1

It turned out that flying at that speed wasn't very pleasant. Perhaps he would have coped better if he was flying under his own power, that is, if he had some control at least. But he didn't. He was flying at fuck knows how many miles an hour, in a claustrophobic death trap of coffin-like metal. Hopefully it wouldn't end up being a real fucking coffin.

He'd known about experiments like this for a long time.

Of course, ideally, he would be able to respond to any emergency that arose, no matter where in the world it happened. Unfortunately he was only one man, he couldn't be everywhere at once or travel anywhere so fast.

Even if he tried, it would often be over before he even got close to the area.

That was the nature of the Lunar Remnant plague, after all. It was a messy, disastrous and quick business.

But many had wanted to fix that shortcoming of his, and strange devices like the capsule he was travelling in at he really didn't want to know how many fucking miles per hour. But it had only been prototypes, dreams and hopes.

Until that giant robot showed up. Now they had a compelling reason, never better said, to put this fucking madness to the test.

He couldn't say it wasn't working, but he couldn't say it was pleasant either.

Even if it flew all the way, what about the landing? Sylvester wasn't in a hurry to answer that question.

But he would have the answer sooner rather than later, at this rate. He heard some banging against the capsule and for a few seconds he thought one of the invading sons of bitches from other worlds or dimensions had somehow found out he was there, attacking him. But no. It wasn't like that, it was just his partner on this, of course. Like they lived nearby and she was knocking on his door. Just that.

"Comfortable?" Heather, the Lunar Princess, asked.

He slowly raised his middle finger.

He didn't even know if she had enough of a sense of humour to say things like that ironically, but it didn't matter. Heather looked confused at the gesture, despite the many things she had learned in her short life of less than a week.

Sylvester closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and decided to think about literally anything else as he let himself be swept along by the current. Deep down it was no big deal. He'd been through a lot worse all his life, even today, hell, even like five minutes ago.

The only thing that bothered him was that. The total and complete lack of control.

Even in the worst moments of his life, he'd had some control.

But no matter how powerful he was, no matter how inhuman, he couldn't always be in control. Sooner or later he would have to come to terms with it. And learn to let go, no matter how much it scared him.

He felt it when they were about to land and his eyes snapped open, his heart pounding, even though he couldn't really do anything to improve the landing or anything like that. Despite all that had been said, he had once again failed to learn his lesson. Perhaps it was the last lesson any human being learned, only once their time had come. When they would have no choice but to let go.

The capsule was buried in the new roof of a building, that is to say what had been one of the interior floors before it was destroyed, as if some giant thing had taken a bite out of it, leaving it exposed to the wind and the cold and the long drop. Maybe the bite part was true, who knew what the giant robot could do.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Sylvester tried the door and found it was stuck, either that or he had no fucking idea how to open it now because he was so nervous, so unnecessarily nervous. Either way, it was clear what he had to do.

He kicked at the door until he ripped it off and sent it flying. Heather dodged it by the skin of her teeth. Not that it would have done her any harm even if it had hit her squarely. Mostly she wouldn't have been amused.

Sylvester staggered out of the pod, momentarily unable to tell whether it was his head or the world that was moving, when in fact the answer was both, of course. He couldn't see the giant robot from here, but he could feel it. The footsteps of destruction. It was like a human earthquake, advancing step by step.

And Sylvester...

Sylvester doubled over and threw up what little was in his stomach onto the new roof of the destroyed building, exposed to the cold wind that blew, the wind that carried the voices of people in agony, screaming, dying, full of fear.

"I didn't know you were dizzy," said Heather.

"Next time you go in and I'll stay out, we'll see how well you do," he said, rubbing the corners of his mouth to remove the vomit. He hoped she wouldn't take him up on his offer when the time came, he wasn't sure it was a good idea. At that speed his grip probably wouldn't have lasted.

Nothing would happen to him, but he would be embarrassed. Again.

He shook his head.

Priorities.

Lifting his head, Sylvester discovered that the giant robot could be seen perfectly well from here. From here and from anywhere in the city. For it was indeed a true giant. Next to it, even the few remaining skyscrapers (city redevelopment was a slow and difficult process) looked like toys.

"Well, any ideas?” Sylvester asked. “And before you say anything, I mean, if you have a real plan. I don't want to get in the middle and just hope for the best. It worked out well with that tentacle monster, but I almost got killed. I don't want to do something crazy like that twice in the same day. That's my limit."

"You're more talkative since you threw up."

"No, not since I threw up, I just haven't had a reason to talk so much until now. Or time. You know, I think something snapped inside that monster's guts, or at least it bent and now I'm kind of high. I don't even know what I'm saying, but I want to at least know what I'm doing."

He was aware that every second they wasted on this would be worse for the city. Yes, it couldn't be more obvious.

But the really bad thing for the city would be if he was defeated, because then who would take out the giant fucking robot? Not to mention the rest of the invaders, eager to win the interdimensional death match.

"I don't know what to tell you," Heather admitted, "I told you I don't know anything about these invaders or their weapons, I've never seen anything like this before. The only thing I know for sure is that it's humanoid. So ripping off its arms and legs would be a big inconvenience."

Sylvester thought about it. But not too much.

"Something is something, damn it. Something's something."

"I'm glad. Shall we?"

"Yeah. But you first."

“You say that like I pushed you into that monster's mouth. It was your idea. In fact, I don't think you heard me, but I shouted things like ‘are you out of your mind?’ and ‘come the fuck back!’."

"Whatever you say, but you go first."

Heather shrugged and took flight again. Her PM bar seemed inexhaustible. Even though they theoretically had the same powers, the difference between them was as if they were each on a different side of the Grand Canyon.

They flew together, side by side almost literally, like bullets towards the giant robot that continued on its path of destruction. If the ultimate goal of this deathmatch was the destruction of the enemy planets, he didn't know what he thought he was doing destroying it city by city, which is to say, it would take ages.

As promised, more or less, Heather was the first to arrive.

And the giant robot from outer space swatted her away as if she were just an annoying mosquito. She flew back hundreds of feet as Sylvester watched her with wide eyes. Until, of course, he inevitably lost sight of her.

Oh, right.

Okay, she probably hadn't died from that. No, she probably hadn't. There was no way she could have died so easily after giving him so much trouble.

The giant robot turned its head and its huge yellow eyes, from corner to corner and pupil-less, towards him. Its gigantic head loomed over him like the shadow of the future that awaited him.

Now it's my turn, he thought.

A God Made of Steel (2): END