The Wasted
Welcome to the Wasteland
Dust kicks up under trotting hooves. A woolen horse traverses the ruins of a city from the world before. Those who remember what the world was before the Righteous End are long dead. All that remains are their stories. Children of the wastes grew up hearing those tales of an apocalyptic war. A race to end the world. The evolution-crazed bioterrorists, Nevo-Corp, engineered incrementally more dangerous super beasts and released them into the world. The entropic cyber-terrorists, END.EXE, created a computer virus to overtake government systems, launching nukes all across the globe. And the cross-bearing order of zealots known only, The Righteous, who’s messiah walked a destructive crusade, winning the war and cleansing the world of sinners. Only remnants remain.
???: Yah!
Spurs dig into the side of the furry creature, forcing it into a canter. A woman sits mounted on the horse’s back. A long off-white duster hangs to her calves, fully buttoned at the top to shield her torso from the chill of the impending dusk. A red bandana obscures the features of her face, and large circular goggles shield her eyes from the dust clouds often kicked up by the unpredictable weather. A brown ten gallon hat hides her short hair and a brown leather strap crosses from her shoulder to her hip, keeping her satchel in place.
She rides through the collapsed city. Any buildings not reduced to rubble are riddled with large circular holes. She comes to a stop at a dilapidated office building. She dismounts the horse and ties the reins to a lamp post. She pulls a small book from her satchel and checks the marked page. She eyes the numbers 1175. She looks down at the rubble of what was the building’s front door. The address matches the number in her book. She tucks the book into her pocket and enters the lobby. She walks up to the front desk. There’s a silhouette burned into the moldy upholstery of the desk chair, the sign that someone died during the Righteous End. She searches the drawers of the desk and finds a ring of keys as well as a cigarette box. She puts the keys in her pocket and grabs the box. She opens the box to see three perfectly conditioned cigarettes. She pulls one out and pulls down her bandana, revealing her aging tan nose and mouth. She brings the cigarette to her chapped lips and pulls a loose match from her satchel and strikes it against her brown leather glove. She lights the cigarette and inhales deeply. She puffs the tobacco as she searches the building. She eventually finds a door labelled “Server Room”. She uses the keys to access the dark room, walls filled with wires and machinery.
She walks out of the building as the sun dips behind the horizon. She flicks the spent cigarette butt and fills her horse’s saddle bag with her looted tech. She spurs the horse and begins her ride home.
The wandering woman rides through the gate of a ramshackle community far outside of the city. The rusty sign etched on the gate reads “Scrapton” The buildings are welded together with sheets of mismatched metals. She rides up to a rusty two-story building crowned by a neon sign that reads “Come Get Wasted”. She ties her horse to the trough by the front door and enters. A bell rings when she enters. She takes in the musty smell of the bar to which she’s become accustomed. She grimaces at the grating sound of smoothe jazz playing through the aging jukebox.
Tuck: Howdy, stranger.
A thin effeminate male waves at her from behind the sheet metal bar. He has long shaggy tan hair framing his pale face. He’s wearing a nice white blouse and tight black slacks. His face is hidden under heavy black eyeliner and scarlet lip gloss. His ruby red acrylic nails tap against the bar mindlessly.
Tuck: You’re back early.
The well traveled woman ignores him as she removes her hat, revealing her short peppered black hair and hangs it on the rack near the door. She removes her duster, revealing the unwashed grey button up beneath, as well as the revolver holstered at her hip. She hangs the long coat beneath her hat. She lowers her bandana and raises her goggles, revealing her tired amber eyes.
???: Turn that shit off, Tuck,
The woman barks as she takes a seat at the bar.
Tuck: Oh, you’re such a bitter old woman.
The woman scowls. The bartender pouts, sauntering over to the jukebox and turning off the music.
Tuck: So how was the big city?
???: Quiet.
Tuck: A drink for a job well done?
???: The job’s not done. Just pour me the damn drink.
Tuck: Wow. You’re grumpier than normal.
He pulls a glass from under the bar and fills it with an alcoholic brown liquid.
She growls, reaching for her drink. Tuck suddenly grabs her wrist and lifts it to his face. He pulls the hand to his nose and sniffs her glove.
???: What the hell are you doing?!
The older woman yanks her hand away from the bartender.
???: You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in you.
Tuck: Tobacco.
He points an accusatory finger in her direction.
???: What the hell are you talking about?
Tuck: You found tobacco on your run.
???: So what if I did?
Tuck: We had a deal.
He crosses his arms.
Tuck: You get to run your little club out of my bar, and I get first dibs on any items of interest from your runs. So hand them over.
She mutters, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the pack of cigarettes.
???: Fuckin bloodhound.
She sets the pack on the bar and grabs her drink.
He picks out a cigarette and lights it for himself. He takes a drag as the woman begins to drink.
Tuck: Oh, that girl of yours got back from her run. She looked pretty spent. She’s up in your apartment sleeping.
The woman mutters and downs her drink. She places the glass in front of Tuck.
???: Another.
The stoic woman slowly opens the stitched-steel door to her night soaked bedroom. She looks towards the bed and sees a younger athletically built woman with long red hair sprawled on the bed, snoring with only a thin blanket covering her lacey pink nightgown and legs. The woman removes her gloves, revealing the golden sheen of her prosthetic right hand to the moonlight. She begins unbuttoning her shirt, being careful as to not wake her sleeping partner. She takes a step and the floor below her creeks. The sleeping woman begins to stir. Her lemon yellow eyes begin to open. She sits up and yawns.
Vivian: Good morning.
???: Go back to bed, Viv.
Vivian: Well there’s no reason to be rude…
???: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to bed.
She finishes pulling off her outer-shirt, leaving only the tank top underneath. Her partner stares up at the full golden prosthetic arm. The woman sits on the bed. Her partner runs a finger across her right shoulder, examining the ashen scars spreading out from the metal.
Vivian: They’re getting bigger.
???: Don’t worry about it. How was your run?
Vivian: Exhausting…
She wraps her arms around her lover.
Vivian: I had to fight through a group of unforgiven in the quarry. Those freaks give me the creeps…
???: I’m glad you’re ok.
The woman states in the tone closest to kindness she can manage.
Vivian: Thanks, babe.
She kisses the scowling woman on the cheek and lays back in the bed.
The woman removes her pants and lays next to her partner. The younger woman wraps her arms around her and lays her head on her chest. They lay together and drift to sleep.
The next morning, the woman stands outside the bar amidst the early morning fog. She’s dressed in her wandering attire as she prepares her horse for travel. The door to the bar opens and her red haired partner walks outside, now clothed in a loose pink t-shirt and grey sweatpants.
Vivian: Another run? And here I thought we’d actually get to spend a day together.
???: It’s the same run.
The woman unties her horse’s reins.
???: I had to pass back this way on my way to the client. I figured I’d stop for the night.
Vivian: Well I’m glad you did.
Her partner smiles, wrapping her arms around the taller woman, pulling her in for a hug. The older woman grunts as she’s squeezed.
Vivian: We’ve both been working so much lately, I feel like we hardly get to see each other.
???: It’s not that bad.
Vivian: It is that bad!
Her partner crosses her arms in frustration.
Vivian: I miss you…
???: I-
Vivian: You have to promise me. When you get back from this run, we both take a week off.
???: A week?!
Vivian: Yes, a week. The others are more than capable of filling out orders. One week is all I’m asking.
???: Fine…
Vivian: Promise me.
???: I promise I’ll take a week off. Happy?
The woman rolls her eyes under her goggles. Her partner nods and kisses her on the cheek.
The woman mounts her horse and rides out of town as her partner waves goodbye.
The woman trots down the abandoned highway. The dry deserted wasteland spans as far as the eye can see in all directions. Over the course of her ride, the sun travels from the west and settles at the highest point of the sky. She pulls her horse to a small gas station at the side of the road. She docks her horse by one of the rusted pumps. She removes the tech-filled saddle bags and slings then over her shoulder.
A bell dings as she enters the gutted general store. She eyes the ash silhouettes, staining the walls like shadows. Always the same depressing sight. She steps behind the front counter and moves a small rug with her foot, uncovering a hidden trap door. She crouches down and knocks on the steel in a specified rhythm. There’s a buzz and the sound of locks clicking. She lifts the heavy door and climbs down the ladder.
As she descends into the darkness, she begins to hear the rapid clicking of keys. When she reaches the bottom she finds herself in a small bunker made big enough for only one person to live comfortably. All the lights are off, making maneuvering through the small untidy rooms difficult. She accidentally bumps a stack of dishes with her foot, sending them clattering to the ground. She soon locates the source of the clicking. Bright lights emit from the ten screens located around this cramped room. The woman shields her eyes, as the screens appear blinding having spent multiple minutes in pitch blackness. Thousands of wires run down from the screens across the walls and floor connecting to an assortment of complex hardware.
Client: Dammit… Where are you, you little typo.
The client, a young woman, sits huddled on a desk chair, swaddled tightly in a blanket. Her long black hair was wild and ratted from months of neglect. The lines of code reflect off the circular glasses that cover her tired, bloodshot eyes.
Client: I will find you, and I will…. AHA!
She quickly fixes the line of code.
???: Ahem.
The stoic woman clears her throat, announcing her arrival. The girl turns her chair to face her.
Client: You’re back already. Good.
She stands up, displaying her hidden green pajamas and wrapping her blanket around her neck like a cape.
Client: I hope the parts weren't too hard to find.
???: They weren’t
The woman drops the saddlebags on the ground before her client.
Client: Be careful with those!
The client drops to her knees and begins rummaging through the pillaged hardware.
???: You didn’t specify what you needed, so I grabbed what looked most important. If you want something more specific, clarify it in the order.
Client: These are perfect.
The client removes the parts from the bags.
Client: I might have to enlist your group more often.
The woman doesn’t respond. The client looks up at her. She’s emitting a very intimidating aura whether she intends to or not.
Client: Y-you probably want your payment.
She scurries out of the room and quickly returns with a briefcase.
The stoic woman grabs the case and places it in the bag. She grunts and nods before making her way out of the bunker.
She exits the convenience store and fits her horse with the saddlebag. Her head perks up when she hears a gunshot in the distance.
A young boy sprints barefoot across the hot wasteland sands, desperate to get away from the small platoon of armed soldiers chasing him. His face and arms are covered in bruises. His left eye is swollen shut and leaking blood. He’s wearing a black shirt with the tag JR037 on the back.
Soldier: Stop running, kid! We won’t hesitate to shoot you!
Kid: Leave me alone!
He gags on his own words as he pushes his own limits to escape. One shot is fired. He feels the bullet rip through his calf. He hits the ground hard, rolling a few feet before skidding to a stop. He screams in pain and cradles his bleeding leg.
He looks up to see twelve soldiers in identical white armor with golden highlights surrounding him. They each have a mask over their mouth protecting them from the wasteland air. They point their guns in his face. The thirteenth soldier is a dark skinned woman wearing gold armor with white highlights, her dreaded blonde hair tied into a knot on the top of her head. She walks up to the boy and grabs him by the back of his shirt. He yelps and struggles. She points the menacing double barrel of her large horned magnum right at his forehead.
Captain: You like causing trouble, kid?
Her piercing blue eyes bearing down on his single quivering green eye.
Kid: Th-they were gonna kill me… I-I-I don’t want to die!
Captain: Shut it!
She throws him back to the ground and points her gun at his head.
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Captain: You’ve become more trouble than you’re worth.
A gun goes off. The boy flinches, assuming his life to be over. When the bullet never hits, he looks up.
Captain: Fuck!
The high ranking soldier cries out, dropping to her knees cradling her wounded shoulder. The squad turns to find where the shot came from and spots the white duster of the stoic woman walking towards them calmly, revolver in her left hand.
Captain: Don’t just stand there, shoot her!
Her soldiers raise their weapons and open fire. The woman raises her prosthetic arm and a vibrant cobalt light shines through her sleeve and glove. The hail of bullets bounce harmlessly off of the blue wall of energy that has spawned before her as she walks, as if all energy is being removed from each one upon contact. The light on her arm burns through the material concealing it. Ashes fall from her hand all the way up to her shoulder revealing the full golden arm.
Captain: That’s…
The captain begins to sweat when she spots the arm. Her mouth grows dry.
Captain: Cease fire! That’s!...
Her order is cut off when the force field retreats back to her arm and the lights turn from blue to deep red. A ball of light appears in her hand before a massive beam of scarlet energy shrieks through the air, enveloping every soldier to the captain’s left.
The other half looks in horror at the piles of soot left behind by their former comrades.
Soldier: W-wait, I recognize that arm.
Soldier: Th-that’s Alejada. The leader of The Wasted.
Soldier: Th-the Right Hand of the Apocalypse!
Captain: Arma Chroma…
The woman’s gloved left hand grips the collar of the captain’s vest. She kicks her legs as she’s lifted off her feet by the taller woman. She trembles, feeling the heat of her intense glare even through the woman’s goggles.
Alejada: Take what’s left of your squad and run.
Her cold words sending a chill up the captain’s spine. She drops her back to her feet.
Captain: R-r-r-r-retreat!
She runs away holding her wounded shoulder. She’s followed quickly by her terrified squad.
She watches as they run out of sight, before turning her attention to the petrified boy. He stares up at her expressionless mask as she offers him her hand.
Kid: St-stay away from me!
He sobs, trying to run on his injured calf. He collapses in pain.
Alejada: Your leg is fucked, kid.
She reaches into her satchel and removes a roll of bandages.
Alejada: Like it or not, you need my help.
Kid: No no no no no!
The boy kicks her arm away everytime she tries to wrap the gauze around his wound.
Alejada: Dammit, kid. Quit squirmin!
She brings her left hand down on the crown of his head, knocking him unconscious.
Dr. Rivers: So which of these bruises were your doing?
A middle aged, tan skinned doctor sits on a stool at the side of the metal table that holds the boy rescued in the wasteland. They’re in a rusty metal shack repurposed as an examination room. The well conditioned heart monitor he’s hooked to is attached to a small generator. The display flickers every few seconds.
Alejada: Fuck off, Doc. He wouldn’t stop moving when I was applying the bandage.
The woman known as Alejada leans against the wall in the corner of the room, no longer in her wasteland outfit. The right arm of her button up still singed away.
Dr. River: Yes, and you still did a poor job even with an unconscious patient. But don’t worry. As always I’ve fixed your shoddy field work. He’ll live, but he’ll need to stay off that leg for a while.
Alejada: Good. I’d hate for the effort to go to waste.
Dr. Rivers: A few interesting things to note.
He leans over the boy’s head.
Dr. Rivers: You said he was being chased by soldiers of the Second End, right? This blood is still fresh.
Alejada nods and grunts a confirmation. The doctor uses his thumbs to lift the boy’s bleeding eyelid. The eye hidden underneath is silver and mechanical, with a thin red circle around the large black pupil.
Alejada: Righteous Tech.
Dr. Rivers: On a kid this young, I’m surprised he even stayed down long enough to get the eye in before he ran. It takes a certain amount of co-operation to install augmentations like this, seeing as the subject needs to be cognizant during the procedure. It’s why they take their time fully indoctrinating their test subjects before even attempting this sort of thing. Then I remembered a strange occurrence while I was preparing the table.
He rolls his stool to the heart monitor. He flips a switch, shutting the screen down. He hits the switch again and it starts up with an upbeat chime. The boy’s mouth twitches into a smile.
Dr. Rivers: This is a heart monitor we salvaged from an old Second End facility.
Alejada: They’ve developed a way to calm kids so they lay still when they hear the startup sound.
Dr. Rivers: That appears to be the case.
Alejada: If they perfect a method of implanting Righteous Weapons into children. They’ll be able to dedicate more time to training them.
The boy begins to stir on the metal table. His eyes pop open and he sits up in a panic. His eyes dart around the room, seeing the man in the lab coat and the woman who knocked him unconscious he tries to run. He’s stopped by a hand on the back of his shirt. He looks back to see Alejada’s scowling face.
Kid: P-please don’t kill me!
Alejada: If I was gonna kill you, you’d be dead already. So what happened to you?
He takes deep labored breaths as he tries to calm down. The heart monitor begins beeping faster as he recalls his time on the operating table.
Kid: Th-th-they were killing me... I-i-i-if they kept going, I would have died!
Dr. Rivers: Getting an eye pulled out of your head while wide awake probably feels like death.
Kid: Big sister!
Alejada: Who?
Kid: Th-they still have my big sister! They’re gonna kill her too!
Alejada: Calm down, kid. We can’t worry about your sister right now. You need to rest.
Kid: But!..
Alejada: One thing at a time. It’s too late to go back out tonight. We can save your sister tomorrow. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.
The bell rings when Alejada steps through the door of the bar with the child on her shoulders. Tuck leans against the bar, lost in thought smoking a cigarette. He turns his head when he hears the door open. His face twists into a scowl.
Tuck: Woah, woah, woah. What the fuck is this? No kids in the bar!
The boy whimpers as the feminine man shouts about his presence. He buries his head in the woman’s shoulder in fear.
Alejada: Stuff it, Tuck. He won’t be here long.
Tuck: That’s what Isaac said about that little orphan girl.
His painted lip twitches with irritation.
Tuck: Until she pilfered half my stock! I don’t want any snot nosed little shits running around my bar!
Alejada: You’re in luck then. He’s not gonna be running anywhere for awhile. He’ll be up in the apartment, so you won’t be seeing him.
Tuck: Still too close…
He mutters as she walks away.
The orange rays of the setting sun peer through the window as Alejada sets the young boy in her bed. She pulls the blanket over him.
Alejada: Get some sleep, kid.
She turns to walk away.
Kid: M-miss?
Alejada: Yeah?
Kid: C-can you really save my sister?
His quiet voice barely carries across the empty room.
Alejada: I can try.
She turns the doorknob and pulls the door open.
Alejada: Viv?
On the other side of the door stands her partner Vivian reaching for the nob.
Vivian: Oh, you’re back.
She smiles. She catches a glimpse of the boy in the bed behind her. She tilts her head to get a better look.
Vivian: Well, hello there.
Alejada: I found him running from a group of Second End soldiers.
Alejada states as walks past her and approaches the bed.
She stands over the boy and flashes him a warm smile. She notices his mechanical eye.
Vivian: What’s your name, kiddo?
The boy dips his head below the blanket, shivering in fear.
Kid: Big sister… I want my big sister…
Alejada: Come on. Let’s give the kid some space.
Alejada: The Second End is experimenting on children, Viv.
Alejada stands across the empty living room from her disappointed partner. A moldy couch and a large window are their only backdrop.
Alejada: I can’t take time off while I know that’s going on under the surface.
Vivian: You promised me.
Vivian frowns, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Alejada: You made me promise you.
Alejada rolls her eyes.
Vivian: Well I’m sorry I asked to spend a week with my wife! I thought it would be good for both of us to spend some time together and destress after weeks of non-stop running back and forth across the wasteland. But I guess I forgot about the bomb in your chest that’ll blow up the minute you stop working!
Alejada: Quit being overdramatic…
Vivian: Overdramatic?! Why else would you be so afraid to take a couple days off? Is it me?
Alejada: It’s not you, dammit!
Al feels an anger bubble under her skin from the accusation.
Alejada: I was willing to take a week off from work, but dealing with the Second End is a top priority. You know that.
Vivian: I…
Vivian bites her lip, feeling guilty for offending her partner.
Vivian: Of course they’re a priority. I want them gone just as much as anyone. I just…
She breaks eye contact with the heated woman and looks at the floor.
Vivian: My last run got pretty dicey. There were points I thought I was done for in that quarry.
She grabs the bottom of her shirt and lifts it up. Turning to unveil a deep sutured gash on her lower back.
Vivian: I had Dr. Rivers stitch this up as soon as I got back.
Alejada: Why didn’t you tell me?
Alejada’s stoicism melts slightly as she looks down at her partner’s wound.
Vivian: I didn’t want you to worry.
Vivian drops her shirt and turns to face Alejada again.
Vivian: I wanted to take a week off to recover, and I was really hoping you’d stay with me.
Alejada sighs and rubs her temples.
Alejada: There’s a kid in there sobbing for his sister. You know I-
Vivian: I know…
Vivian reaches out and tenderly touches her wife’s natural arm. She runs her fingers down the warm skin before wrapping them around her hand. She looks into her eyes and smiles.
Vivian: It’s why I love you.
In the morning, Alejada stands outside the bar dressing her horse for another run outside the settlement. She finishes tying off the saddle and walks back into the bar.
The boy sits on a stool by the bar, sadly fiddling with a cork he’d been handed to keep him occupied. Tuck silently seethes behind the bar. The sheer proximity to the young child raises his blood pressure.
Alejada: Come on, kid.
Alejada offers her back to the child. He grabs her shoulders and she lifts him onto her back. She opens the door to leave.
Vivian: Wait up!
Vivian bursts through the door to the back. She’s dressed in a tight white leather jacket over plack track pants. A pink scarf wraps around her neck, slightly covering her mouth, matching her pink fingerless gloves.
Vivian: I’m coming with you.
Alejada: Like hell you are. I saw that cut on your back. You’re staying here.
Vivian: And let you infiltrate a Second End base by yourself?
Her hands rest defiantly on her hips right next to the glock holstered to her belt.
Vivian: Not a chance.
Alejada’s lip curls under her bandana.
Alejada: Fine… We’re burning daylight.
The trio rolls up to the same gas station near where Al found the boy yesterday. She walks alongside the horse, allowing her partner and the boy to sit on the furry beast. She ties the horse to the pump again and helps the boy onto her back. She helps Vivian off the horse and looks out towards the vast wasteland.
Alejada: You remember where it is?
Kid: Mhm.
Alejada: Then let’s get this done.
After a few minutes of walking they come across an unassuming sand hill. The boy begins to tremble as they round the corner and spots the large vault door. Alejada hands the boy to Vivian.
Alejada: Stand back, and prepare for a fight.
She draws her revolver with her left hand. Vivian nods and takes a few steps back, drawing her own weapon. Alejada puts her weaponized hand to the door and it begins to glow red. She releases a small blast of energy, blowing a hole where the latch would be. The door slowly swings open revealing the steps leading into the depths of the facility. Al signals for her companions to stand back as she cautiously enters. A moment later she emerges, motioning for them to enter.
They walk through the halls of the eerily silent facility. The once magnetically locked doors are all left open and the rooms they guarded are left in disarray. Empty operating rooms. Dead computers and cut wires litter the floors.
Alejada: They must have terminated the project when the kid got out. Guess they didn’t want us snooping around.
Vivian: Ok, kiddo. Do you remember where they might have been keeping your sister? Maybe we can get a clue about where they took her.
The kid points to a door at the end of the hall.
They close in on the door and spot a pool of blood on the floor. Alejada signals for Vivian to stand back while she opens the door slowly. She enters the room with her weapon up. Her eyes widen at what she finds.
Alejada: Viv, get in here. Leave the kid.
Vivian: Stay out here, ok?
Vivian sets him on the ground beside the door.
Kid: I-is my sister ok?
He looks hopefully into Vivian’s eyes. She bites her lip and enters the room.
Vivian: Holy…
Vivian sets her eyes on the sea of blood staining the floor of the large concrete room. Severed body parts of dozens of butchered children scatter across the floor. Across the room there is a feminine pearlescent mannequin hooked up to a block of eight back to back servers. Vivian covers her mouth in horror.
Vivian: H-how could anyone do something like this.
Alejada: They didn’t want the hassle of transporting a bunch of kids across the wasteland and this is the solution they came up with?!
Kid: Big sister?
The kid limps to the doorway, gazing upon the aftermath of the massacre that had taken place.
Vivian: No, kid. Don’t look.
Vivian pushes him out of the room.
Kid: Big sister!
He runs as fast as his injured leg will carry him. Alejada and Vivian watch confused as he dashes over the pieces of other children he must have spent time with. Each step he takes splashes the pool of blood. His demeanor has changed entirely. He seems almost joyous.
He crosses the room, straight to the mannequin in the back. He wraps his arms around the warm silicon machine.
Alejada: What the hell?
Vivian: That’s big sister?
Kid: Big sister! Big sister!
He sobs into the robot’s artificial bosom.
Kid: I-I’m so happy you’re ok.
The robot twitches to life and opens its glowing golden eyes. He smiles brightly when he hears the Second End startup noise. He giggles and hugs it tighter.
Kid: I-I was so scared without you…
The robot looks down at the boy and turns her head.
Big Sister: Good morning, J R 0 3 7. Did you sleep well?
Kid: Mhm!
Alejada: Hey kid, get away from that thing!
Kid: It’s ok. Big sister is really nice. Big sister. This is the woman who saved me. She’s scary at first, but she brought me back to you.
Big Sister: Saved?
The robot lurches forward, eying the stoic woman. She scans her golden right arm and stands up straight, twitching.
Big Sister: R I G H T H A N D D E T E C T E D. Directive. Protect children from R I G H T H A N D.
Alejada: That’s not your sister, kid. That’s a machine!
Alejada shouts across the room, hesitant to desecrate the sea of bodies.
Vivian: Al, I don’t think that thing wants us here.
Kid: No, it’s ok! Big sister doesn’t hurt anyone.
The stands in front of the twitching machine.
Al notices the limp hand of the mannequin twist into the shape of a pistol behind the boy’s back. It points the barrel at the back of his head.
Alejada: Kid watch out!
Alejada sprints at the boy straight on.
Vivian: Al, wait!
The velcro of Vivian’s track pants tears away as steam shoots from her previously hidden mechanical legs. Her legs are white and prosthetic from the thigh down with large gaps in the design for aerodynamics and vents on the edges for propulsion. She’s wearing a pair of pink track shorts underneath.
Steam shoots from the legs and she dashes at Alejada. The gun fires. Blood splatters against the robot’s white skin. Vivian manages to tackle her partner out of the path of the bullet that had just passed through the young boy’s skull. Alejada falls to the ground. Blood soaks into her white duster.
Alejada: No!
She roars as she watches the boy drop to his knees. A fresh bullet hole clean through his forehead. He collapses to the ground among his fellow test subjects.
Big Sister: J R 0 3 7 has been saved.
Alejada: Dammit! Why did you stop me!?
Vivian: You were running head first into a bullet, dumbass! You weren’t thinking!
Alejada: Why didn’t you save the kid?!
Vivian: Don’t you think I would have if I could?! I’m fast, but I’m not faster than a bullet at point blank!
Alejada: I just…
Alejada clenches her fists and slams her left hand into the concrete floor, causing blood to splash.
Alejada: DAMMIT! These are children for god sakes!
Vivian can see the passion burning in Alejada’s eyes.
Big Sister: Children saved. Children saved.
The feminine robot twitches and jerks, as if she’s dancing in celebration.
Big Sister: Children saved. Children saved.
Alejada turns her wrath to the animatronic. She stands up and begins a bloody march. Vivian watches quietly as her girlfriend approaches the spazzing machine. She wraps her apocalyptic hand around the robot’s jaw, glaring into its dead golden eyes. She feels its gears lock and grind as it struggles to move.
Alejada: You think this is funny? Do ya?!
???: Oh, dear.
A scruffy gray haired man in a lab coat sits in a dark room, illuminated only by the blue light of the screen before him displaying the woman’s covered face from the robot’s perspective.
???: It would seem a wasteland dog got its leg stuck in our trap.
He grins, flipping a switch on his desk.
Her animatronic eyes go red. Steam hisses from the bottoms of the servers connected to it. The bulky hardware begins to lift off the ground.
Big Sister: P R E P A R I N G F O R C O M B A T.
Alejada snarls, twisting the robot’s head 180 degrees, snapping its neck. This does nothing to stop it from standing on spider-like legs hidden under each of the eight servers. Alejada backs away, looking up at the 10 foot animatronic nightmare she sees before her. Vivian walks up from behind.
Vivian: Are we fighting, or are we running?
Alejada: What do you think?
Vivian: Just making sure.
Viv sighs, crouching down and removing the shoes from her prosthetic legs. The feet shaped appendages transform into needle-like points balancing on the ground. She readies her pistol and dashes to the left.
Alejada raises her revolver and shoots four rounds into the animatronics chest. The bullets have no effect other than making the machine angry. It looks down at her with its inverted head and releases an ear splitting mechanical shriek.
Its pointed feet shatter the concrete and it skitters towards the woman firing at it. She walks backwards, firing another round to keep its attention. The monstrous machine aims its gun hand at her and fires a shot of its own. She raises her right hand and projects her blue barrier, sapping the energy from the bullet. It continues firing mindlessly.
Vivian: Up here, Big Sis!
The machine looks up towards the ceiling to see the determined scowl of the athletic redhead. Her sharp feet hook into the concrete surface, preventing her from falling. The robot aims her gun straight up. Vivian drops down, flipping upright, jabbing the point of her prosthetic into the barrel of the gun. The gun misfires, blowing the hand off the arm. Vivian continues by twisting through the air, sending a downward kick to the atamatron’s other shoulder, slashing through the steel and wires, severing it from the body.
Vivian: There. Now you’re just a spider shaped toaster.
The monster shrieks again as four more arms sprout from its torso, each with serrated hooks on the end.
Vivian: Oh fuck.
She kicks off the robot’s chest, propelling her backwards as all four arms swing for her. She crashes into Alejada’s arms.
Alejada: Don’t get cocky.
Vivian: Right.
They both look up at the shrieking robot. It charges at them. They dodge in opposite directions, running parallel down the length of the monster. They meet each other in the back. The arachnic machine rears back like a horse and turns to face them.
Alejada: Charge me.
Vivian nods, leaping into the air and activating the jets on her legs, sending a kick in her wife’s direction. Alejada activates her forcefield. Her duster billows in the wind created by the field absorbing the energy from the blow. Her arm glows red and she turns it towards the enemy. She’s gathered enough energy to blast a beem about the width of a quarter through it’s four left legs.
The robot tips over, unable to walk without the use of half of its legs. The animatronic at the front lowers to the ground, disconnecting from its base, standing on its own two feet. It stares at the two women with its inverted head. Alejada and Vivian stand opposite the bloody field from the four armed enemy, ready to fight.
The robot sprints at them with blinding speed. Alejada puts up her metal arm, but doesn’t have time to spawn her forcefield as its top two serrated hooks clash with the arm. Alejada tries to pull away, but the hooks keep hold.
Vivian: Al!
Vivian sees the robot ready its bottom hooks to slash at her partner’s stomach. She lifts one leg high in the air and brings it cleaving through the arms keeping Alejada trapped, before dashing out of range.
Now free, Alejada barely has enough time to jump backwards when the hooks swing at her. They graze her stomach to draw blood. She drops to the ground, holding her wounded stomach.
The robot turns its attention to Vivian. She growls and sends a barrage of kicks at the machine. It dodges the strikes, responding with fast strikes of its own.
As Vivian and the animatronic trade glancing strikes, Alejada crouches, punching the ground with her cobalt barrier. Each strike, charging up her arm more and more.
As Vivian’s fight draws on, she feels the stitches on her back begin to pop. She sends a desperate kick and the wound splits. Blood begins to soak through her white leather jacket and she collapses to the ground in agony.
Alejada: Vivian!
Alejada’s arm begins glowing orange and she runs at the robot preparing to strike down her partner.
Alejada: Get away from her!
She growls, running at the machine. She grips it by the head and crushes it in her physically enhanced fist. She keeps running it forward until she smashes it into the far wall. The wall shatters behind the animatronic and its head is punched through its torso. Its limbs fall limp. Alejada pants, having expended a good deal of energy.
Alejada: Are you ok?
She asks her fallen partner, helping her to her feet.
Vivian: Yeah.
Vivian groans. Alejada walks to the decommissioned pile of servers. She sees the dead body of the kid they came to help. The sight stings. She drops to her knees and pulls him out from under the thing he saw as his big sister. She looks into his lifeless eyes. She reaches into his eye socket, removing his false eye.
Vivian: What are you doing?
Alejada: Making sure the Second End doesn’t get their hands on this again. Whatever it is…
She stands up and starts walking towards the door.
Alejada: Let’s get going. There’s no reason for us to stay.
The feed on the screen of the mysterious grey haired man turns to static as he watches the two women walk away.
???: I’d expect nothing less from the Right Hand of the Apocalypse. Well done. Little sis.