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It all starts with the vending machine.
He asks his teammate, 4989, what it’s for. Why is it here? “I dunno, man,” 4989 replies with a grin. “I hear it’s a new thing for the immune cells. Pretty neat, huh?”
“I suppose,” 1146 hums quietly. He takes a good, hard look at the machine, which stands proudly like a watchful soldier on the sidelines, eyes drifting to a smaller one that holds only glucose for the red blood cells. They look somewhat similar, he thinks - they’re both box-shaped, and square, and machines. Oh, and they serve blood cells, too.
1146 is on the verge of voicing these comparisons to his companion when both of their receptors go off. The machine falls to the back of his mind as he takes off to exterminate the new invaders, 4989 trailing right behind him.
1146 is making his rounds on patrol when he spots a familiar face. AE3803 waves him over.
“White Blood Cell!” she greets excitedly. “It’s nice to see you again!”
“It’s nice to see you, too,” he responds. “Are you lost again?”
“Nope,” 3803 says, smiling with all her teeth. “I haven’t needed help in a while! I think I’m finally nailing down my routes.”
“You’re working hard,” he praises, enjoying the way she blushes easily with embarrassment.
He inquires about her day, letting her talk at length about the various trips she’s taken around the body so far, and the ones she’ll take after her short break. They inch closer to the small glucose machine with AE3803 in the lead. She pauses, hovering her hand over the flavor choices, when her gaze flitted to the larger machine a few steps away. “What’s that?” she asked, drawing up to her full height again.
“This?” 1146 approached it. The vending machine stuck out like a sore thumb, its bold color making it pop off the wall it was placed against. “It’s for the immune cells.” He peered into it. “I believe it works like this,” he began, taking off his hat. 3803 watched curiously. The neutrophil removed his receptor and snapped it in his hand, eliciting a gasp from the red blood cell in front of him. He then turned back to the machine and tapped a few buttons on the side. One of the receptors inside the machine was pushed forward, plummeting down towards the slot on the bottom with grace. “It’s an experiment,” he explained.
1146 bent down and stuck his arm through the slot. He pawed at empty air.
“It’s stuck,” 3803 observed, shock hiding in her tone. She was still trying to process the sight of 1146 effortlessly breaking his original receptor.
“It is?” He raised his head, eyes landing on the receptor inside the machine that was stubbornly clinging onto a lower row, apparently not descending the whole way down like he’d assumed. “Ah.”
“Don’t - don’t worry,” 3803 giggled, “it’s an easy fix!” She rattled the machine with a surprising amount of force. Now it was 1146’s turn to be shocked, this time at her strength. The receptor inside finally released itself after a forceful shake. He bent down again, swiping it out of the slot to put it on his cap, which he donned once more.
“Thank you,” he muttered.
She smiled at him. “No problem! You wanna go for some tea?” The glucose she’d been keen on getting seemed forgotten.
The neutrophil decided he’d never pass up a chance for tea with his favorite red blood cell, and strode off with her in tow, the incident passing by without another word.
His second approach to the vending machine proves more interesting.
He’s not directly interacting with it this time, but the show is just as exciting. It starts when he’s on his break between patrols, taking time to rest in the marginating pool, back pressed up against the wall. 1146 scanned the floor beneath him, watching as the red blood cells flew past each other.
His interest is drawn towards the black sheep of the crowd that’s suddenly popped up. It’s Killer T. A few of his team members are milling about in between the traffic of cells, making hearty conversation. Killer T himself is heading somewhere with purpose with a confident stride. 1146 follows him with his eyes, leaning forward slightly.
Killer T stops...in front of another new vending machine. It hadn’t been there yesterday, the neutrophil thinks, so perhaps the experiment of having them around is succeeding. He hasn’t seen any other immune cells use them so far, but that’s most likely because he’s been busy battling germs and patrolling the body. He observes Killer T waiting for something to drop, hands on his hips, before his face twists with frustration. 1146 blinks in a mixture of surprise and stifled amusement as the T cell roars angrily and kicks the machine, certain he’s imagining the way the box rattles and a soft thud is heard as whatever was being dropped makes its way into the slot’s territory. The cell bends down, yanks something harshly out, and goes on his way, sparing the bold box a glare.
As he relaxes back down into a slump, eyes fluttering closed after the entire show has run its course, 1146 quietly jots it down in the back of his mind to try kicking the machine after shaking it.
His third and final encounter with the damn thing may have been enough to put it out of business.
1146 had, unfortunately, lost one of his sharp combat knives to an unyielding Staphylococcus aureus . With relief, he’d remembered the vending machines that’d existed and seemed to be around every corner now. He made his way towards one at a rather fast pace, eager to hop back into patrolling.
Third time did not appear to be the charm. The knife rattled inside its row, refusing to fall. He gripped the machine by its sides and shook it, ramping up the force with which he did so as the knife continued to stay in its position.
1146 sighed. He gave it one, two, three kicks, each more forceful than the last, and still nothing. He was temporarily stuck until an idea struck, and then he struck the machine with his fist. His knuckles ached. He swung at it again, using his opposite arm, only to give an inward hiss of pain. Rats.
He took a brief pause, staring down the knife with anger sparking in his single visible eye. The thing had the audacity to look smug, and he could almost hear it jeering at him, goading him on. “Try again, you little bitch,” it sang. “Pathetic. Can’t even knock down a little old knife?”
“I can do it,” he murmured to himself.
“Are you sure about that?”
1146 growled. He locked his gaze on the glinting metal before letting out a howl, throwing full force behind a balled fist at the glass. It shattered immediately, some of the shards digging into his glove, others scattering around his feet. He gave the whole thing another angry kick, and then another, and… Before he knew it, the machine was dented in a few areas, and the buttons on the side were smashed in. The electric light flashed weakly before dying.
Silence settled over the area before the bystanders that had gathered around him began to titter and whisper in shocked tones to each other. Embarrassment began to rise as he took in the full damage of the machine that had been functional just a few seconds ago. The knife was still clinging to its place, although it seemed to be more out of fear than anything. He rubbed the back of his neck, flustered.
“White Blood Cell!” a voice piped up beside him. The neutrophil flinched, looking to its source.
“Red Blood Cell,” was all he said. She stared at him with wide eyes, breaking into nervous chuckles.
“You sure had fun, huh?” Her gaze flickered to the machine before coming back to land on him. “Do…err...uh…” She shuffled her feet. “Do you still need help?”
He nodded silently. AE3803 danced between the glass shards, brushing past him, before simply reaching into the machine and lifting the knife with care. She held it out for him, and he took it, murmuring a small thank you as he did so, slipping it into the empty holster in his belt.
“No problem,” she replied, although it was empty of the previous genuine excitement and happiness she’d had before. The awkwardness hung in the air. “You want to-” 3803 began tentatively.
His walkie-talkie suddenly sounded, cutting her off. It was 4989, calling for backup, somewhat desperate. 1146 made a silent prayer of thanks, rushing off with a cough and a small wave to his favorite red blood cell as she stood there, blinking in his wake.
“They got rid of the vending machines,” 4989 said. It’d been a week since...the Incident. He hadn’t mentioned anything of it to his team of fellow neutrophils.
“I wonder why,” 1146 mused aloud. “It’s a shame, don’t you think?”
“It sure is,” 4989 agreed. “It sure is.”