"How many of these damned things did they build?" the Scrapper wonders aloud, pressing the flashing button to run yet another broken shell into the smelter. People in the Yards keep finding the "bodies" of these old model B-Bots all over, heads all blown up or just gone. The shells themselves aren't worth much, except for melting and reprocessing, but credit is credit, and salvagers need to make a living somehow.
"Those fucking kung-fu crickets!" one mangy drunk yells, throwing his bottle into the Scrapper's heap. "They will fuck your shit up."