“Oh, my aching head…” Slate groaned as his consciousness rolled about. “What… why am I… naked? Where are my clothes? W-Who- who the hell is this woman lying next to me!? WHY ARE ALL THESE BUILDINGS ON FIRE!?”
Leaping to his feet, Slate surveyed the carnage and was repulsed by the pungent odor of burning flesh lingering in the midnight air. From the safety of the drainage ravine whose water was quickly evaporating under the intense heat, he counted the burning bodies lining the street until the number sickened him.
“What’s with all the fuss?” The woman groaned as she rolled upon her side, unable to break free from the Sandman’s indomitable spell. “J-Just five more… what- what is that smell?”
“Burning flesh and a hint of some sort of gel-based accelerant. Probably Napalm. Your name’s Petra, right?”
Nonchalantly resting on her elbows, Petra pursed her lips still half-asleep.
“My-my, I must be dreaming. I can’t be in Hell already without resolving all my debts… yet I see flames all around me and such a handsome devil.”
Wholly embarrassed, Slate concealed himself with his hands as his eyes darted around for anything to cover his bareness.
“You do realize everyone is dead and were soon to be next if the flames fully surround us? Quick, just throw me your jacket-top-thing!”
“That’s a bit brutish to demand from a lady, Mr. Naked Man. I doubt my Ike-Jacket would fit you, so why don’t you see if you can pilfer some skivvies from one of those bodies over there.”
Frowning in utter disgust, Slate’s eyes sharped as Petra, oblivious to the danger, continued to smile in malevolent amusement.
“I know your game, woman. You just want me to red-rover my happy ass over there so you can watch!”
“Perhaps. But if you diddle your dally long enough, you won’t have anything left to wear but ashes.”
As if on cue, the collapse of the building nearest Slate prompted a mad dash into the distance and a hopping return on one leg as he struggled to pull up an ill-fitting pair of ragged urban camouflaged cargo-pants.
“Isn’t that going to be a bit uncomfortable going commando?”
“Do you really expect me to take that Bacon-Crisp’s freaking underwear too? Fragile warned me about you, but damn, you’re something else.”
“Harsh.” Petra giggled as she held up a small cylindrical tin that Slate immediately recognized. “I’m not always this horrible, you know. But this ain’t so bad either. Right now, I could care less if the world is burning down all around us! The fire inside me is soo~ gentle, soo~ blissfully warm! Heehee~!”
“H-Hey! Where the hell did you get that!? That’s Lotte’s -err… special chocolate! It’s medicated, and now you’re just a sack of dead weight to me!”
“Medicated? Pssh, what sort of condition does that kid have other than a pair of plastic arms and a thousand-yard stare? I mean; if I be naughty can I get some of my own? This stuff is the bee’s kneeeeeezzz-OUOUOUOWWW~! Hey!”
Firmly pinching Petra’s nose, Slate brought the abrasive woman to her feet against a great deal of protest.
“FO-CUS! Where’s Bearcat and Potato? Err, I mean Fragile and Lotte! Explain to me how the hell we got here and what the fuck is going on!?”
“So many questions and I can answer them all at once with three little words: I… don’t… know…”
“Ugh, you’re useless! Hurry up and give me your gun- I assume you have a sidearm right?”
“W-Why don’t you give me your gun!” Petra countered with a childish snicker as she teetered back and forth upon her heels.
“I don’t- Oh, I get it. That’s not funny! Hurry up and hand it over! I have a feeling I’m going to need it in order to persuade someone to talk.”
*BANG!*
Without warning, Petra’s eyes sharpened as she quickly drew a .50 pistol from her belt and fired. The result; a faint thud directly behind Slate from the body of a Soldier who had crept up on their entrenched position.
“Give me that!” Slate jeered as he held a palm to his throbbing ear, swiping the bulky hand cannon with both speed and force. “Next time; warn me damn it! God, that nearly blew out my eardrums!”
“See? I can, he-he-andle~ myself~!”
“Yeah, handle getting us killed alright. Where is the City’s Law Enforcement stationed? You mentioned before you worked for them on contract or something. Finding them will be our best bet for meeting up with my crew.”
“Oh, that’s right you’re their Captain or something! Aww, that’s adorable!”
“PETRA! FO-CUS!”
“Oh, you’re really no fun at all Cpt. Grumpy-Grump! Yes, I’m a Mercenary and I WAS contracted to the Providence National Guard- not that there’s anything left of it by now. Say; why don’t you and I switch sides? You already have half a Raider’s uniform. Looting and pillaging sounds fun!”
“Well, if you want to change sides…”
*CLICK*
Pulling back the pistol’s heavy hammer, Slate then distanced himself behind the iron-sights while placing the barrel against Petra’s forehead.
“Kid~ding~!” She chuckled, half-gesturing a surrender with her palms raised.
“You can stay here and watch this city burn for all I care… Just stay out of my way.”
As Slate paced towards a distant building with no goal in mind, he hesitated and then returned to Petra with his frustration boiling at the surface.
“Ugh! This is your home is it not? Why am I the one willing to do something about it?!”
“It might have something to do with the fact that you’re some sort of powerful dog-monster and I’m but a lowly human who will probably die trying? As long as I’m blitzed, I couldn’t care less if the Raiders find my tender ass. If I become a slow-cooked spit-roast, I'm fine with that. My friends in the Armed Guard are already dead anyways, and probably your friends as well.”
“Watch your fucking mouth, Bitch!” Slate snapped as he pressed the end of the barrel harshly against Petra’s skull.
“Well, I mean they obviously abandoned us.” She rolled her wrists defensively, and by her hapless expression; without a care in the world. “I only suggested switching sides as it doesn’t seem like we have much of a choice. Sure, you’d feel guilty at first, but time heals everything. Trust me, or don’t. It won’t be so bad after a year or two.”
Hesitantly and in disgust, Slate lowered his arm before tending to the fallen Soldier who had been shot directly in the ridge of his brow.
“How can you even live with yourself? On second though; fuck it. I don’t want to know. I’m leaving and I really- REALLY don’t care if you tag along but if you get in my way or try screwing me over, I will not hesitate to prove to you how lowly of a human you are.”
“That last bit of your threat didn’t sound right, but okay!” Petra jittered, latching onto his left arm only to receive a chop to the top of her crown. “Oof! L-Lead the way, Mon Capi-tan! Let’s go find your little harem and beat-up the bad guys!”
With a playful jab, Petra’s renewed energy sparkled brightly as Slate retrieved the fallen Soldier's bolt-action rifle, slinging the leather strap over his shoulder.
“I will fucking eat you.” He stated bluntly and with intent, revealing a set of inhuman fangs beneath his twisted frown. “And I’m not convinced you’re not ‘THE’ bad-guy… or threat to humanity or whatever…”
Undeterred by the threat and another dazing chop to the head, Petra wriggled her fingers mockingly as the sound of gunfire began to pick up once more.
“Ooo~ scary! I think I may have peed a little. Bwahaha~!”
“Lotte! Move up on me!” I shouted through a small hole in the Bi-Mech’s canopy over the deafening symphony of heavy machine-guns bearing down on our position.
Having entered the Northern Hub’s main hall, we were received with a barrage of bullets and had been pinned for over half an hour behind a row of elevated office suites.
With the roof being no more than a meter taller than the Bi-Mech, we had been forced into the Hub’s lowest point, giving our aggressors the advantage of higher-ground. Between returning fire, the staggered office suites provided cover granted we sprint across the cavernous hall and a means in which to close in on the machine gun emplacements.
Totaling seven vacant suites whose walls did little in the way of stopping bullets on their own, my plan to skip over the nearest adjacent divider was foiled by a large gap of open space reserved as a seating area.
“Alright, move!”
The large metal body of my Bi-Mech would prove crucial to our advance. In the confines of the ruined offices, the waiting rooms provided ample space to maneuver and most critically; to return fire.
By now, what little remaining fuel leaking from my damaged wing had evaporated. This would allow me to use the Mech’s left wing-arm to provide Lotte covering fire as we jumped from either side of the hall until we advanced towards the upper level.
“Hold! I’m going to thin them out a bit! Watch the opening where we entered the Hub!”
Confirming my instructions with a nod, Lotte aimed a pilfered rifle towards the shafts of light reaching through the gaping hole in the wall at our rears.
Using the Mech’s weakened arm like a shield, I had been able up until this point to protect the canopy while simultaneously letting loose a glowing stream of incendiary rounds with the 7.7’s that had been transferred to its wrist during its transformation into its bipedal form.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
*Tink-Tink*
*Tink-Tink*
*Tinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktink*
At first, I had yet to receive anything significant in the way of returning fire, that is; until one of the Soldiers mustered the courage to continue firing on the heavy emplacements turning the few plinkering shots absorbed by the makeshift shield into an all-out hailstorm.
“Damn, they’re mangling this arm. It’s a miracle they haven’t hit a servo or any of the hydraulic lines.”
And then I realized, I had spoken too soon.
At the sight of a yellowish liquid running along the trailing edge of the Bi-Mech’s forearm, I knew the hydraulic arteries had been severed; rendering my only means of protection as useful as a piece of swiss cheese.
“Ammo is getting a bit low too… Damn, controls are locking up on me, there’s no way to transfer the ammo from the broken arm. Damn!”
Again, I jumped the corner; unleashing a torrent of bullets that did little in the way of piercing the protective steel plate encasing the machine gun emplacement.
“Ugh! And this ammo is meant for igniting fuel inside aircraft aluminum, not for penetrating steel! I’ll never get through that armor! C’mon, Logic! Give me some answers here! I’m running out of options!”
To make matters worse, the sound of Lotte exchanging fire with Soldiers who had encroached upon our rear turned our dire situation into fear, partnered with a dreadful realization:
“T-This can’t be it…”
With no possibility of activating, let alone controlling my Core or even summoning the minute amount of Graphene armor to protect my vital organs and components from damage, any of the injuries I had survived in the past would now would surely be fatal.
“No scanners, no combat profiles, no aim algorithms, nothing! Damn!!”
Turning my attention towards the Soldiers pouring in the entrance, I depleted my remaining ammo, reaping a majority of the Raiders in the process before deploying the Bi-Mech’s survival ‘Blade’ formed out of one of its ailerons.
Immediately, the exposed backside of the Bi-Mech shuddered from the volume of bullets tearing into its tail, but it bought me of enough time to make it back to square one; the original office suite where we had first cover.
Under the trill of alarms, I focused on the pattern of maneuvers I had used many times in the past with Logic’s assistance. A sweeping horizontal strike made short work of the soft fleshy bodies as they met the short sword, but the damage to the Bi-Mech was beginning to to take its toll.
The pungent, sour odor of aviation gasoline began to fill the cockpit along with an alarming slick of hydraulic fluid trailing my every move. There I found a solution to dealing with the MG Emplacements, my own flammability could be weaponized.
Severing the damaged wing arm with a stiff tug, I positioned the Bi-Mech for a linebacker’s throw and hurled the segmented limb into the machine-gunner’s nest.
“Lotte!” I called out to her as she wrangled herself free from a duel of bayonets.
“Grenade! Toss a live one to me!”
For the briefest of moments, she hesitated, unable to comprehend my reasoning, but with a wide-eyed blink, Lotte understood my intentions. Pulling the pin on a Stick-Grenade, she hurled the lovingly named 'Potato-Masher' towards me.
Just as the explosive device would strike the Bi-Mech’s hull, I flung the width of its girthy arm like a baseball bat, sending the grenade violently twirling to the long side of the hall and over the position of the machinegun nest.
*BOOOOOOM!*
In an eruption of shrapnel, the machineguns fell silent leaving a scarce and scattered tempo of gunfire at the far end of the hall.
Now with my full attention, the men who had breached the entrance fell back beyond the crumbling wall, but not before I threw the large survival blade through a column of retreating Soldiers.
“Princessen, look, bitte.”
Upon a second glance at the crumbling entrance, a spidering fracture reached towards the ceiling, threatening to collapse. Without any ammo and having discarded my blade into an entanglement of viscera from multiple donors.
I couldn’t comprehend Lotte’s evasive actions before the entire segment of the wall collapsed inwards in a violent wave of dust and rubble. The reason; a contending Bi-Mech; a Douglas SBD Dauntless loaded with a pair of throwable 100lb bombs.
In the blink of an eye, Lotte leapt past me as a hail of bullets followed in her wake and with little time to react, a few lead insects found their way inside my Bi-Mech’s radiator just as I limped the Mech to cover.
“Lotte!” I called out to her as she began to circle around the entanglement of office chairs. “That thing has a rear gunner! Hold your position, steer clear of its bombs!”
Unable to perceive her timeless nod, a sinking feeling washed over me as my Bi-Mech's engine began to hiccup and backfire.
“C’mon, not now!”
My lungs were burning, and the toxic fuel vapors were becoming visible inside the confines of the shattered canopy. With a swift kick, I dislodged the remainder of the glass and took in the faint scent of cinders drifting in midnight air that had been seeping through the many battle scars inflicted upon the interior of the building.
It’s no longer raining.
The stars are shining.
How long has it been since I have seen starlight through the impermeable cloud cover and the rain?
*BOOOM!!*
In Lotte’s vicinity, another explosion tore through the office suite sending broken desk and chair fragments in all directions.
“LOTTE!?!” I cried out, thrusting the weary Bi-Mech forward, nearly catching the propeller on the corner of a decorative column.
In the open, I found half of the Douglas had been blown to bits, still fighting with the shadow that I had no doubt was my friend.
Ammo Cook-Off; Lotte must have sniped one of the small 100lb bombs dangling from beneath its wing-arms while the Douglas had been intent on hosing me down with lead. But like my rugged Bi-Mech I had originally misjudged, the two-seater Douglas still had munition and another explosive at its disposal making a brawl an almost certain death sentence.
Still… I do have one potential weapon at my disposal…
A three-blade propeller still chugging along at idle RPMs.
This would be all-or-nothing.
Without my ability to control what little Graphene beneath my skin, my vital organs and systems were at their most susceptible to the certainty of flying metal and the potential of a direct hit from the 100-Pounder.
But had I another moment to breathe; I may have rethought my decision to charge right in.
Upon feeling the engine’s power plummet and only just reclaim itself, I knew this was the A6M’s final moments.
One last stand; throttle slammed to its fullest, I released my battle cry.
“So…” Petra hummed as she held out her arms, balancing along the narrow of a roof’s gable. “Are we there yet? I mean; do you even know where we’re going?”
In response, Slate shot a glare over his shoulder continuing his casual walk across the high ledge overlooking a war-torn street littered with corpses and broken glass.
Under the cover of darkness, the two had aimlessly wandered along the faded battle line where the smoldering husks of vehicles were left to boil the remainder of their paint.
“C’mon Mr. Standoffish guy! If you won’t tell me, why don’t you give me some of that sweet-sweet chocolate! I could really use some more upper since you’ve been nothing but a big ol’ downer~!”
“If I find one of your sticky fingers reaching into my pocket, I won’t hesitate to put you down. Just shut up and desert me already. Give me a reason to put two in your skull.”
“Did my idea of switching sides really offend you that much?” Petra cooed as she placed her hands upon Slate’s shoulders for balance. “A guy like you must know the end-game is survival. I meant no offense when I said that, it’s just… whatever that thing it is you do, that form you took on; I’m impressed you’ve come this far, let alone be in such good company.”
“Huh, you’re the first person to call it something other than it is. Or are you trying to get on my good side? I’m still not giving you the chocolate either way, so don’t bother lying or trying to butter me up.”
“No, honestly! I am amazed! In the Providence National Guard, I’ve seen all sorts of Lost Tech! I’ve seen a few of those… (what do you call them?) Oh! The Zombie-Bots! Err, I think they used to call them the Lost! Oh, and Power Armor, Laser Rifles and even the inside of a big~bigggggg~ Spaceship!”
Half attentively, Slate readied himself just before he leapt across the alley between buildings, catching the fire-escape by his fingertips before pulling himself to safety.
“Really~really?!” He giggled matching Petra’s energy as he turned about.
“Yeahhh~! I mean; you’re a top of the chart oddity, but I’ve grown used to being around weirdos.”
And then Slate’s sarcastic grin fell into a frown. “Good, because I REALLY don’t care. Hurry up and make the jump. If you promise to quit talking, I’ll catch you.”
“B-but what if you change your mind! Does talking right now still count!? Why you have to be so Tsundooreee?”
“God, never speak Japanese ever again. It’s Tsundere, and if you haven’t already guessed, I really don’t like people like you. The only thing you look out for is yourself, so go-fucking-figure you have no friends.”
“Who said I didn’t have any friends? I said I was surrounded by weirdos. And I just stopped caring about people in general after I saw how truly black-hearted all us humans really are.”
“Save it, I really don’t want to hear your sob story. You can find your own way of following me, because I’m not helping you clear the gap.”
*DINK*
With Slate’s attention drawn towards scaling a ladder, the sound of boots hitting the fire escape meant that his grievances had followed him, and upon looking down between his arms, he found the confirmation of his grievances smiling back up at him.
“That wasn’t that bad. And now that I don’t have to promise you anything, I’m going to tell you my story anyways because I feel like the need to vent!”
“I really wish you wouldn’t.” He groaned.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short and sweet!”
“Not one thing about you is ‘sweet’, and don’t think by telling me anything means I’ll believe you. Why is it that you feel the need to tell me, anyways?”
“Cause you may be the last and only person to hear it- and, well, did you know; your girlfriend and I met in a Labor Camp run by the Californian Libertaria?”
“That’s one hell of a mouthful, Cali wha-whait; Fragile is not my girlfriend! I don’t like girls who play mind games, and I don’t like girls who run their mouth endlessly---!”
Cutting his words to silence, Slate gestured with his arm outright with a grave expression as a platoon of Exo-Armored Raiders passed below their position.
“Got it, the silent one with the creepy eyes is your girlfriend.” Petra whispered faintly as they crawled on their hands and knees beneath the low hanging wire and ventilation units lining the signage of the Market’s roofline.
Utilizing every fiber of his being to keep quite, Slate hissed between his teeth; “NO! HELL NO!”, just as the rear column of Soldiers became muddled with the noise of treaded vehicles.
“Lotte may look of age, but her brain is- mashed potatoes- err, just NO, okay! Leave any mention of her out of your filthy mouth, got it? You spread any sort of bullshit I’ll knock your teeth into your colon.”
“Sheesh, defensive much?” Petra frowned as she patted the dirt from her knees. “What’s she to you then? You don’t like talkative girls, you don’t like quiet girls and you don’t like girls who get you all hot-n-bothered? Then what do you like? Boys? Men? Or are you one of those amoeba things that self-replicate?”
“I don’t like boy, or men, or anything!! Love has no place on the battlefield so would you just stop talking about it. I’d rather you spill your stupid sob story than talk about me.”
“Okay, since you said so!”
“Fuck my life…”
“Well, it all started-!”
“Summarize it into twenty words or less or I’ll just use inherit 'Man' ability to tune you out.”
Without hesitation, Petra began to ramble on as they descended down a bundle of flimsy gutters and back into the streets nearing the City’s epicenter.
“Ten years ago – caught stealing seeds to grow food – beaten - abused - imprisoned – popped out a kid – met Fragile – plotted escape, ah! This is too difficult, and I really don’t care if you tune me out!”
Simmering in silence, Slate pressed through a revolving glass door that crumbled from his touch. Inside the small burned-out shopfront, Petra's voice shifted in pitch as she endeavored to conceal her emotions as reality began to set in.
“My baby… My child was bludgeoned to death in front of me… The camp’s Warden always chose me for interrogation; and I tried to give them answers, but I didn’t know what they wanted, always asking about Lost Tech... My life ended back there, and I couldn’t care less what anyone else did, that's why I don't regret selling them out. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want to get involved in this- this!!”
Unexpectedly, Slate embraced her until the river of tears lessened. For a whole minute, he put his reluctance and grievances aside and tended to an injury he couldn’t possibly heal.
“Look, let me start out by saying this pity shit isn’t my forte. My hands are covered in blood and I’ve committed enough sins to say my morals are questionable… But, there is no list.”
*Sniff* “There’s no what?” Petra winced, hiding her eyes in shame.
“You know, that list of regrets, your bullshit, your, you know; your list! It’s sorta like a weight- an external force on your body that pulls you down to the ground and makes you wanna curl up into a ball and just-”
“Cry?” Petra squeaked.”
“I don't know about cry, but it sure makes me want to cave someone’s skull in!”
“I... s-see. I’ve been so angry at everything for so long, I forgot that I’m even capable of crying anymore. I thought humans were allowed so many gallons of tears until god or whatever shuts off the waterworks so we don’t run up a bill…”
With a weak laugh, Slate turned his attention back to the flashing patterns on the terminal, only to have Petra bind herself to his side.
“So, if there is no list, then what? You didn’t finish telling me… how do I… fix it?”
“Well, like I said it isn’t my forte. I haven’t figured out what exactly cures it. BUT, I did figure out a few things that treat the symptoms.”
“Y-You’re going to give me more chocolate?”
“Nice try, but no... It's like I already said; we’re going to cave some skulls in… and maybe somewhere along that expenditure of rage you’ll feel better. What do you say? Are you in?”
Nodding, Petra continued to paw at her eyes as Slate unspooled a wire from the base of his neck, connecting it to a lone terminal untouched by flames.
“Good, because that makes three. Welcome to the party, Fragile’s imaginary friend!”
[Logic Control Unit Type A-M1: Greetings, Dog-Breath. Let's go rescue my Operator.]