PARALLAX - SILAS

She'd noticed Razor's approach almost a half-minute ago, dashing across the desert toward the action. Toward her.

He was free. He was okay. He was here. With her.

Only...he wasn't.

By the time Razor moved between her and Silas, she was already in the air, committed to the attack, certain this would be deciding blow, that Silas was done.

But then Razor was there. And was drawing that sword, the one that used to belong to Daimon. And then he blocked her, the glowing edge of the sword flashing as it collided with her plasma staff.

Now, and him are both in a wide stance, holding position, pushing with enough force that the staff and sword almost seem fused together.

The moment is glacial. Frozen. Parallax can't move on from it. Make sense of it.

Sure, they'd gone their separate ways, the two of them. But she'd always hoped that what they left behind was still something to be retrieved, still real in some way. Maybe their differences could be overcome. Maybe Razor would change. The possibilities were a comfort to her. And not all that unrealistic.

After all, it's not like they separated on the worst of terms. They still believed in the same things. They both belonged to the same vision, the same goal. Created for the same purpose.

So then...

...why?

She doesn't even need to ask the question--not aloud. And he doesn't seem interested in answering it. But he does look sorry. In the eyes, at least. The rest of his body is fighting against her, intensely focused. But there's grief there, in the eyes.

Which makes this all the worse. All the more confusing.

Behind Razor, the Blast Model is on his knees, twitching. It'll be a few more seconds before his motor control comes back to him. Precious few seconds. But it's hard to imagine that moment, that future, even exists. All that exists right now is the beautiful, infuriating enigma that is Razor.

I'm gonna have to kill him. He's gonna make me kill him, right here.

I can't- I can't believe this is happening...

Razor frowns, solemn but determined, his face red from the glow of the blade. "I'm sorry, Parallax."

A jolt of anger rushes through Parallax, galvanizing her. "No, you're not. You're joking. Tell me this is a joke."

Behind Razor, Silas is on one knee, slowly managing to get to his feet.

Razor's brow furrows. "I think you already know."

This is happening. This is all really happening. With every second that passes, the reality seeps further in--distorting, reframing.

"Whatever they told you," she says, "It's a lie. This is a big mistake-"

"I don't want to leave this planet behind, Parallax. I want to save it. You know that about me. It's everything I've ever wanted."

"...everything?"

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There it is. Out before she can stop herself.

She always knew it would end this way. That's the real reason she broke it off, all those years ago. Somehow, she knew.

This was all inevitable, from the beginning. Written on the stars. 'Meant to be'.

But what should she expect? Who ever said there were happy endings for machines?

Still, for a blip, a small second, she can see Razor falter. As before, it's all in the eyes. The rest of his body is resolute, pushing back against her. But then even that brief, perceived weakness in his eyes dissipates, almost as soon as it appears.

It's replaced by something else. A light. A fire.

"Come with me." He shifts his body, subtly moving the angle of the blade against the staff. "We can defy their plan together. We can take the world back to how it used to be."

Parallax adjusts her grip, compensating for the maneuver. "There's no going back, Razor. If there was a way, you would have found it by now."

"It's different, this time." His eyes light up even more. "I have a lead. For the first time in years. A chance. It's a long shot, but I have to take it."

"Can you even hear yourself!"

Silas is now fully on his feet. His chest heaves, getting back his breath. He still seems like he's trying to get a handle on the situation. But he's up and moving.

There's no time. Not for this.

Words aren't going to work with Razor, not with that look in his eyes.

She needs to disarm him. Capture him. And quickly. Before this escalates even further. Before Artifice gets involved.

Shit. Silas is starting to back up, putting some distance between himself and Razor, charging up his arm cannon as he does so.

He raises his cannon, aiming at Parallax. "Duck."

Razor's eyes go wide. "Forgive me." He drops, shifting out of the way.

Dammit.

Parallax summons her armored mask, protecting her face. There's no time to do a conventional dodge. Her only choice is to use-

*****

Parallax. That's her name. Right on the tip of my subconscious, the entire time. The subtle chime of a long-lost bell in a dream.

I can't stop her. Not with this shot. It's not even going to hit her. But it might slow her down.

That's why I'm not going all-in. Just a quick shot of plasma to the chest--just strong enough to leave as dent if it actually hit.

I aim. Release.

The yellow blast of energy shoots forward, while my arm cannon jolts, recoil pushing the elbow back. Go on. Do your little magic trick.

At the precise split-second when the blast should impact, Parallax sidesteps, and now there are three of versions of her dodging in different directions, cape and hair flowing in identical patterns of motion.

The plasma shot passes through one of the versions--a hologram that fizzles out and disappears as soon as it's hit.

Figured that's how it worked.

I activate Salvo, using the shoulder turrets to take aim at each of the holograms. But of course they copies are already multiplying, shifting away and out of each other in an intricate, kaleidoscopic dance, dozens of capes twirling in air as if to hypnotize.

The cape. It distracts, and masks her movements.

She's like a shitty magician!

I keep firing with Salvo, and letting off blasts, but I just can't shoot fast enough, and in enough directions. A dozen Parallax's turn to fifty, then a hundred. Suddenly, they're all holding one of those iridescent purple staves, and charging toward me. Simultaneously, they throw their staves. They all shoot toward me as if pulled by a tremendous magnetic force, spinning like giant, glowing boomerangs.

To be honest, I didn't expect the throw. I certainly didn't expect a hundred spinning lightsabers coming at me.

Something slams into me from the side, clinging to me, sending to reeling. We hit the sand together, just as the glowsticks of death whoosh past overheard. We keep going, rolling, tumbling over the side of the plateau and down a steep sandy incline. The desert spins. I taste sand in my mouth, and feel grains pricking the inside of my eyelid.

We hit a stretch of flat ground, sliding.

If I wasn't made of metal, the wind would have been knocked out of me from the fall. Either way, I can't afford to be stunned, or slow down, no matter how discombobulated I feel. I can't help but think of what Daimon said during our fight, saying he was disappointed I couldn't keep up with his movements, the G-forces of the fight.

I hop to my feet, only stumbling a little, one foot sliding on loose sand.

Ahead, Ethan is getting to his feet. Covered in sand. Pushing dusty, sand-clogged hair out of his face. In one hand he holds Daimon's sword, only he's sheathed it in a metal, makeshift scabbard, so as not to injure either of them in the fall.

"Silas, right?" He says, already moving away at a jog. "She told me about you. Listen, we need to move-"

He stops, staring at me.

At first, I don't know why. Hardly aware of the fact I'd raised my arm cannon, aiming it at him. And that I was charging it up.