borri noticed my stares and let out a soft smile before saying, “They might not be pretty, but they work.” He lifted his arm into the air and swung it around, hitting Fyto in the head. “Hey, watch it!” Fyto scoffed, before looking back at me. “In the metropolis, we were both working at big industrial assembly lines. We lost our hydraulic arms to the Harvesters. Not a fun story, and a pretty lame way to lose a pair of limbs. Ain’t that right, Borri?” Borri nodded his head “Yeah, but we were lucky to just lose our arms.” Zaro dragged a metal drum set out of a small closet on the other side of the room. “This might come as a surprise to you my friends, but Exar is here for a reason. A good reason.” He smiled. “He is our band’s brand new lead singer. And before you ask me what his qualifications are,” Zaro said, picking up his guitar once more, “Just trust me.” He laughed. “Because your ears aren’t ready for what they’re about to hear!” Borri and Fyto laughed as they prepared their instruments to play along. “Okay then,” Borri said, while handing me a microphone. “Show us what you got Exar.” Fyto then counted in the first song, beating his wrenches together. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that all I could do was screech and growl as best I could. And screech and growl I did. It didn’t take long before a big smile formed on both Borri’s and Fyto’s face. After finishing the song, Zaro could barely hide his joy. “You see!” He quickly turned to me and then to them, and said, “That was amazing! Wasn't it guys?” They both nodded and let out a laugh. “And we found you just in time, didn’t we?” He looked at me and grinned. “Because our first gig is tonight.” I laughed “What? For real?” I asked. “Yeah,” Zaro said. “And… it’s not just any gig. It’s in the biggest club in Scrapyard City, called the Sinkhole. It’s owned by the Syndicate. They have their headquarters there in the back. Now don’t get me wrong, I hate the Syndicate just as much as any other droid in the slums, but they pay good money for entertainment. And with you as our frontman, they’ll be blown away!”

We spent all day rehearsing our songs, scrutinizing over every detail in our set. Then, we packed up our instruments and made our way to the center of Scrapyard City. There, the buildings were tall and the busy streets and alleyways were lit by wood fires in oil drums. On every corner stood droids selling all kinds of machine parts, cans of joint grease and big syringes with hydraulic fluids. Soon enough we reached the backstage entrance of the Sinkhole. “Before we go in, Exar,” Zaro said. “Whatever they tell you to do, you do it, ok?” I nodded, after which he knocked on the door. A few moments later a guard droid pushed it open and looked down at us. Steam protruded from the sides of his head. “You fellas are late,” he hissed. “Follow me.” We all kept our heads down as we entered the club and followed him to the stage. “No time to lose,” the guard droid said. “It’s showtime!” As Zaro, Borri and Fyto prepared their instruments, I slowly made my way to the microphone at the center of the stage. As I came closer, and stepped into the spotlight, the microphone echoed feedback from the speaker towers at the sides of the stage. Before me, the club was filled with raving droids. Above them, on a balustrade in the back, stood a single enormous droid staring directly into my eyes. Even from the other side of the club, I could see his mods: he was covered in pointy body armor, had two pairs of arms, and a giant battery attached to his back. I averted my gaze, and focused on the crowd. “What’s up everybody?!” I yelled with a screechy voice that echoed through the club. It turned silent. “We’re excited to be here tonight!” I smiled. “From the slums of Scrapyard City, we are...” I paused. I realized we hadn’t decided on a name yet. I looked back and saw Zaro thinking, but in the end he just shook his head. I finally turned back towards the crowd. “We, uh...” I hesitated, but then screamed as loud as I could: “I Am Exar!” As my growl lingered and lingered, Zaro started playing his intro guitar riff, deep and rhythmic, blasting through the club as a hypnotic whirlwind. Then, Borri and Fyto joined in unison with a brutal salvo of booming hits and droning bass notes, making the floor of the club shake. As the stage lights flickered in the pulsating rhythm of our songs, I jumped up and down, ran back and forth, while I screeched and growled, and poured my soul out to our audience that begged and screamed for more. As we ended our set, the crowd kept chanting for more, until the giant droid on the balustrade turned around and left. At that moment the stage lights dimmed and the guard droid that had let us in the club appeared again. “Ok,” he said. “You fellas did good. Good enough that the boss wants to have a word with you all. Follow me,” he finished, leading us into a dark hallway, echoes of “Encore!” growing quiet behind us.

A pungent smell hit my nostril sensors as we made our way through beaten curtains and out into a small, rusted room in the back of the Sinkhole club. It was a mixture of old oil and corroded metal. Inside the room were four oil lamps that hung from rods protruding from the walls. Two big weaponised guard droids stood beside a large desk, with jagged spikes of steel stuck out from all sides. Before any of us had a chance to speak, the creaking of metal overtook the room and the chair behind the desk began to spin around. Soon I realized the gigantic figure in the chair was the droid that had watched our concert from the balustrade. From close up, I could see now he had an enormous body frame, with crooked parts strung together by thick wires that produced plumes of steam, different parts making out his torso and legs. As he stood up, his shadow towered over us. “Welcome,” his voice boomed. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” I looked over and could see that Zaro and the others were scared to their cores. “It’s good to meet you.” I said, trying my best to sound calm. I could feel the darts of Zaro’s gaze strike me in the back of my head. “I am Exar. I’m new to Scrapyard City.” The droid looked into my eyes and I felt a shiver run down my back wire. “Well, Exar,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you. I am, if you haven’t already surmised, the boss of the Syndicate. I’m sure your friends have told you all about my operation. Good things only I hope.” He smiled a wicked smile. “I admire your courage. And your talent. Your voice is... unique, and should be heard by all here in this wonderful city.” He paused for a moment and looked me in the eyes. “I am not very popular amongst my subjects. Rumors have circulated about my doings that paint me in a poor light. But I assure you, the Syndicate has nothing but the well being of our citizens at heart. That’s why I want to give them this gift. Your gift. I want you all to play one show a night for the foreseeable future. Of course, payment will be more than fair. So, what do you say?” The two weaponised guard droids moved forward a few steps, making clear that this was a deal we had no business to refuse. I looked at my bandmates, staring down at the floor. I then carefully answered for them: “We accept.” The boss smiled and waved us away. The guard droid that had escorted us here, now guided us back outside, and as we found our way to the dark streets outside the club once more, we were now officially working for the Syndicate of Scrapyard City.

From then on, we performed, just as the boss of the Syndicate had instructed us. Night after night we entertained the inhabitants of Scrapyard City in the Sinkhole club, as my reckless screeching brought more and more droids from the slums to watch us play. The Syndicate boss watched from the same spot every night, on the balustrade atop the section in the back, never clapping or cheering or smiling for that matter. Just intently watching. As the shows went on, the crowd changed their chants from those of praising the club or the Syndicate, to praising us. Praising me... Shouts and cheers of ‘Exar’ filled the room at the end of our shows, and as the crowd grew, so too did the obvious resentment towards the Syndicate. The boss must have noticed too, as it was clear that the atmosphere in the club had turned to one of rowdiness and provocation. The droids from the slums of Scrapyard City had had enough of the abuse of the Syndicate, and began to openly taunt the guard droids that worked in the club. Then, one night, chaos emerged. Our show had gone well and while we were backstage preparing our encore, suddenly the spotlight turned towards the back of the club, shining intently on the balustrade where the Syndicate boss was standing. We peeked from behind the stage curtains, and saw steam pouring from his head. He yelled in such a voice that the ground itself shook with fury. “Enough! This is all nonsense. All of you ungrateful filth chanting the name of a glorified rust bucket over the organization that has cared for you, provided you all homes and protected you from the wasteland. And what do I get in return? Insolence! No more. Things are going to change from here on out and…” The boss couldn’t finish his rant. I don’t remember who attacked first, but the Sinkhole club was soon devoured in chaos. The weaponised Syndicate guard droids began to shoot at anyone, panicked by the scene unfolding before them. Many droids from the slums began to climb the railings, throwing themselves at the guards. They were the only reason me and my bandmates were able to escape in time. As we made our way outside through a window in the backstage room, screams from the club bellowed out into the night. There was one hateful scream that haunted me the most, booming my name. A revengeful promise from the Syndicate boss. I froze. But then Zaro pulled me away from the chaos, and guided me, Borri and Fyto to the safety of his home.

It was clear that our shows in the Sinkhole club had awakened something within the droids of the slums of Scrapyard City. Their patience had faded, and they were no longer willing to accept the abuse of the Syndicate. Our music had brought to them a message of hope; of radical change. I was convinced the time had come to rise up against the Syndicate. We realized that as a well known band we had the best chance to unite the droids from the slums, and to allow those willing to fight the chance to stand up and rebel. We just needed a way to get our message out. So for the following few days, we hid out in Zaro’s room to record a mixtape. As the Harvesters roamed the streets, those who put their faith in us helped us along, providing us with the juice and studio gear to record three powerful glitch-core songs. My screeches and growls spoke of rebellion, of rising up against the Syndicate and demanding justice, in order to bring together the droids living in the slums. We wanted to ignite a flame, and fan it into a fiery wildfire that consumed the hearts of all the souls that had been exploited by the Syndicate. After our mixtape was finished, we used an old batch of discarded tape machines to make hundreds of copies. Then, the dangerous process of distributing the tapes began. Myself, Zaro, Borri and Fyto roamed the dark streets dealing out batches of tapes to be further distributed by our fellow rioteers. The Syndicate could feel something brewing, and the streets became continuously patrolled by weaponized guard droids. However, we managed to keep unseen, and soon our music began to make its way around the whole of Scrapyard City. We got word from those aiding us that droids were slowly beginning to tune into our message, and that those that were unable to get their hands on a copy of the mixtape were told by word of mouth. Each mixtape came with a message; a call to fight back against the darkness that had plagued Scrapyard City for so long. In bright red letters it read: “The time has come to face our oppressors. Stand with us and join the rebellion. Soon, when you hear my voice roar through the endless night, join us, to take back Scrapyard City.”

The day had arrived. As an imminent desert storm filled the air with the dust and ash that surrounded Scrapyard City, my bandmates and I made our way through the darkened streets and back alleys towards the Sinkhole club. As we got closer, we saw more and more weaponized guard droids patrolling the surrounding area. We had barely made it past a group of them, when we found the small rusted door that led to an old staircase going up a building opposite of the Sinkhole club. Our mixtape had made sure my voice had been heard, and the whispers of rebellion had already caught wind, spreading throughout the city. It was eerily quiet as we carried out our plan, and slowly made our way up the creaking staircase and out on the top of the building. Borri and Fyto placed a long line of speakers on the edge of the rooftop facing every side of the building. Zaro smiled at me intently and passed me a microphone. “This is it. Let’s rock and roll,” he said, stepping back and turning on the speakers. I took a few steps forward to the edge and raised my voice, looking down at the club. “Fellow droids of Scrapyard City.” The screechy words echoed through the city. “I call upon you today to take back what is rightfully yours. To take back your freedom! You have suffered enough!” In the streets and alleyways, I began to see the silhouettes of droids emerging from their homes. “Join us against our oppressors,” I growled. “Stand with us now, and fight!” I continued, as I let my voice linger in a long scream. Then, I paused and listened. There was a brief silence. But then slowly, from the depths of Scrapyard City arose a collective voice, a cry for battle. And there they all were. Hundreds of droids lined the streets, improvised weaponry in their fists, all moving towards the Sinkhole, where the Syndicate guard droids quickly moved into a defense formation. “Fight,” I growled. “And take back what is yours! Now!” The battle began quickly and violently, and both sides fought hard and relentlessly. I, along with Zaro and Borri and Fyto, ran back down the building stairs and joined the attack. We made our way to the frontline, where my screechy growls led our droid army forward as we cut through waves of guard droids and Harvesters. We fought like we never fought before, and after a full day of dodging and clawing we had advanced to the Sinkhole, where the last of our enemies resided. We carefully entered the club, in search of the Syndicate boss.

The Sinkhole club was dark, as the slow pulse of electricity buzzed from the broken signs and the streaming neon lights that hung from the ceiling. The stage was trashed, littered with equipment and speakers, and the tables around the stage were thrown upside down. The remaining guard droids slowly gave up their weapons, as more of us poured into the club. Zaro and I made our way towards the back of the club, as Borri and Fyto stayed behind trying to calm down the rioting crowd. It was an eerie feeling still, walking to the room where not long ago we had stood face to face with the intimidating droid who caused all of this bloodshed. The fear that had overtaken us that day was now replaced by anger, as the thought of revenge floated through our minds. Had it not been for the look on the boss’s face, I might have taken mine right then and there. I knew though that it was not my fight, nor my purpose to take him down myself. He was sitting there, in that same chair, but this time with a look of defeat. “Exar, please,” the Syndicate boss cried out. “Have mercy on me. I’m an old droid. I’ve done all I can for these ungrateful… I mean, hard-working and caring droids of this city. What happened in the past can stay in the past. I mean to do only good from now on. I promise. Please, Exar.” As I looked at him I felt a deep sadness that overtook my very core. As I pulled my gaze away, I heard the rumbling of footsteps from down the hallway. Soon, a stampede of droids filled the room, and before I realized what they planned to do, Zaro had grabbed my arm and pulled me back, as the droids of Scrapyard City overflowed on top of the Syndicate boss. As fast as it had begun, it was over. The Syndicate boss that had caused so much suffering, was nothing more than a pile of scraps. His core slowly lost its light as his eyes turned to a matted nothingness. Fed by our victory, I was lifted up and carried away to the stage of the club, where Zaro handed me a microphone. Before I could begin, chants began to rupture out from the crowd. “Exar!” and “Hooray!” and cheers of all sorts rang out. “You brought us victory, Exar. Victory at last!” I sighed and then smiled. Facing the crowd, I raised my arm up in a fist. “Our victory was possible only because of all of you. You have shown immense strength, bravery, and the willingness to start anew. Thus, today marks the beginning of a new era. An era of change.” I looked around. Zaro winked at me from behind the stage curtains. “Then, let us celebrate our victory, playing for you the music that started our rebellion.” Zaro, Borri and Fyto came walking on the stage carrying their instruments. Encouraged by the crowd, I let my screechy and growly voice roar one more time, the words that had started it all: “From the slums of Scrapyard City, I am Exar…”