There were footprints in the sand.
Messy tracks. Spaced about right for a human, but could have been a drone. Not much more than indentations in the sand. Whatever it was, it was bipedal, and somehow hampered or disabled. The tracks were uneven, like it was staggering or limping. He looked a ways forward- or was it backward? And saw something dark in the sand. Blood? Was it hurt?
When he got closer, he saw that it was blood, but unfortunately not just blood. There was something, already turning leathery and shrivelled in the sand, that looked concerningly similar to human skin. In addition to the blood, it was coated in something crusty and yellow. There was a large patch of bloody sand here, then smaller drips leading into the distance alongside the footprints.
Whatever it was had gone that way, then, and if he went the other way he would be able to avoid it. It was injured, or maybe carrying something bloody, something alive as opposed to a robot. It had left the strip of… skin, it was almost definitely skin, here, and bled a lot while doing so.
Most likely, unfortunately, was Lyre. They just kept fucking turning up, and apparently, had a penchant for skinning themselves alive. That, or had a penchant for skinning other people, but he was pretty sure they hadn’t been carrying anything heavy like a corpse with them. It was funny; every new detail he learned about them made him want to run farther away, and every day he kept finding more and more traces of them.
Maybe they were doing it deliberately. Altering their tracks, so it looked like they were going one way, when they were actually going another. Maybe they’d had the skin and blood, dripped the blood out slowly, and then poured out a splash and laid the skin down. If that were the case, the best move would be to ‘follow’ the track in order to move away from them.
Instead of going the opposite direction, he could move perpendicular to their direction. Then, he could be reasonably sure he was moving away regardless of if they were going forwards or backwards- but then again, they could also have turned so he was walking right into their grasp.
Every time. Every time he tried to come up with something new, the conclusion was always “Not enough information”. Not enough information to make any sort of decision, so he just kept walking, and the walking just made things worse so he had to try and come up with something again. Walking was his only shred of hope of getting out of here, but it was also the thing that was fucking him over time and time again. It seemed like no matter what he did, he was completely screwed. Maybe he had been from the beginning, and all any of this was doing was shifting his time of death by a few days or so.
If running wouldn’t work, maybe he needed to take a stand. If a fight was inevitable, Spike would have it on his terms. Lyre wanted to find him? Fine, he’d go find them first so he could take them by surprise. He fished out the knife, squeezing the handle in his good hand. A long, blunt weapon would probably be more suitable, but a knife could still do a lot of damage. The risk was that it didn’t provide much protection to the wielder. If this did end in a fight, he’d have to finish it quickly.
It wasn’t as though he had much to lose.
His foot sent up a puff of sand as it hit the ground, landing right between two of Lyre’s footprints.
He didn’t have to walk for long before he found them.
A skinny silhouette, swaying a bit as they walked slowly through the desert. They were going the opposite direction, away from him, at least for now. They didn’t seem to be aware that he was following. At this distance, it was hard to make out details like if they had a weapon, but he did notice that they looked distinctly human as opposed to the hard lines of metal and circuitry.
He could try attacking now, or instead he could-
His foot suddenly sunk down, the sand underneath too fine to support it. He sank to the knee before he was able to arrest himself, splaying his body out over the sand and taking the weight off that leg. It wasn’t quicksand, that didn’t exist in the desert, but it made him think of those stories on the internet about people suffocating in grain silos.
Lyre’s tracks led right through here, and yet they’d passed through without incident while he was patting the ground around him looking for a stable spot. Their tracks swerved here and there, weaving away from a patch of sand to instead stand on a completely identical patch. He hadn’t been following the tracks exactly, mostly walking beside as opposed to on top of them. Should have followed in their footsteps.
He tested the indentation where they had stepped, and found it to be stable. Unfortunately, most of the area around it wasn’t, and with the position he was in now he would need at least one other point of support to pull himself out.
Luckily, there was another stable spot, not marked by a footstep but usable all the same. He put one hand on the footprint, the other on the dune, and pushed himself up, dragging his leg out of the sand. Once he was out, he flopped onto his belly, felt around for stable patches, and inched his way over until he could get his feet on top of them and stand up.
Lesson learned. Stick to Lyre’s footprints. In the time it had taken him to escape, they’d moved a bit forwards, but they were going slowly enough that if he was patient he could close the distance.
What should he do when he caught up?
An outright, unprovoked attack could go badly, same with direct threats like putting a knife to their throat. Letting down his guard could have similarly catastrophic consequences. They’d answered his questions in the group chat when he’d asked, not directly to the point and the answers were mostly nonsensical, but they seemed to be trying to cooperate. Starting with negotiation and a request for information might be a good option, or at least the least terrible one. Talking, but keeping his defenses up and watching for any possible attacks. He had a close-range weapon, so distance would probably hinder him more than them if it came down to a fight, but it would be helpful if he had to flee. Fleeing probably wouldn’t be an option here, so he’d stay close.
They were only about twenty meters away now, and still hadn’t turned around. This close, he could make out more details. He was pretty sure Lyre was a girl, and she wasn’t in a good state, hair and clothing matted with sand and dirt and blood. The way she moved, too, made him think she was weakened by illness or injury. Once he got close enough, he spoke.
“Lyre, I’d like to talk.”
No reaction. Absolutely none. She didn’t turn, or flinch, or anything. His impression was that somehow she simply hadn’t noticed. Perhaps she was deaf. That would make communication a lot more difficult, but she could read and write so it would still be possible.
He carefully made his way closer, knife at the ready in case she struck out on instinct, and gently tapped her on the shoulder. Once again, it was like she was totally unaware of her surroundings, an empty shell walking without any sort of awareness. It was unpleasantly familiar.
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He was about to try getting in front of her when she stopped. She stood completely still, the only movement was her breathing and a slight trembling. Maybe a freeze response to a perceived threat, but it had happened at least ten seconds after. That might make sense if she was high, but where she’d get drugs out here, especially since she wasn’t carrying anything, was a total mystery.
He stepped to the side, carefully testing the ground with each step, and walked out in front of her. She didn’t look at him. She wasn’t really looking at anything. Her pupils were small, but he was pretty sure that was because of the lighting and not any substances. When he waved a hand in front of her face, there was no reaction. When he held the knife up to her face, there was again no reaction. Either she was seriously brain damaged, or she was on something very strong. Not a drug he would know from parties or rumours, something new to him.
She certainly didn’t look any better from the front. Her arms were messily bandaged with rags, but the blood was still seeping through a bit and dripping on the ground, especially from one arm where the wrapping looked a bit fresher. That was probably where the skin had come from. She’d die of infection with a wound like that- maybe she wasn’t drugged, but delirious from sepsis. There was a gun tucked into her waistband that he hadn’t seen from behind, but it didn’t seem like she was going to do anything with it.
“Lyre, can you hear me?”
No response.
Well, that had been a lot of worry over nothing. She clearly wasn’t any sort of threat to him in this state, and she’d be dead soon enough based on what he saw. Maybe he could take the gun, it would probably be useful at some point, and she would die anyway. It was well beyond his ability to help her. He could just reach out and take it.
He stood there, staring at it, for a minute.
Taking the gun might trigger her somehow. As useful as it might be, he should probably leave it. Leave her and go somewhere else.
He’d only walked a short distance away when the sound of shifting sand made him whip around. Lyre was running. Very fast, much faster than he could, and a little bit away from him but not really. There was absolutely nothing to see around them in every direction, and she was going the wrong way to be running from him, so he had no idea what the fuck she was doing. Maybe she was hallucinating. The fact that she was still fit enough to run like that was a bit worrying, since it indicated she might still be able to use that gun. And that combined with her apparent mental state meant if she decided to use it, he probably wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it.
There was no way he’d be able to catch up to her, though, so this was officially out of his hands and therefore no longer his problem. If she killed him later it wasn’t like he could have done much to stop it now. As to where he should go next, he didn’t really have any direction in mind. It didn’t matter. Every road led to the same place, for him. Every road led to nowhere, so he picked the first sand dune his eyes landed on and started walking that way.
Maybe he should have taken the gun. Actually, he definitely should have taken the gun. What would she have done to stop him? Try and grapple for it? He could easily break her wrists in a fight, she was injured and exhausted, it would have been like taking candy from a baby. But no, now she was running around willy-nilly with a deadly weapon that she’d probably shoot him with later, because he hadn’t confiscated it, because he… had made a serious error in judgement.
Not like it had been his first.
—
“Hey, kid, are you alright?”
He ignored the voice at first, eyes focused on the book he was pretending to read, until fingers tapped on the top. Looking up, there was an older woman in front of the beanbag chair he was curled up in, about in her mid-forties with glasses and a concerned expression.
“It’s just, I noticed your clothes are a bit worn and dirty, and you’ve been sitting there for a while and I haven’t seen you turn a page. I’m not going to pry, but if you maybe want somewhere to stay for a bit or something to eat, I can help.”
“None of your business, lady.”
“Are you sure? It’s pretty cold outside, and the library’s closing soon. You know, I have a son about your age, maybe I could give you some of his old clothes. He never wears anything I buy him anyways.”
…
“My house is pretty close by. We can stop by there, pick up some stuff, and maybe I can make a couple phone calls for you? You could take a shower and get some clean clothes, and maybe we could find somewhere for you to stay for the night.”
…
The way she talked, it reminded him of someone, a little. Someone he couldn’t remember, maybe a family member or a teacher? Someone he knew well. Someone he trusted.
“Okay.”
She looked a little surprised, like she hadn’t expected him to agree. He hadn’t expected himself to agree.
“Alright, just follow me, okay?”
She started walking off, and he followed.
He half expected to be knocked out and shoved into an unmarked white van, but they arrived at the woman’s house without incident. He took his shoes off at the door, clumsy and fumbling. It had been a while since he’d taken off his shoes, or changed his clothes, or showered. After a moment of thought, he also shrugged off his hoodie, carefully hanging it on the coat rack. It was filthy and he didn’t want to bring it into the house.
He stepped into the house. The floors were carpeted. His socks were probably making a mess, but she’d invited him in. He heard her breathe in, sharply, which, fair enough. He had a pretty good idea of how bad he looked.
She was walking towards him now, quickly, probably to tell him not to-
There was a powerful impact on the side of his head, and then he was on the floor. He looked up, and she was standing over him with a poker in hand, looking absolutely terrified.
“Get out.”
“Why-”
She swung again, and he barely dodged the hit. “Demon! Out, you damned thing! Don’t you dare-” He was up now, scrambling for the door, blows from the poker landing on his back and arms- “Curse me-” He snagged the hoodie, left the shoes- “Or my son, or my husband-” and he didn’t catch the last thing she said, because he was running out the door, her tear-streaked face flashing in his mind as he tugged the hoodie on while running, stumbled, fell, eventually found his way into a dark alley and tucked himself in beside a dumpster.
—
Crazy old hag. She did teach him a valuable lesson, though; nobody can be trusted, no matter how friendly and harmless they seem. A lesson he had most definitely ignored in leaving Lyre with the gun. In his recollections, he’d spaced out, and when he focused back in…
The fuck?
Lyre, again, but not alone. Fending off a bot, much larger than he was, tripedal and bristling with smooth metallic arms. Its head was oddly stretched and thin, not to the point of fragility but still very unnatural looking. She was very much losing the fight. The safest thing to do would be to get the fuck out before the thing saw him, let Lyre deal with it. If she died, oh well, and if she killed the thing on her own that would be ideal.
If it won, though, it could come after him next. He probably wouldn’t be good at avoiding it. If he fought it now with Lyre, they stood a better chance of killing it than either would separately… or he could team up with it, to kill Lyre. The last option he dismissed quickly- it was a far greater threat than he thought Lyre was.
Get involved and decide the battle’s outcome, or leave it up to chance.
Lyre still had the gun. She was using it to block an arm that was reaching for her neck. If he could take the pressure off her for a moment, she could shoot it. Low odds of success, but he really did not want to try and fight this thing alone later down the line. Well, this was how he died. He’d say it had been a good life, but it really hadn’t been.
He was shit at stealth, so he simply started running at the thing with his knife out, aiming for the arm Lyre was holding back with her gun. It worked a lot better than he had been expecting, actually; the bot was focused on Lyre and didn’t really notice him. He grabbed the arm, hauling it back as he tried sawing at the metal, but it was a lot stronger than it looked and all he did was blunt his knife.
However, he did succeed in moving it, giving Lyre room to move. She immediately aimed and fired three times at one of the arms, every hit landing on one specific spot. With the last shot, the arm broke in two, and the robot’s movements seemed to become a bit quicker and clumsier. It grabbed at her, restraining her with another arm, but leaving its wounded side exposed and facing Spike.
The knife hadn’t worked for slashing. Stabbing would probably just break the tip. An unarmed attack would probably break his hand or foot. The discarded arm had landed near him, a syringe of some sort at one end and a clean break on the other. He leaned over and picked it up, took half a second to look at the broken end- sharp.
He adjusted his grip, drew back, and rammed the broken end into a tripod leg. It buckled slightly, metal bending, and he hit it again. As he was winding up for a third hit, its grip on Lyre slackened, and an arm lashed out blindly but didn’t come anywhere near him.
One last strike. The leg snapped off, flying off a few meters away. The robot lurched to the side, remaining two legs shifting to try and take the added weight. Lyre shoved herself out from under its arms, crawling away and shakily getting to her feet. She stood there, staring at it as it tried to claw its way towards her, and Spike saw himself collapse.
This was different. He couldn’t move, vision broken, could barely keep his mind in one place. Disrupted. Interference. Static.
He was twitching, back in his body, eyes open and staring at the sky. That was the first thing he registered. The second was that he was being dragged by his armpits, and that made him freeze, throwing elbows back at his would-be kidnapper. His body still wasn’t responding very well, so the hits were clumsy and off-target, and he didn't make contact.
The hands let go of him, and he lurched up, turning to face Lyre on shaky legs. She looked past him, hazel eyes a universe away.
“Follow.”