Jet didn’t recognize her surroundings, and her wheelchair was nowhere to be found. She pulled herself onto a workstation to survey the damage. The room was in complete disarray. Bodies were piled in every corner. She pulled herself toward a burly man who lay motionless next to a stairwell.
What happened here?
The last memory Jet had was monitoring a console and seeing it light up with hundreds of enemies. The Dark Angels were outnumbered twenty to one. The room was invaded by dozens of cyborgs. They weren’t as perfect as Nozomi, but they were just as effective at slaughtering the pilots and ground crew. The Dark Angels were effective at targeting enemies from the air, their hand to hand combat skills weren’t as honed. Gunfire could be heard in the distance.
The battle isn’t over yet. Come on Jet, move your ass!
She spotted a gun in a dead Angel’s hand and was determined to arm herself before the cyborgs came back. As she crawled through the bodies, her arm slipped. A cold liquid sent a chill through her body. She maneuvered around the substance and froze when she realized that she had squirmed through several pools of blood. Her heart raced as she crawled toward the gun. Jet’s dead legs were a constant reminder of her dependency on the wheelchair. The once pristine white tiles in the bunker were stained a purplish red. Her arms slipped in the viscera that covered every surface of the room. Something stung her eyes—it was the blood of the people she had gotten to know over these past months. A lump caught in her throat. She had no recollection of who or what had killed these trained soldiers. Her last conscious thought was of monitoring the incoming onslaught of cyborgs and drones attacking the base.
How much time have I lost?
She had to protect herself. The gunshots and screams grew louder with each agonizing inch, which could only mean that the fighting was getting closer. A wheezing noise came from Damien—he was still alive.
“Damien, don’t be dead. We need you!”
The man coughed up blood, and he choked. Jet wriggled on top of him and took the gun from his hand. The warm intimacy of being next to a hardened fighter would have been reassuring during other circumstances, but seeing Damien in this state reinforced the urgency of the moment.
“Bin Battr doon,” a voice from above said.
“Nong nitter natter,” another voice responded.
A wave of fear penetrated Jet’s core, and she couldn’t move. She didn’t know who these voices belonged to, but she felt like a stranger in a foreign land. Whoever these voices were, she didn’t intend to let them catch her. She desperately scanned the room for an exit, but except for some narrow windows near the top of the ceiling, there was no escape. She thought about playing dead and waiting out whoever or whatever was hunting her. Even above the gunshots and commotion, Jet heard something that terrified her, the wheeze of a dying man.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Jet—come.”
Her face stiffened, then the feeling of her heart lowering in her chest gave her pause. She lay motionless in indecision.
“Get her,” a robotic voice said in the distance.
“Boon, ometa, hen,” a nonsensical voice said, followed by the scream of another.
Was that Sally?
“Jet—please,” Damien said.
Jet dragged herself toward the dying man. His ragged breathing was broken only by his increasing coughing spasms. She had to put her ear practically against his lips to make out what he was saying.
“Under the hangar—get to the weapon.”
A flash of light blinded her. Something splattered, and goo covered her face. She didn’t need her vision to know what had happened. Damien was dead.
“Take her to the chopper,” a robotic voice said.
Servos and motors whirred as an unknown mechanical menace shambled toward her. Her breath caught as her vision returned. She saw a metal robot with skin hanging from its shiny skeletal frame. Its face was distorted and ashen, like someone had tried to electrocute it to see if its expression would change. Behind the deformed robot were two humans festooned with circuitry, wires, and other unrecognizable objects protruding from their heads. The larger of the humans had a telescopic antenna protruding from the center of its head. A fleshy vein slithered across it like a snake suffocating its prey.
“Dim, shatty, bun’to bong,” one of the monstrosities said as it raised its arms.
“Oh, dum, butter pinko,” the smaller cyborg said as it convulsed.
The humans appeared to be blind and would only react to the noise of other movement in the room.
What the fuck is going on here?
Jet didn’t move. Only the robot acknowledged her presence.
“Take her,” the robot said.
The humans reached into the air, feeling for her. Moments later, the cold touch of robotic fingers grazed her bare skin. Gooseflesh covered her arm and a icy tingling sensation shot across her spine. A foul taste from a geyser of bile filled her mouth. She pushed back the wave of revulsion. “Get off of me,” Jet screamed.
One of the humans twitched so violently Jet broke free from its grip. She struck the other human with her free fist. Sharp pieces of metal cut her hand. The cyborg scampered to the entrance of the room.
“Nah, batter bud,” it cried.
“Ren putty budder,” the cyborg with the antenna said.
The fleeing cyborg took a hesitant step in the direction of the larger cyborg.
There was a banging noise was so loud Jet’s ears rang, and the smaller cyborg’s head disappeared. Jet’s gaze shifted to the entrance. Two female figures stood in the entryway. One held a shotgun, the other a sword.
“Attack,” the robot said.
The snake-like thing on the cyborg came alive and shot toward one of the figures. It was cut in half. The snake creature thrashed, then went limp. The cyborg and the robot let out simultaneous screeching sounds. Jet covered her ears. The figure with the shotgun blasted the cyborg into bits while the smaller one sliced through the robot. Jet covered her eyes. She couldn’t take it any longer. A tear streaked her blood-soaked face as she realized she was going to die alone.