By far the most surreal moment of my life was when Blackbird towed Eighty Three and I up through a dozen levels of what used to be a trillion dollar research complex. The only way I can think of to describe how I felt is this... I was like a brand new baby gazelle riding on a lion’s back after she inexplicably decided to save me from the hyenas. Was I lion food? Was I going to be a lion now? How would that work? What is life?

They say time slows down in moments like that. They say you see everything. All I saw was a whole lot of nothing, no matter where Eighty Three pointed his fancy lights. Every other lab in the complex had been carefully cleaned out a long time ago, leaving nothing but bare concrete, some paint, and emergency lighting. There were no desks, no hastily abandoned laptops or coffee mugs, no workstations, no data centers, nothing. They even took those shitty fabric wrapped cubicles and antique computers out of the Shared Resources Wing, and everything in that place was completely useless. I would know, I worked there for ten years.

Apparently the apocalypse had been pretty quiet at the complex.

About half way through the flight, my feet coasted just over the rim of an empty acrylic holding tank the size of an Olympic swimming pool, which was back lit by a smoldering pile of dead robots. A little after that Blackbird shot straight up a ventilation shaft like an F-22 Raptor on a vertical scramble, but without the crushing g forces. With the light from Eighty Three’s active scans mixing into the white glow of Blackbird's energy coils, it was like flying through a wormhole, or at least my idea of one.

Less than a minute later we cruised out into a brilliant orange sunset. I was thankful for the timing, because I knew what the high noon sun would've done to my milky Viking skin after a couple hundred years in the box.

We banked left and descended toward an old scenic overlook. Looming behind that overlook, set in the face of the mountain, was a spa resort coated in one way mirrors that reflected the scenery surrounding it. I couldn’t remember the name of the place, but I'd been there four or five times. On employee retreats. I never knew the place had been so close to a potential vulnerability in the complex. There was no way that it wasn't a front for a security outpost, and now I had to wonder what else my intrepid employers were doing there.

I lost sight of the spa when Blackbird rotated me so that I was facing her destination, but there was plenty on the overlook to hold my attention. The whole scene down there took me back to my childhood and the many hours I spent sinking into a floral patterned sofa while watching old sci-fi movies on late night TV.

Four of the barges were docked down there, and they looked kind of hilarious to me. Aside from the pilot seat, four rows of benches, and a central cannon, there was nothing functional about their appearance. They were just glorified parade floats as far as I could tell. There were no obvious propulsion systems, no sign of fuel storage, no flight control surfaces, and they were entirely too ornate. Nevertheless, there were legionaries shuffling onto those gilded decks like they were going somewhere.

I noticed that most of these other legionaries were different from Ten and Eighty Three. Bigger guns but no capes. There was only one exception to that rule, and he was obviously their commanding officer. His armor was all chrome, and his light bars were an angrier shade of red than the others. He had the hard, stern mocha jawline of a guy who might be named Centurion. When Blackbird finally landed next to the guy, she confirmed my suspicion with a chilly greeting. “Centurion...”

Centurion barely acknowledged her. I think his nod might have covered a full centimeter round trip. It wasn’t even half a greeting, and when he was done with it he focused squarely on Eighty Three.

Eighty Three straightened himself out and stood at attention. “We found a levitator down there.”

I wouldn’t have met Centurion’s gaze at all if I hadn’t been in that wondrous baby gazelle state. After an unnerving silence I looked away, which is when I noticed that damn cape of his for the first time. I squinted at it and tried to decide if it was really moving by itself or if I was finally losing it.

Centurion had an entirely different question in mind. “Where is Ten?”

I didn’t really hear Eighty Three’s string of excuses. I was busy trying to estimate wind speeds, the normal movement of every other fabric ever, and the overall likelihood that Centurion’s cape was actually stalking me. It sure seemed to be slipping ever so slowly around his right leg and angling for a quick kill.

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There was something truly unsettling about that cape anyway, even if it didn’t have a mind of its own. It was purple-black, like a bruise, with some flashes of rainbow iridescence spontaneously bubbling through the fabric like oil dripping into a puddle of water.

“...and there could be something in the doctor’s office,” Eighty Three was saying.

Centurion brushed his cape back subtly. “Then why didn’t you stay with him?”

“He’s a scout,” Blackbird said, obviously trying to protect her friends.

“You are not Legion,” Centurion told her plainly. “Eighty Three?”

That cape was absolutely moving on its own, toward Eighty Three this time. I was sure he saw it too, because his legs stiffened right before he answered Centurion’s question. Or maybe that stiffness was just his backbone coming through, because he lied his ass off. “It’s on me. I had lead today, and I asked him to see what he could find while I stayed with Blackbird and the levitator.”

Centurion took a short breath in through his nose, but he didn’t use it to ream Eighty Three out. He still looked suspicious, but he did look slightly less ominous. “So be it. Load up with the others.”

Blackbird looked annoyed. “You don’t want to-”

Centurion cut her off. “The levitator is Council business.” His body language gave a strong recommendation to not follow him, and we didn’t.

It took a while for my caretakers to loosen up, and even when we were closer to the barges than we were to Centurion, Blackbird still spoke quietly. “Ten is compost. There's no way he's going to tell Centurion the same story. He won't let you take the fall.”

Eighty Three didn’t say anything to that, he just moped along like a sad puppy. He didn’t make a sound until a pair of capeless legionaries passed us on their way to a different barge. He tapped one of them on the shoulder. “Hey Nick...”

“Yea?”

“See any cyborgs in there?”

“Nah, just bugs.”

“Thanks.”

“Why?” Blackbird asked as the legionaries went on their way.

Eighty Three shrugged. “I dunno. Why just one cyborg? Why just one Kevin?”

Blackbird nodded slowly. “Yea.”

“What was it like rescuing the other levitators?” Eighty Three asked.

Blackbird stuffed her free hand in her pocket and checked to make sure she still had me secured in her bubble. “It wasn’t like this.”

“Thought so,” Eighty Three said. “Why do they keep any of them alive at all? I always wondered.”

Blackbird shrugged. “Everyone always says it’s just leftover algorithm, that the hive mind doesn’t even know why.”

Neither of them said anything after that, but it looked like they were both bothered by the notion.

“Here he comes,” Eighty Three said somberly, turning back to face the spa resort. Blackbird spun me around with her, and we watched Ten blast over the mountain on his scout vehicle, which was basically a big two seat wave runner. He dove at the overlook, leveled out at the last possible second, and brought his machine to a growling stop no more than a foot off the ground. Red lightning spidered across stone and broken concrete to mark the effort. Keeping the cool factor maximized, he tucked himself down for good aerodynamics and shifted something with his foot before jetting straight at us. That’s when Centurion decided to intercept him.

Ten managed to stop again, but Becca’s headless corpse had loosened under the cargo net on the hood, so it whirled straight at his commanding officer.

Centurion turned his shoulder and let the robot cartwheel by without breaking eye contact. When he squared himself off again, everyone without a critical task stopped to watch Ten’s decimation.

Despite his predicament, Ten dismounted and stood tall. They were too far away for me to hear, but I could feel the tension between them. Centurion glowered and Ten weathered, and it went on like that for half a minute. At one point Ten said something and pointed at Becca’s head, which was strapped in tight just in front of the vehicle’s cross bar. Finally, with very few actual words spoken, Centurion gestured calmly at Becca’s corpse and Ten retrieved it. After that they never even looked at each other again. Ten stowed Becca and started back toward us while Centurion flew off.

Blackbird perked up. “Wwwow, what the...”

“Huh,” Eighty Three added.

“So what’s with that guy’s cape?” Maybe I picked the wrong time to ask, but you could say I was a little obsessed. Centurion’s cape leered at me through that whole confrontation, even with Ten right there in front of it. “What the hell did I do?”

They both acted as if I hadn’t said a word. They just stood there all puzzled and proud until Ten pulled up next to us, at which point they both started talking at once. How did you get away with that was the gist of it.

“Oh I definitely still stepped in it,” Ten told them. “But we have bigger problems right now,” he added, glancing at me.

Eighty Three tried to look unbothered, but he couldn’t help looking guilty.

“Told you... The box kept him quiet,” Ten said, but it was a half hearted scolding this time.

Eighty Three’s shoulders still slumped. “Maybe I’m compost.”

Ten gave him an encouraging punch on the shoulder. “Hey. Like I said, we have bigger problems. They heard him, and they’re coming.”

By him he meant me.

You know how some days just won't end?