“The first Proxies were madmen. For how could they know? That is a question I’m asked all too often, and the answer is that they didn’t. Yet they still wore the gear and armor of the Enemy. More than science, or trust, they had faith.”- extract from Iron Legion, written by Lisette Duboskowy

“We’re here.”

Martin blinked, rubbing his eyes. He had lost track of time, slept even. Next to a stranger. He shook his head, clearing the last grit from his eyes. Doing this next to a stranger in Camp Sala would have led to a robbery, at very least.

The Deputy pointed to the right-side wall of their tram and one part of it detached, revealing a vast expanse of white. It shimmered spotless, nothing like the camp.

“This is where we part.” The Deputy paused. Brown brows furrowed and her mouth moved, though no words exited. “Good luck.”

The Deputy made a curt movement with her head and Martin got the message. What had that been about? He got up and out, and the wind from the departing tram rustled his jacket, stirred strands of hair into his eyes.

He’d need to cut it, soon.

He trailed a hand through his hair and- he stopped. 

In the space that had previously been unoccupied there now stood a figure. It wore greaves like some kind of medieval knight, flowing into plate made from red metal, terminating in a helmet with glas-slits for eyes. A Chassis.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He swallowed. 

The figure - unable to tell its gender - stood with its back to Martin, though that meant little. Any kind of Chassis would be able to scan him from head to toe. With it, its operator would be able to tell the color of his underwear, what he had for breakfast, or whether he shaved.

Martin looked down at the track that led away from the Reception Hall and through a dark tunnel. He could make a run for it. The thought came as quick as it was dismissed. Outrun a person operating a Chassis?

If he had a warplane, or a state of the art truck, he might. Barely. On foot he’d be caught in a second. And that was without considering all the things he had seen in the casts and films. After all, Proxies were meant to fight something wholly different from humans.

The tram bustled away and being alone now, Martin gathered his courage.

He walked up to the Proxy, stopping at a polite distance. He couldn’t hope to scratch the metal of the suit, but some of Proxies were strange.

The Fox was said to operate three different Chassis parallel and would expect anyone to speak to them as if they were present. The Myrmidons expected people to adress them with their numbers, never their individual names. And Serena Smiler would kill anyone who looked at her directly. The people who kept mankind safe were allowed their idiosyncrasies.

The Proxy, if a human were operating the Chassis, were looking at something in air. For all Martin knew, it could be hologram, a form of meditation or the person inside the machine was simply bored.

“What are you looking at?”

A blood-red gauntlet rose, and a shape coalesced in front of Martin. Above him. Thousand legs. As many eyes.

He fell-

The movement was frantic, like a snake eating its own tail.

He blinked-

The sound is deep, it reached inside the hearts of its enemies, a sound made to scare apes, to frighten humans.

It raised it maw and liquid fire flowed over Camp Redsjö. It burned the plastic modules, cooked the humans from-

Darkness. His eyes were shut. As long as they were closed, nothing could him. As long as his eyes were closed, then nothing could hurt him- though his memories certainly could.

“I’m sorry.”

Martin opened one eye.

The Proxy sat next to him.

“You were brave. Most people, they run. Some abandon their parents, children, loved ones. You did not.”

The words were said in a sotto voice, calm and unhurried. If there was judgement, he heard nothing. In the recesses of his mind, he thought the voice was female.

He said nothing. The silence between them stretched. It could last forever, he felt, if nothing was said.

“I…I thought about it.” Martin scratched his arm. He could lie here, he knew. But a Chassis would pick up on it. And there was something in the way the Proxy listened that urged him on. A sense of companionship.

“I didn’t run because I thought I could buy time.”