End of Empire: From Gamer Rage to Butler Bot Possession

The title's a mess, but surprisingly, it's a rompan game. Heavy on the dark fantasy vibes, though.

Every character dies. In the ending, only one survives. Player included.

So, for me to live, all the heroines have to bite the dust.

"What kind of garbage game is this..."

After seeing repulsive, miserable bad ends in every route, I couldn't take it anymore and threatened the devs with terrorism.

- If you don't make a happy ending, I'll shit-protest in front of your HQ.

- Please do. Sob...

These bastards are picking a fight with the users?

Fine. I'll show you what I can do.

I jumped up, but something waddling blocked my way.

"Obstacle detected. Obstacle detected."

It was my robot vacuum cleaner. Ignoring it, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it started inching closer.

"Trash detected. Commencing cleaning."

Trash? Me? The whole world's ganging up on me.

The moment I tried to nudge it away with my foot, the vacuum rammed my pinky toe at full speed.

"Gah."

I knocked over the water glass on my desk.

And got electrocuted.

So, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what happened next?

'Fuck.'

I got isekai'd. Into End of Empire.

Of all things, into a butler automaton's metal shell.

Pros: No need for sleep.

Cons: Missing something crucial down there.

Balance is totally fucked.

'Eunuch life.'

I was checking my smooth crotch like always and vacuuming the floor when a slender woman approached through the sunlight by the window.

"Ah, Tin Can. Good morning."

Sky-blue hair down to her waist, gentle eyes with green irises. A smile that looked somewhat frail.

Freira Karstein, lady of the Northern Grand Duke.

Let's be real—she's stunning. Full of grace.

The main heroine of this game, the one who sticks by the player's side to the end in every route.

That she's greeting a mechanical scrapheap like me in the morning shows her character.

So I've been screaming to be saved for a week now.

'Here! Inside! There's a person in here!!! Inside this body!! A human!!'

Despite my desperate cries, only a dry mechanical voice came out.

"Good morning, miss. Coffee?"

"Yeah. Light, please."

This is the biggest problem.

This butler automaton has no vocal synthesizer.

Obviously. Who gives a tin can a mouth? It's barely replaying pre-recorded lines.

Oh, and no eyes, nose, or mouth either. Smooth mannequin like an egg ghost.

But silver lining: I finally figured out how to open the status window.

'Boot system log.'

A translucent window only I could see popped up.

No way the model name is Love Doll.

Probably some sick Easter egg.

Let's check the body specs next.

Classic rompan. Etiquette injection via live rounds, huh.

Still ridiculous. A butler automaton with this?

Would slaughter newbies right at the start if you bump into the player.

[Abdomen: Built-in Coffee Pot]

You might think "what's a coffee pot in the gut?" but it's OP.

"Slurp... Yeah. Perfect."

Freira sipped the coffee I brewed and leaned against me a bit.

"Love how your belly's warm, Tin Can."

"Response. Coffee pot in abdomen. Risk of burns."

The Grand Duke's lady hates the cold, so she always snuggles up and strokes my belly when drinking coffee.

Meaning full body contact.

'Tactile sensitivity x3.'

Something incredibly soft and squishy pressed against my torso—two of them. Her heartbeat was almost transmitting.

Freira looked up at me blankly, and her sweet scent wafted by.

'Coffee pot best girl.'

Basically means "boobs best girl."

Anyway, enough pervy stuff.

I have a conscience. No plans to do anything with Freira.

She's the Grand Duke's daughter, for starters. Unless you're the holy sword puller, no chance.

And she's not a mechanophile—why would she like a faceless automaton? I'm not even equipped.

'The real issue is the main story starting tomorrow.'

Tomorrow, this trash game's main plot kicks off.

The Empire slowly crumbles, everyone massacred by demons.

"...Tin Can? Zoning out? ...Eyes around here, maybe?"

I looked at Freira waving her hand in front of my face.

Dead or sole survivor. Her final moments from each route flashed by.

So I decided to try again.

If possible, save as many heroines as... no.

'Save them all.'

Including me, of course.

To do that, I gotta beat the final boss no user ever found—and all the disasters below it.

Sounds far off, so focus on the now.

First goal: Prove my worth.

This body's stronger than the player's start, but my social position sucks.

Automata are tools. Consumables. In this rompan world with zero human rights, worse than slaves.

So, steadily build favor to at least get Northern Grand Duke support.

'Then I can throw down with demons.'

How, without a holy sword? I have plans.

'Expansion module catalog.'

Who's crazy enough to use a Magic Tower core? Anyway, this tin can can equip multiple ultimate items at once.

Balance-fucked game indeed. Compliment.

'Any other modules?'

Stopping here.

Why the hell does this exist? Fucking mechanophile devs...

I shuddered, feeling nonexistent goosebumps.

"Tin Can? Why are you shaking?"

'You won't fuck me, right miss?'

"Bathroom that way."

"Huh...? I know where it is?"

Pre-recorded voice played on its own.

I frantically waved her off.

The North is cold year-round. Aura from beyond the wall.

Barbarian lands, monster nests, demon mech-cities, etc.

The Empire's frontline fortress holding the blade at bay: the Northern Wall.

Walking slowly atop it with Freira.

"Tin Can. Stick closer? Brr, cold..."

"Response. Activating heat mode."

Heat from my rigid shell, and the lady burrowed into my arms.

"...Hee hee. So warm."

Why go outside daily if you're so cold-sensitive... I know why, though.

About to flashback when a system warning popped.

50m is right in front.

Looking up—something translucent shimmered.

Familiar pattern. Ancestral Camouflage. Barbarian.

"Threat detected. Step back."

"Eek!?"

I shoved Freira behind and extended my right arm. Shears whirred out, blocking the charging axe.

"Sharp senses. Steel man."

Wolf pelt, muscles bulging. Obvious barbarian shoved his face in.

'What're the guards doing?'

Turret guy dozing even now.

You're fucked.

Clash after clash. Dodging axe barely, Freira screamed, but no issue.

Automaton balance differs from human—adapting.

While shears and axe locked...

Left arm opened solo, assembling a torso-sized rifle.

"Commencing cleaning. Etiquette injection start. Allies, clear the line of fire."

Not my words. Voice auto-plays.

Squish.

Muzzle to barbarian's chest.

Soldiers rushed in, Freira collapsed behind—heard the death sentence.

"Core output rising. Magic round loaded. Firing. 3, 2, 1—"

'Not at this range—'

BOOM!!

Gut-punching blast. 300% masculine point-blank shot vaporized his upper body.

Humans are blood, bone, muscle, guts—not like tin cans. Where'd it all go?

Everywhere.

"Ah... Aaaah...?"

Freira's sky-blue hair splattered red like her snowy domain. Chunks plopped before her.

"B-blurgh..."

Grand Duke's lady dry-heaving.

Meant to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠subdue, not explode!

Then my body moved on its own ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠again.

"Confirming kill."

BOOM BOOM.

Barbarian's legs gone too. Shears luckily speared the head, hoisting it.

This psycho? Shoots then makes me clean up?

Comfort Freira first.

Scanned voice list frantically.

This shit-tier tin can.

Favor-building's doomed from the start.

'Wait. Mix voices?'

Genius. Split recordings into words, form sentences...!

And my player spat out its historic first real expression.

"The, end, of an, era, for humanity, has come."

Me, drenched in human blood, shears impaling a severed head.