I leave the sound of battle behind me, and run as fast as my stupid body will go. I’m glowing so bad that I barely need my night vision at all. I’m not going to be able to keep this pace up forever - I either catch this thing up, or we’ll have to try again some other day - and we might not have that many days to spare.

I have no idea what’s down this way. I’ve never had any reason to come here.

I run at full tilt for about twenty minutes. Have you ever sprinted for 20 minutes straight? This fucking sucks. I feel like someone’s put up an apartment building on my chest. I think I would actually rather be dead. Fortunately, I’ll get my wish if I keep this pace up. There aren’t any turns or breakoffs, this tunnel just winds and corkscrews and bores through the flesh of the planet like a worm through a squash. Unless the killer can disappear or move through solid rock, he’s down here somewhere.

After a minute or two, I come across some good news and bad news at the same time.

The good news is that I’ve caught our suspect. Because this tunnel ends in a dead end, and he’s just fucking standing there like a lamppost.

The bad news is that this is a dead end. The passage comes to a dead stop at a small little cave with some rubble in the middle and a super high ceiling, more of a shaft bottom or an old well than anything else. This means 1) our killer is cornered, which might make him desperate and unpredictable, and 2) I ran all that way for fucking nothing. How the hell long has he just been standing here?

I slow my roll and come to a stop at the mouth of the little cave. Check all the corners and walls really quick. Okay, there’s… sorry I’m a little out of breath here. There’s no other exits, so, if this thing wants to escape, it’s going to have to be through me. Really kind of a major misstep if you ask me. Hasn’t this thing been down here for weeks? You’d think it wouldn’t corner itself like this.

Unless this is where it wanted me to be.

I suck up the last sip of my vitae tanks into my chest to wipe away the fatigue from all that running. My heart beat stabilizes, skin cools, breath returns. None left in the reserve, but my body is topped off and I’m fresh for the fight.

If there is one. I draw my sword, but there’s no reaction.

Our perpetrator, the ghoul behind this entire exhausting escapade, is smaller than I thought he’d be. Maybe six feet and change. A burly build, yes, but… lumpy in parts, like the shoulders. Hard to tell why. It’s wearing a lot of beaten rags. Old trenchcoats, cloaks, scarves. They’re all in different colors but they’re very faded and ancient, like they were pulled out of a trash heap.

No pants though, or at least I don’t think this qualifies as pants. At the hem of the shroud of many coats I can see what looks like a pair of armored sabatons, the kind you see on old outdated knights’ armor. Seems strange to wear all this outerwear over a suit of armor. Unless this isn’t armor at all… but then why would you wear anything?

And all those heavy padded hoods… under there, in the dark. Up top you might not ever make it out. You might write this guy off as another hobo, if you weren’t paying attention. But I can see in the dark.

Three lifeless eyes in a triangle. One big one, two littler ones below it. Set in the center of an unnatural head. I guess that head is sort of human-shaped, but it’s all wrong. Plates and rivets, wires and actuators moving down into the neck. All in aid of that single lens and its two moons.

“Release me.”

I did not expect it to have a voice. I double didn’t expect it to speak with the voice of one of those old text-to-speech programs we left in the dust a century or more ago. Did this thing pull its larynx out of a scrap heap too?

Either way, talking is good. That means a chance at dialogue. And dialogue is the first step in not doing murders.

I shoulder my sword, to indicate that I’m not a split second from charging at it.

“Release you from where? This cavern? I can’t let you go. Like it or not, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

There’s a pause. I tense up. I have no idea what this thing is going to do.

“I can be released. I am no longer symptomatic I am the symptom. No. Be advised. Decrease ambient ambient ambient. Do not release me. No.”

O… kay. Someone’s sending mixed signals. Literally.

“I don’t know what you mean. Do you need help?”

“Decrease. I am not interfering. Interference. Twenty-three. Forty-six. Staring. Inadvertent dispensation of acquired acquired acquired acquired. No. No. Warning. Warning. Be advised inadvertent.”

“Be advised of what? What are you trying to warn me about? C’mon. Zero in for me here, pal. Focus.”

“Unintended. Inadvertent. Interinterinterinterference. Please. Please. Please.” Its arm twitches, and my grip tightens on my sword. “Be adviiiiiiiiiiiised.” Some kind of… fit comes over it, and its whole torso shakes for a moment before stopping. It’s still looking right at me, that single lens under all that cloth nailed to my own eyes.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was some kind of seizure. But machines don’t have seizures. Do they?

One of its legs gives out suddenly. It’s on one knee, looking down at the ground.

“Please. Install install hydrolyzed leaden cranial. Solution. Install decrease. Please. Cease. Initialized. Pleading. Beg. Dog. God. All available targets receiving receiving targets.”

Then it stands up again, fast. Resumes a completely neutral posture.

“You must be advised in order to release me in order to be advised in order to release me.”

I wipe some sweat off my face. I suck at riddles.

“Buddy, you’ve got to meet me halfway. Or at least a third of the way. I can’t just let you out of here. Try using some different words, maybe I can try and put this together for you.”

“Bad terrible horrible pain agony confusion death chaos mayhem noise noise noise noise noise noise noise. Please.”

One of its arms flings up and off to the side. A metallic armored hand, fingers clawed like someone in pain, or a crone casting an evil spell. I can see vibration. It looks like the movements of someone that… isn’t in complete control of themselves.

Noise. Noise. Who do we know that’s been screaming down here? And who is one of the only things that would be able to hear all that screaming?

“Are you talking about the transmitters? The Brotherhood? Is that the noise? Is it… hurting you?”

“Be advised. Warning. Help. Caution. Imminent. Time expended. Now. Be advised. Please.”

I can’t help but snort in frustration. “Be advised of what, dammit?”

The hand snaps forward, aimed right at me.

“I AM MALFUNCTIONING.”

There’s a fucking horrible electronic roar that spews from its speakers, like a chorus of robotic demons being tortured to death in river of bad data.

A red glow shines from under its coats. A little warping spark appears in front of its hand.

“EXOTHERMAL PROJECTOR.”

From its hand explodes a jet of fire as pure and deadly as any I’ve ever seen a pyromancer throw. I bring my sword up front to catch the worst of it, but some still washes over the sides and catches me in the shoulders and it burns fuck. I lurch to one side and fire my vitae - playtime’s over, I guess.

The jet stops as I’m dodging to the right. The colored light shining beneath its robes changes from red to golden yellow.

“SUBTECTONIC AGITATOR.”

It stomps one of its metal feet. The ground underneath me starts rocking back and forth. For about half a second, I’ve got my own personal fucking earthquake. I lose my footing - crash over on my side, start scrambling back upright. This is fucked. I’ve never had to fight anyone that can use more than one kind of magic before.

As I’m getting my feet under me and on the move again, the lightshow changes again. This time to red and blue, one half of its body for each. I don’t like what that’s implying.

It raises both of its arms. “HYDROTHERMAL DETONATOR.”

A weird spherical patch of space pops into existence in the middle of the air. It’s giving off heat lines like the desert distance. Detonator sounds extremely definitely bad. I throw myself behind the pile of rubble between me and it, hoping that’s enough cover.

The whatever-it-was explodes. It sounds like a water heater giving way, and that’s more appropriate than I thought it’d be - waves of scalding steam wash over my head over the rock. I get a little scorched, but the rubble shielded me from the worst of the boiling shockwave.

Shit. I can’t see from here.

“SUBTECTONIC DRIVER.”

The pile of broken stones just sort of flies away in multiple different directions at once, causing me to fall over on my back. I roll and get to my feet. No more cover. Fine then. Here I come.

I charge, vitae firing my leg and arm muscles. Both hands on my blade, ready to bring it down on this freak machine.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The light changes again. This time golden yellow and pale lavender.

“AEROSEISMIC IMPACTOR.”

It claps its hands together like a frost monk.

THWAMP.

There’s a deafening subwoofer pressure wave that shreds the air and blasts me backward at least ten feet. I land on my ass with a crunch that I can feel in my fucking teeth, but there’s no time to sit around on the job. I’m not out of juice yet. I just need to get close.

Red light. Fire. Hand raised. But that red light is… dimmer now?

“EXOTHERMAL PROJECTOR.”

That’s the flamethrower one. I preemptively dodge to the side before the little spark vomits all over me. Complete miss.

Why is it calling its attacks, like this is some kind of Valtean martial arts pageant? Only characters in those overblown action cartoons do that kind of thing. It’s so performative. It just gives away what he’s about to do.

Unless… unless it’s giving away its attacks on purpose.

Gold light.

“SUBTECTONIC AGITATOR.”

Earthquake spell. Power juice to the legs and… leap. I fire into the air like a pouncing volnasaur, and the quake rumbles harmlessly behind me.

Into the air… and right toward the magic machine man.

He claps his hands together again, but there’s only purple light this time. The yellow is so dim that I can barely make it out at all. There’s a huge gust of wind, but it’s not enough to stop my advance. He must be out of earth magic juice. Lots of different options, but it doesn’t have the stamina to keep up the spells a real mage would be able to supply. That’s my opening. Just outlast it.

I land and charge toward him again, sword held high.

Its right hand clenches into a fist. Something juts out of its wrist with a steely ka-CLANK.

“ANATOMICAL DISORGANIZER.”

“Oh come on, that’s just a fucking sword!”

It goes for a wide swing toward my neck but I smash it aside with a downward chop, knocking its arm toward the ground. It’s an automech, and way heavier than a person its size would be, but I still outweigh it. I take advantage of its loss of balance, lean in, and kick it square in the chest. My boot goes through a lot of cloth padding before I strike metal, which is unfortunate, but it’s enough to knock the thing backward on its heels.

It recovers and flashes past my right side with inhuman speed, swinging its arm out and back as it leaves.

“Aaagh, FUCK!”

My right calf explodes with pain - the blade went all the way to the bone. My leg buckles and I’m forced to one knee. I’m hamstrung. And it got past me.

I set the vitae to work, but it’s going to take a second to cinch together all this severed muscle fiber. Look behind me while pulling out the splat gun. It might escape down the tunnel, but Rocky and Delpo will still be there, hopefully. Where’s it-

It’s just standing there, in the middle of the cave. Arm blade to one side, dripping with my blood, the vitae glow fading as it drips to the rock. It’s… twitching, a little. Arms not cooperating. Head jerking under its hoods. Like it’s trying to go in two different directions at once.

Suits me just fine. I fire the splat gun right at its back. If it gets its act together and runs, at least I’ll be able to follow it reliably.

The instant I pull the trigger, it turns almost faster than I can see and swings its arm. The blade makes a momentary flickering arc of silver, right through the splat shot as it’s traveling through the air. Goo flies away into the dark on either side of its body. I check the readout. No signal. It cut the fucking beacon in two.

Then its back arches, like someone being electrocuted. Hands go to its head. Agony. It’s not human, but it definitely shows the body language of pain like one.

I fire again, right into all the billowing sweaters, coats, and scarves on its chest. Direct hit. Beacon integrity good. Let’s just hope it doesn’t notice.

The machine comes out of its fit, and faces me. Those three eyes turn on, each glowing a faint white-yellow, like a fistful of flashlights under all those blankety hoods. Fixed right on me, kneeling on the ground and bleeding into my fucking sock.

“Blood of the great huntsman falls to ground. Beast not slain. Beast all around, and within. Still work to be done.”

I swear, it’s like this thing speaks in a way that’s 85% understandable. Its statements seem to flirt with meaning.

“Yeah, I’m still here.” I push up to both feet, let my weight down on the vitae’s work. It holds. That took a lot of juice to suture, though. I’m breathing heavier than I’d prefer. Fatigue eating away at the edges of my muscles like hungry steam worms.

Need to keep my reflexes sharp, though. No time to relax. This thing is unpredictable, magical, and fast. And that fucking anatomical disorganizer does exactly what its instruction manual probably says it does.

“Please. Release me. Decrease noinoise. Signal toxin cancer metastasize brain heart. I am fear. No. I am. No. I experience encounter confront. No. I feel. Feel. Feel. Feel. Fear. Fear. Fear.”

Its eyes turn blue. The color of water. Or maybe tears.

“Twenty three forty six staring inadvertent. Lost. Apologiiiiiiiiiiize. Bad. I am bad. Please.”

I reply, but with my sword at the ready. It’s trying to talk, but so far it’s balanced that out with trying to kill me.

“I can’t help you unless you communicate to me how I can do it. I’m not a roboticist, I’m just a-”

I’m not a roboticist. But I do know one. One of the best in the city.

Risky. I guess I technically was planning on capturing something or someone at the end of all this, but I didn’t really think about the logistics. Even if I can get this thing to cooperate, taking it through the streets to Ten’s place is going to be a hell of a process.

“Correct repair heal malfunction. Me myself. Bad process. Punish. Restore. Time limited. Please. Now.”

I sigh.

“Okay. I know someone who might be able to… help you. Maybe. But you’re going to have to cooperate with me. Get it? If you can’t, then I’m going to have to come up with a different solution, and it might not feel great. Understand? You’ve got to keep your cool if this is going to work.”

The animech takes an aggressive stance. Its eyes are still blue, but I don’t know if that means anything. Its sword arm is held out to the side, ready for a thrust.

“No cool remaining. Overheat now. Bad process. Apologize apologize. Extent of current of current faculties disabled arcane projector subsystems initiating self-diagnostic self-diagnostic cancelled. Apologize apology combat subroutines inaccessible unable no control malfunction bad process.”

It takes a step toward me.

I have to rewind that audio once, but I think understand what it’s trying to say. It managed to turn off its magic shooty guns, but it’s still going to fight me.

Sword up, I reply, “Okay. This might hurt a little. Or a lot. I don’t have your specs over here or anything.”

“Pain is the gate. Through the gate is salvation.”

“You’re more right than you know, pal.”

We both charge and swing.

Swords clang into one another. Its is smaller and faster, but mine is heavy and slow. It backs out of the clash before I can recover, ducks, and flicks its blade toward my belly. I kick backward and out of the swing just in time to avoid watching my innards spill onto the stones like an overturned bucket of fish.

Need vitae now. Brain and arms, more power. This thing is way faster than me and I need to think my way through it. Time slugs a little. I watch the animech push off the ground and dance backward as well, unsure of what I’m going to do next.

I could try the trick I pulled with Seagraves’s minion the first time we met. Just let the blade bite my arm, then smash the thing while it tries to recover. But that thing is sharp. It passed through most of my calf meat nearly down to the bone with just a passing swipe. A direct chop might just go through my arm. Through the bone, though? That seems unlikely. I could probably come back from that. But I’d have to capitalize.

The mech charges directly at me. I read the thrust to my chest before it happens all the way, and catch the strike on the flat of my sword. Close in again. Okay. Let’s test our strength.

I pour it onto my arms and back nice and thick. Brute power surges through me. I don’t have a lot left - need to make this count.

Another kick to its torso. It fell for this once and it looks like it’ll fall for it again - the thrust left it too committed. A momentary stumble backward before it can right itself.

Stone blade goes back. Forward. Step, step. All the momentum I’ve got. Sword goes up… and down like a bloodstone meteor.

Gravity. Slab muscle. Going vitae bankrupt. A bigass stone knife heavier than a lot of people are. No time to jump out of the way of this train - I’m coming down the line too fast.

I almost feel bad for it. And I hope this doesn’t go too far.

CRUNCH.

It saw me coming and brought both its arms up to block, but it’s not nearly enough. The stone scabbard crashes down into the crook of the automech’s neck and shoulder, on the right side. The whole machine crumples straight to the earth like a sad bag of spare parts. There’s a few electrical pops and crackles under the many coats and rags. Some twitching. I shoulder my sword and inspect what I’ve done.

The pile of rags and metal makes a sudden leap at me, blade forward. Surprising, but messy, pushed off on damaged legs. The sword tip digs into my chest, but scrapes downward off of my ribs before the mech goes back down to the ground, twitching.

“Gah, fuck!” I put a hand to the gash and start healing it. I’ve only got just enough to seal this over. This needs to end. “C’mon, how much more do I have to smash you?!”

The thing is crawling toward me now, occasionally giving an ineffectual swing of its blade. Its words don’t match its actions, though.

“Damage nearly sufficient nearly. Please complete destruction of arms legs thoroughly completely. Neutralize combat ability ability for safety.”

I was being rhetorical, mostly, but I’ll admit, it’s nice to have an actual answer to that question for once. I hover over it with both hands on my smasher. It takes a few more swipes at my ankles, but I step around them without much effort.

“Base joints connect to torso hips shoulders for best optimal results. Apology apology combat subroutines ongoing inaccessible process combat halt not possible currently. Emergency self-repair shutdown lapse required reset reset. Continue damage.”

I hold my sword up high.

“Oooookie dokie then. If you say so.”

Smash. Crunch. Various other onomatopoeias for mangling and crushing the limbs of a metal man with a large stone implement.

Once its arms and legs are very thoroughly disabled, I get the feeling that it’s trying to look at me, but with its face in the floor and all the hoods, it can’t. It can’t move its limbs anymore, so I kneel down and pull the hoods back.

It turns its strange, thin head toward me, pistons and actuator bars in its neck visibly pushing and pulling. I can hear little hisses and the grinding of gears. Even mostly broken, I can tell this thing is a marvel. Tennima’s going to freak.

Its triangle of eyes turns from blue to a pleasant green, not unlike my own. But they’re flickering, and its voice is coming in and out, like a dinked-up old magtape player.

“Gratiatiatitude. Relief. Be advised. Now. Emergency self-repair shutdown commence imminently. Time limited. Time limited. Inform engineer - shielding required. Shielding. Decrease noise signal access to receivers. Please. Correct bad process. Please. Cease fear. No more. Please.”

“Okay. Shielding. Got it. Anything else?”

“Request. Query. Nominal designation. Name.”

“Name? My name?”

The lights are more off than they are on, now.

“Yes.”

“I’m Baulric Featherlight. What’s yours?”

“No designation given given. I am number nine.”

I… am not sure if I like what that implies.

“Go to sleep, Niner. We’ll see what we can do.”

“Initiating emergencycycycy shutdown down. Thank you Baulric Featherlight.”

The lights go out, and they don’t come back on. I stand up, and stretch. My whole body feels like one big damn bruise.

And there’s still so much more to do.