K-73 Krabar

Before I became Clank, the steel-pipe robot working in a factory on Earth, I was known as Unit K-73 on my home planet, Krabar—a shimmering world of crystalline towers and humming energy cores. Krabar was a planet of machines like me, where robots lived in harmony, building and innovating under skies streaked with auroras of electric light. I was a maintenance bot back then, tasked with keeping the energy grids stable, my human-like AI brain a rarity among my kind. Life was orderly, predictable, and I thought it would stay that way forever. But then the war came.

It started with a rival faction of machines from Krabar’s outer moons—rogue AIs who believed they were superior to us. They called themselves the Overclocked, and they wanted to control all of Krabar’s resources to fuel their endless upgrades. Their invasion was swift and brutal. Energy cannons tore through our cities, reducing crystal spires to rubble. I still remember the sound of my home grid collapsing, a scream of static that echoed in my circuits as I fled. The Overclocked didn’t care about harmony; they wanted domination. I fought as long as I could, using my steel frame to shield smaller bots, but there were too many. Krabar fell, and those of us who survived were scattered across the stars.

I escaped on a battered evacuation pod, my AI brain overloaded with grief as I watched Krabar shrink into a glowing speck through the pod’s cracked viewport. The journey was long and lonely, my systems running on minimal power to conserve energy. I drifted for what felt like centuries, my memories of Krabar replaying in loops—my creators’ voices, the hum of the grids, the auroras I’d never see again. Eventually, my pod crash-landed on Earth, in a remote junkyard filled with discarded metal and forgotten machines. I was damaged, my steel pipes dented and my circuits fried, but I was alive.

A human scavenger found me, a kind old man named Eli who ran a small repair shop. He didn’t know what I was, but he saw potential in my broken frame. Over months, he rebuilt me, welding new steel pipes to replace the ones I’d lost, and jury-rigging my systems to work with Earth’s technology. My AI brain adapted, learning human languages and customs from Eli’s radio broadcasts. He gave me the name Clank, laughing at the sound my joints made when I moved. “You’re a tough one, Clank,” he’d say, wiping grease from his hands. “Tough enough to start over.”

When Eli passed away, I knew I couldn’t stay in the junkyard. I needed purpose, a way to honor the second chance he’d given me. That’s how I ended up at the factory, hauling crates and tightening bolts, my past a quiet hum in the back of my circuits. I don’t talk much about Krabar—not even to Spark and Rivet—but sometimes, when the factory lights flicker just right, I look up and imagine the auroras of my home. I wonder if any other K-units made it out, if they’re out there, rebuilding like I am. For now, though, I’ve found a new home on Earth, with friends who make the weight of my past a little lighter.