Bonnie regained consciousness and tried to open her eyes, which was far more difficult than she would have liked it to be, and had two thoughts:

The first thought was relative surprise that she had, in fact, woken up. Bonnie certainly didn’t have her money on ‘still being alive’ after plummeting into the ocean. Not to mention the fact that the ocean also happened to be below a MAC battlefield. Bonnie, from experience, knew that wasn’t a very survivable place.

The second thought, when compared to the first, was far less important. Bonnie had been feeling a draft and was quite cold.

She tried to reach around her shoulders to pull her homemade flak-jacket tighter around her. Her prosthetic arm didn’t get very far though. A fierce pain like an electric shock stopped her about halfway through the motion. Bonnie didn’t scream, but she didn’t try to reach any farther either.

Bonnie was used to pain and injuries, so she was pretty sure that her injuries were of the ‘oh shit’ variety. The ‘oh shit’ variety of injuries were usually enough to keep her out of action for a few weeks, but they weren’t bad enough that she couldn’t stagger or crawl around. Bonnie was hoping it was ‘stagger’ rather than ‘crawl’. Crawling around can get a little embarrassing.

Then again, she was beginning to remember a distinctive ‘snap’ of bone when she kicked open the cockpit door…

Bonnie really didn’t want to have to crawl around.

She was still in the midst of trying to force her eyes to open fully. Bonnie was sure she suffered some pretty intense bruising all over her body, so it wasn’t too surprising that she was having trouble.

Bonnie continued to hold her arm in position above her head. She was waiting for the pain in her nub to subside before lowering it down in case she caused herself to pass out from messing with the injury. While she was essentially trapped in this position, a strangely soft hand wrapped around her upper arm.

Bonnie’s eyes finally opened up and her sight was a bit less blurry, so the owner of the hand wasn’t hard to make out: Guinevere.

“Bonnie,” the girl’s voice which was usually so empty and distant was now coming out like the voice of a mother chastising her child, “you can ball up your fist as much as you want, but I’m pretty sure you can’t actually throw a punch in your condition.”

Bonnie unclenched her fist of wires and metal, “Ah,” the words started to come out a bit messy, but Bonnie was at least able to speak, “sorry about that. Reflexes.” Suddenly, the full picture was pieced back together in her mind. The ambush. The war. The MACs. The fight. The crash. Bonnie was slightly scared to ask the question… or any questions really, and that in and of itself worried her. It wasn’t like her.

But hesitating to make a decision also wasn’t like her, “How many are left?”

Guinevere’s soft hands lowered Bonnie’s arm back down onto the bed. She touched Bonnie’s thigh for a while before throwing away a ball of blood-soaked gauze. She pulled out a new roll of the white material and began wrapping Bonnie’s thigh anew.

She was taking quite a while to answer.

“I… well…” she sighed and seemed to find the confidence to say the awful answer, “Not many. A few kids were out on rafts trying to watch the fight. The fact they weren’t in the buildings is probably the only reason they’re still alive. Though it was still quite the miracle for them to navigate around all the burning fuel on the water. I believe they’ve been thanking their God for that recently, or maybe they’re thanking that gravedigger’s spirit. Anyway, they saved you and now… well… they’re searching the city for anyone else that’s left alive.”

Bonnie waited patiently, though she was somewhat bothered that Guinevere had started off by telling her how many of the enemy had survived.

“A few more have been pulled out, but the explosion was big and, well, with everyone in the central tower… it’s not looking good. Everyone’s trying to ignore it, but the surrounding waters have been changing to a slightly red tint over the past few hours.”

Bonnie started to tap her steel fingers on the flimsy cot that was serving as her hospital bed, making dents in the thin supports. Her leg moved about anxiously until Guinevere held it down and continued to wrap the wounds.

“The forest is mostly burnt now, but the rains managed to stop the fire from taking everything. There are a lot of bodies and machines out there, but no survivors yet.”

Bonnie felt a strange pit in her stomach as she opened her mouth, as if the gore-scented air around her had rushed in and burrowed a hole inside of her, “The Stragglers?”

Guinevere wiped some sweat from her forehead, shifting her damp bangs away from her eyes as she sat back in her chair, “No one. It’s only been a day but… no one.”

Bonnie closed her eyes and tried very hard to fight back the choking feeling of sadness that would ultimately lead to tears. Bonnie didn’t like crying.

She liked The Stragglers though. The group had become her home. Ukko may have taken her true home from her as a child; took it and murdered it, but at least she had The Stragglers… at least she had something.

She tried, just for a moment, to convince herself that she should be happy. Ukko was dead. The man that had killed her family was dead. That should be good, right? But the thought didn’t stop the tears that started to seep out of her closed eyelids. For all the evil and bad they may have done, it didn’t change the fact that The Stragglers had become her family. It wasn’t about Ukko. He couldn’t even compare to the relationships she’d made with this band of mercenaries.

She’d lost her family again, and this time she was old enough to feel the pain in all of its excruciating detail. And the pain she felt of betraying her real family, the pain of enjoying her time with these murderers, started to burn all the brighter. Her emotions were nothing more than a hot iron brand searing into her… every last inch of her.

Bonnie squeezed her eyes shut ever tighter, hoping to staunch the flow of grief. She was so very proud of her ability to make decisions, but the most important issues in her life were simply too much for her to solve. Too much for her to make a judgement on.

There was at least one decision she could make. She could, at the very least, move forward. She gathered all her courage and used it to quash the misery that would have surely seeped into her voice. Bonnie didn’t really want Guinevere to see her like this, “So, it’s just you, me, and the enemy?” She opened her eyes and tried to ignore the few extra tears that pushed their way out, “I guess that means we’re both prisoners now, huh?”

“Prisoners? Not really. I guess these people were leading pretty peaceful lives until we showed up. The soldiers are all dead in the forest, and everyone left can’t even tell me if there’s an armory around. My MAC is the only weapon nearby, and, if we’re being honest, it can’t do much of anything until it’s refueled and re-armed. I don’t really think… I don’t think these kids have it left in them to deal with us though. They’re a little bit busy after all. Picking up the scraps and everything.” Guinevere removed her tie and, again with a strangely motherly air, she laid it in Bonnie’s hand, “You used up all the gauze, so you’ll have to make do with this to wipe your face or blow your nose or whatever.”

Bonnie felt oddly comforted by the silk strip of cloth that was now laying in her hand. It was almost shameful to be comforted by a prisoner like this. By someone she was, not too long ago, planning to punish for acting out.

It was truly absurd.

Absurd.

If there was ever a perfect word for the occasion, that would be it.

Absurd.

The word continued to bounce around in Bonnie’s head.

Absurd.

It became more and more violent. Knocking off one side of her skull and into the other.

Absurd.

Bonnie’s breathing had become odd. Her body was beginning to spasm, opening up wounds and bringing in a flood of new pain. Her mouth opened and closed, as if hoping to make words.

Absurd.

Bonnie screamed.

Part of her, some last shred of sanity, told her to stop. Screaming was something Bonnie didn’t do. She was better than that. But the images that flashed through her head seemed to drown out everything. Images of human flesh and muscle growing out of the MACs. Images of weapons that looked to be lined with corpses. Images of beams of light that looked like poisoned souls.

Bonnie was suddenly transported. Stuck once more in that gelatinous ooze of Ukko’s machine. Being absorbed into it, eaten away by it. She heard words back then, didn’t she? Something… something was there with her.

Guinevere had been trying to hold Bonnie down. Straps on the table were being tightened and Bonnie was slowly losing any ability to move. Blood poured out of her, precious blood that she was surely wasting in a critical moment. But the blood only made things worse. The slimy texture of the stuff, the bright colors… all of it made her horrified by the stuff that came out of what should have been a goddamn machine. “Metal… bolts… generators… pistons… gears…” Bonnie continued to list off what should have been. The things that should have poured out of Ukko’s machine. Machine.

“Bonnie, look at me.” The commanding voice, still so motherly, seemed to get Bonnie’s head slightly above the waters of madness, “I think… I think you probably saw something back there. If you did, you’re going to go through a very difficult situation.”

Bonnie’s eyes were now glued to Guinevere. She felt like if she looked away she would be lost to the horrors again. But staring at Guinevere like this made Bonnie realize something: the girl had her own wounds. But they didn’t look like wounds one would get from a MAC battle. They weren’t burns or shrapnel scars…

“I’ve seen a few go through it now. I’ve gone through it as well. It won’t be easy Bonnie. Some of them died when they… when they remembered.”

Guinevere had scratch marks over both eyes, as if she were clawed at by something. Her arms were bandaged up and leaking red streaks, streaks in the patterns of scratches as well. Scratches from a human, not an animal.

“Bonnie. Try your best, that’s all you can do. I’ll stay here until it’s done.”

Bonnie stopped thinking. She focused all her attention on Guinevere’s face.

The girl really was her type.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Then Bonnie puked and the image of a God-like creature stepping out of a MAC filled her head.

Bonnie had regained consciousness on that raft out there, just for a moment. That was when she saw the being floating above her, surrounded by the blue of the sky and framed by the pillars of steel and concrete buildings. The scene slowly being lit up by the explosive ball of fire that was growing from a tower and radiating into the sky.

What was it?

Bonnie wasn’t sure but,

as much as she tried to stop it,

the screaming began again.

~~~

Guinevere rewrapped all Bonnie’s wounds.

The girl managed to stay conscious a lot longer than most of the others, which wasn’t really a good thing.

Guinevere looked at the body that was covered in nothing more than blood and bandages. Guinevere wasn’t too confident that the girl would wake up.

She wiped her hands and stepped out of the tent.

The air smelled like blood. The humidity that stuck to her skin and coated her tasted like blood.

It was all so bloody now.

Guinevere looked back at the ocean and saw the handful of survivors paddling their rafts out to the collapsing towers. They were mostly just bringing back corpses, but that didn’t stop them from trying to find another breathing body or two. They tried to navigate the gore strewn waters that snaked like rivers of blood around the burning fuel and chemicals that still sat on top of the rolling waves.

The sun had been coming down for a while now. The scarlet red light that it decided to give off only made the scene more apocalyptic.

It was all just so bloody…

She tried to be thankful for the cold weather. At the very least, that meant she wouldn’t have to suffer the overwhelming stench of rotting corpses for a little while longer.

Guinevere started to walk along the edge of the forest. It was mostly burnt now. Blackened spires rose up out of the ground where verdant trees once stood. Every step landed her feet in wet piles of ash. She continued to walk up the slight slope that brought her higher and higher above the once-so-golden sands that had now started to show a deep red stain.

Everywhere… nothing but blood…

She wondered what drove her to help Bonnie. Maybe she just wanted to do some good before her final moments. Earn a few extra points in case there’s a God up there keeping track of these things.

Guinevere shivered, though not from the cold. That thing… Guinevere hoped it wasn’t a God. If it were… the afterlife might not be as nice of an ending as she thought it would be.

She shook her head and wished she could distract herself with the sights and smells and sounds of nature. Her father was lucky to have had all that to distract him. All she had was ash and destruction and death.

That thing… Jace made it, or birthed it, or whatever. Somehow that idiot started all of this. Part of Guinevere wanted to figure out what was going on, but most of her just wanted to die.

She moved a bit closer to the edge of the cliff. It was easily five stories above the beach at this point.

Far enough.

She stood there looking over the apocalypse-tinted world. The sunset was rather beautiful, all things considered.

Guinevere was thankful that the Vice Admiral’s voice didn’t follow her out here. The little girl was truly stuck in that machine. Probably warring it out right now with whatever sort of hell-spawn was inhabiting the MACs.

Well, maybe there was some way to save her, but Guinevere couldn’t think of one off the top of her head, and that was all the effort she was willing to put into that issue. After all, Guinevere had finished, right? It may not be ideal, not exactly the prettiest outcome by any means, but Ukko was dead at the very least. Sure, the Trahir system was loosed on the world and… and it may have been a cause for some of the… the things that happened, but that didn’t matter. People would have found out how to replicate the Trahir system anyway. Everything would have happened sooner or later.

And, actually, Guinevere didn’t have to pretend like she cared anymore, right? She already accepted herself for who she truly was, right? She didn’t care about how many people were going to die or the excruciating ways they would go. She cared about her city. She cared about Atlantis. Everything else… it hardly mattered at all.

It doesn’t matter.

Not a bit.

So why, she wondered, was she not taking the next step off this cliff?

Did she really need to bring someone along like her father did? Was that the issue?

Guinevere couldn’t deny she wanted someone here with her, but there was something odd about her desire. Something that seemed to not add up right. It was why she hadn’t been thinking about it. If she could just move her feet and be done then none of it would matter.

Was this the Vice Admiral’s influence?

Guinevere stared resolutely at her foot that was placed on the ledge. A cool breeze from the ocean sent shivers down her spine and raised her hairs on end. The smell of decay from the ocean was a welcome scent compared to the smells of death and destruction that were now beginning to taint the land.

‘He’s not here…’

The little girl’s words after striking the final blow seemed to stick with Guinevere. The whole situation seemed to stick with Guinevere.

She had to fight with every ounce of willpower she had to finally let loose a full salvo on Ukko’s monster and Bonnie’s tinderbox of a machine. The Vice Admiral was screaming the whole time. Her little fingers almost seemed like they were prying into the folds of Guinevere’s brain back then, trying desperately to wrest back control and save her hero or father or friend or whatever he was to the girl. And then, after another desperate mental battle with the little girl, Guinevere was finally able to run the blade home into Ukko and his abomination. During that thrust, it was Guinevere’s screams that seemed to roar above the world.

But, when the rage had cleared and the emotions died down, ‘He’s not here…’ was what the Vice Admiral had said.

Which was strange, because Ukko’s corpse was very much so there. Or at least parts of it were.

The Vice Admiral seemed convinced that Ukko hadn’t been in control. He died before the fight. Guinevere thought it might have just been the Vice Admiral’s way of dealing with the emotional trauma, but after seeing what Jace did at the end… bringing that thing to life… Guinevere wasn’t sure anymore.

About anything.

In fact, it was more serious than that.

For some reason, she now wanted to kill Jace.

She had an intense hatred for the man whom she used to have at least some affection for.

At first, Guinevere thought it was because she resented having to see that thing and blamed it on Jace, but she had no concrete reason to blame him. The man might have been dead already, just like Ukko.

No, she hated Jace, she absolutely couldn’t stand the man, because of what he did to The Stragglers. Their destruction was entirely his fault. It was him.

Guinevere knew full well these thoughts couldn’t have been her own, and after exiting her machine and getting away from the Vice Admiral’s voice she realized the truth: back then, when she was clawing at her arms and eyes and puking her guts onto the beach, she knew she had been infected. The Vice Admiral wanted revenge for what had happened to her people in the same way that Guinevere wanted revenge for what had happened to her city. Maybe the similarities were enough to cause the two thoughts to overlap, or maybe the Vice Admiral simply had more control with such a potent emotion.

Whatever the case, her desire to kill Jace hadn’t gone away when she stepped out of the MAC. It was now securely fastened into her own psyche. It was as if the thought were slowly but surely becoming her own.

But Guinevere overpowered the Vice Admiral at such a critical point when she plunged the blade into Ukko. It didn’t make sense for the Vice Admiral to suddenly hold so much sway over her.

After all, Guinevere had desperately wanted this sort of ending. It was such a strong emotion, to come to this cliff and be done with it all. There was no way that the Vice Admiral’s desire for revenge could overwrite those feelings, right?

And yet, here she was at the cliff, unable to take another step.

There was just no way. She had to be in control. She managed to kill Ukko. She remembered how it felt to pull the trigger. To let loose her cannons on Ukko. To watch as his machine and muscle amalgamation was blown to bits. Chunks of purple and thick pink fluid flying off into the clear blue sky. Bits of metallic shards being blown off and into the surrounding buildings.

Guinevere felt a strange heat near her stomach.

The way the thing tried so desperately to fight back at the end. The way it looked when she flew in close and held up that blade. The weight of the blade felt so natural. So good.

Her breathing had grown ragged as she stood on the cliff’s edge.

That final moment before she plunged the blade. That final instant of life and then… and then it all being snuffed out with a single thrust. Running that blade home, feeling each and every crunch of metal and burst of piping. Feeling each and every tear in the muscle and pop of the veins.

Guinevere staggered backwards and fell to her knees.

What just happened?

She looked down at herself.

One hand was lodged firmly in between her closed thighs and the other had slid in between the buttons of her dress shirt.

She felt so damp from the humidity. She hated feeling like this. What a terrible place to live.

But…

As the blood in her head stopped pumping about so loudly, she realized the humidity wasn’t to blame.

Her mind was rushing one way and the other. Utter confusion seemed to resound endlessly as she tried to make sense of the situation.

She was just about to kill herself and then… and then she started to think about the fight and then… and then that?

Why… did it feel so good?

She stood up on wobbly legs and felt deeply ashamed.

“What’s happening to me?”

She was certain this was all the Vice Admiral’s fault. The girl was sick. Her desire for murder and death and destruction had infected Guinevere.

That had to be it.

And yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t actually distance herself from those emotions either.

Those feelings seemed to sink deeper and deeper inside of her, melding with her own desires. Desires she was sure she didn’t have but that were there deep down all the same.

The lust for murder and destruction started to mix with her rage for what had happened to her city.

A world without her city? Without Atlantis? Why would anyone want to live in a world like that? Wouldn’t it be for the best… wouldn’t it simply be for the greater good if everyone died?

She crawled toward the cliff’s edge, trying her best to hold back the tidal wave of thoughts roiling in her head.

“Do it.” she spit the words out through gritted teeth. “Do it.”

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull herself over the edge.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see herself alone by the cliff anymore.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see herself jumping anymore.

It was just an endless repeat of her pushing and pushing and pushing again.

Piling up corpses that no longer had a reason to exist in this hollow world.

Guinevere tried her best to blame everything on the Vice Admiral, completely unaware of her own twisted mind that had been brought out by the God in the sky. Or perhaps by something else entirely. Whatever the case, in a final show of cowardice and in a vain attempt to distance herself from her own future, she screamed these words into the cliff face beneath her:

“You’ve poisoned me!”

And now, as one story comes to an end, another follows along without pause.

As it has been.

As it is.

And as it shall always be.

The stages have been set, with extras unaware of their casting as corpses. The leads have been thrust into their roles, willingly or not. The Gods that claim to run the show have had their strings attached, puppeteered by something tucked away in a void far above.

History is bound to be written, as it always is.

Until the audience itself finally falls silent.

Author’s Note

And so our unlikely heroes have been thoroughly prepped for their roles!

Bonnie and Guinevere, a tag team for the ages, will set off to save the world from the dastardly Jace!

Well, actually, I guess Guinevere seems a whole lot more likely to just start killing people indiscriminately now, doesn’t she? Bonnie’s sure to keep her in line though. We left her in a pretty solid mental state, right?

Hmm…

And now that I think about it, Jace isn’t terribly dastardly, is he?

And I imagine The Alley is probably going to be getting involved considering they just lost a pretty valuable mercenary company to wacky antics.

I don’t know, maybe that God thing will be a good and proper villain. That’s what I’d like to think at any rate.

Haha, Metallic Gods amirite? Bit on the nose actually, but, you gotta believe me on this one: I really wasn’t planning on things turning out like this.

So, I guess this author’s note is quite literally a note for the author: try to make a few more sane characters next time.

And don’t kill them.

Anyway friend, see you in the next thrilling installment of:

Silly Shenanigans in Metallic Mechs