by Briana Ervin
The drone kept shifting its laser, trying to come as close to killing me as it could. It felt like my face was melting off! I kept circulating air, hoping it would somehow cool it down. After one hull layer things start emitting pain signals; with two layers already gone, I was feeling a lot of pain.
Who thought giving mechs pain was such a good idea?!
Even as my console screamed at me I wasn't about to give up, still jabbing it with my own free arm and attempting to warm up my own lasers but finding the surface of my hull to be too hot for it to be safe. At this point though I didn't care much. I just wanted this thing DEAD! I was SICK of it!
Something shot at the back of the drone, making it whip around again, thoroughly frustrated. It no longer took up most of my vision.
Cyrii! She was alive!
She kept firing at the drone, the claw weapon in hand; it wasn't enough to do serious damage, but it did enough that the drone was stuck between killing me first or going after her. I hoped it stayed focused on me!... but of course it didn't. I just felt more panic-driven, indignant rage course through me as it let go and began a mad crawl toward her. She just roared defiantly, backing up as it advanced and still firing. That little claw weapon wasn't doing much!
Suddenly, the black box lurched and sunk, and I found myself semi-freed! The drone sprawled out in an attempt to stabilize itself as the box slumped back, but it simply slid toward Cyrii as she too tried to keep her balance. The two collided and she yelped, vainly holding onto the gun. I writhed madly to try and escape completely, tearing my legs to shreds. I was making progress...!
The drone tried to fry Cyrii with the laser – it would be an instant death sentence for her – but she rolled away, trying to stand back up. It slammed a hand down on her, pinning her. It aimed the laser again, she fired ceaselessly at it with that little claw weapon. She managed to blow out the laser as I was mostly freed, leaving large chunks of myself behind, but the drone just resorted to using its weight and claws, or what of them could be used while laying down. Cyrii wheezed and squirmed under the force, the repeated claw strikes ripping up her hide.
I screamed out in pure, raw rage. NO ONE hurts her! NO ONE!!
I ripped my remaining leg free and lunged forward toward the drone, falling into it. Cyrii was freed for a moment, gasping for air. I smashed my half-molten face into the drone, its more fragile hull slowly collapsing. It was so much effort though... it would be easier to just lay on it. The drone feebly scratched at my hull as I pulverized it, but eventually I gave up and just lay there, extremely tired. I was still enraged, but... what happened to the energy?
I paused for a moment to run a diagnostic, and realized why I suddenly felt so tired. My fuel reserves were down to five percent! There was a breach in my abdominal box and I could feel something leaking out, resulting in a strange weightlessness. It was miraculous that I was even still running!
Despite being so tired and laying on the drone sufficing, its clawing just fueled the fire inside me. After the fifteenth strike I hissed, opened up my retrieval panel, and struck it back fiercely, latching onto its wiry limbs and pulling back. It naturally resisted, but switched to a disbelieving panic when I started consuming it. The limbs returned a small amount of ammo, but it didn't matter at this point. I couldn't move much past the pain. Crunching down on the metal felt like I was chewing rubber. I was barely clinging to consciousness. This task... was taking so much effort...
Cyrii recovered enough to do a half-limp crawl to the drone, tearing off a face plate while I took out two arms. It tried to retaliate, but I was a ton and a half – normally two tons – of solid metal just sitting on it. It was helpless as Cyrii fired her last rounds into its exposed frame.
Bang! It abruptly exploded, showering sparks on me. Finally! The drone was out, now just a piece of sizzling metal; and I was almost out too.
“767?” Cyrii gasped, dropping her weapon and hugging my arm. “767!”
“It hurts...” I said feebly, dropping a chewed-up limb; not that she could hear me much. I rested my head on the drone, grateful about the respite.
“Don't worry, it's almost done!” She looked in horror at my legs; or at least, what remained of them. “Thank Gryn you're a machine...!”
“Ow.”
“You're okay!” she assured lamely.
“I'm not okay,” I said. I didn't bother rotating to look at her properly, falling completely limp. I grew sleepy. Power down to three percent...
“767! Don't drift off!” She shook me as if it meant something.
“I'm not alive. I'm okay,” I mumbled.
“You just said you weren't okay!!”
I mumbled something incoherent, already shutting down. I no longer had the processing power to say anything.
“767? 767?!”
“Goodbye..”
“NO!”
What remained of my vision went black, and I shut down.
----------
Whenever a mech shuts down, it could be its last time. This definitely felt like the last time, but a mech also does a mandatory shut down whenever it has a good reason to. In most cases this reason is disrepair, so logically a mech that starts back up can assume that it has been repaired. Unfortunately when I powered back on I had no such privilege.
The first thing I noticed was pain. I hurt everywhere. It wasn't as intense as it was before, but it didn't make it hurt any less. I also noticed that I still seemed to be in pieces: my hips were unresponsive, my hull felt misshapen, and my left turret was a bit squashed from when the drone slammed my own head into it. The heat of the badlands penetrated me, telling me that I was still riddled with tears, scratches, and holes.
I blinked, the blast shield making an uncomfortable scraping noise as it caught on grit and thick glass shards. I looked around, finding myself covered with brown and grey dust. Finer particles were still stirred up in the air, but for the most part it was calm, and it was still daylight. I was propped up against something, and tilted upward toward the yellow sky. Whatever I was against was as hard as metal; I must be laying against some broken parts. Finally, I was surrounded by mechs. The same mechs from before... in the battlefield we were still in? That's odd... I could see the rust- and copper-colored hulls of defeated Enemy drones scattered about... What were we still doing here?
My allies were all looking at me. Trista to the right, weapons bared, her fiery eye casting judgment. Sirun was in the middle; the massive 49 model looked like a giant from down here. Stratien was between them, wide-eyed and keeping his distance. Gilus was to the left, both arms split into four barrels aimed at me, but he was clearly frightened, continuously glancing over at Sirun... Wasn't someone missing...?
I had to look around to assess them all, since I only had half an eye left. Cyrii was standing close to me, her head down. Alarm bells went off in my head... or what remained of it.
“How?” the first thing I asked, my voice distorted by static. “H-How am I alive?”
“We replaced your fuel tank,” Sirun said, with a trained flatness to his voice.
“My fuel tank?” I wondered.
“Cith didn't make it,” Cyrii told me quietly. Sirun's blast shield twitched. “We already went through the ceremony.”
I was taken aback by the news. “Oh...”
“Stratien almost didn't make it either,” Gilus pointed out solemnly, implying what I had done before.
“Quiet!” Sirun said quickly and firmly. The mech wilted a bit, not willing to argue with the 49 model. He certainly played an authority figure, didn't he? Certainly gives Garenede a ruuUUUUUUUUU-
A couple sparks flew out of me at the thought before I could finish it. What the...?
“Don't think too hard,” Cyrii muttered, a paw on my better arm, “half your motherboard is fried.”
WHAT?!
“We'd like to ask you some... questions,” Sirun began.
“QuESTions?” My voice hit an unnatural pitch in the middle. “Wha-zzzz-estions?”
“Yes, I know,” he said testily. 199 – or rather, Trista – shifted from her perch on the immobile box drone, squinting suspiciously. I noticed her, confused.
“What haAAPPEEeend?”” I tried to ask.
“The drones occupied us for a while,” Sirun said dryly. “Then we looked up and saw YOU walking around!”
I was still confused. Trista looked at Sirun.
“She means me,” she pointed out bluntly. The mech shot her a sidelong glance, not interested in her attitude, but she pretended to ignore it. “Going underneath the box drone allowed me to enter it, but it disabled my mech's functions. I basically beat it with a stick until it wasn't alive anymore.”
“Ohhhh.”
“And if you entered you would have been impervious to it, no?” Sirun accused.
“She's not impervious to anything!” Cyrii snapped defensively.
“Evidently she's impervious to Empiric regulations!” he retorted.
Oh no, it dawned on me, They know. I looked at Stratien first, but he simply gave me a blank stare, stupefied.
“What do you care?” Cyrii challenged.
“Don't crack wise with me, Code Orange!” Sirun spat ruthlessly. “This affects all of us, especially you! You'd do well to keep your trap shut!”
“I'll say what I want to say!”
The mech jerked forward, and she immediately shrunk back with a hiss, hugging me. I tried not to be angry about his threat, but at the same time it was my job to keep Cyrii safe. This situation just rubbed me backwards in every which way even though his frustration was justified. There wasn't much I could do about it though; I barely had enough power to move. Thirty-four percent is not a lot to use... At least the omnipresent pain faded to a strange numbness.
“So...” Sirun continued, adjusting his posture in an attempt to remain calm. “Rogue AI. What's your story?”
I tilted my head, which was a bit awkward with my position. There wasn't a point in lying to him, was there?
“My sto-” I began obediently, but my speaker suddenly cut out into static. I tried to talk, but all I churned out was more static.
Gilus sighed. “This isn't working,” he stated, “I said we needed to check the speakers too!”
“Doesn't matter,” Sirun dismissed, not taking his eye off me.
“Can't I just blow a hole in her and call it good?” Trista asked. “Pleeeaaaase?”
Cyrii hissed again, ending in a small whine. Sirun glared venomously at her. “No one is shooting anyone!”
“Can't trust a rogue AI,” Gilus muttered, “can't trust them. Just can't.”
Stratien just held a stare with me. I couldn't help but feel betrayed by him, even though I knew my frantic attempt to save Cyrii earlier was a detached proof. He had nothing to do with this.
“Say your name,” Sirun demanded. I tilted a bit again, trying to give my model number, but there was definitely a communication breakdown.
“Ssszzzzzz-fi...Fivzzzz-six seeeevvvvzzzz... Fivzzzzixx...” I shut my blast shield in frustration. “Fivvzzzsixxxsss!”
“...Fiddlesticks,” Trista scoffed, “you heard her. Her name is Fiddlesticks.”
Sirun rolled his eye with a loud groan, trying vainly to ignore her. “Model number. Now!”
Cyrii suppressed a growl as I tried harder, but now even the occasional vowel was drowned out by static!
“Well, she can't talk,” Trista said, not the least bit deterred by Sirun's testiness. “So what are we going to do now? Drag her back with us?”
“No,” he said without hesitance.
“'No'?” she echoed incredulously.
Sirun gave Cyrii a long, hard stare, and I felt a strong need to step out and protect her. I couldn't though. I could only glare back and hope it was threatening enough, which it obviously wasn't. Even though I simultaneously wanted Cyrii to flee, her little teeter-totter run couldn't outpace a mech of any size, and she couldn't exactly hide and gain anything from it. Plus with the way she hugged me... there was no way she was going to just run and hide, even just to save her own scales.
“If we take them back, we would have to lie to keep them alive. That could end up with all of us killed for treason,” Sirun reasoned aloud. “But we can't turn them over, because they would die, and we might too.”
“Whoa, you never said you wanted to KEEP the crazy machine!” Trista accused, jumping down from her perch. “You havin' second thoughts there?”
“We have to stay loyal to the Empire,” Sirun said indecisively.
“If the Empire finds out there's a rogue AI, we'll all die... All of us...!” Gilus said anxiously, showing fear in his frantic movements. Trista approached, narrowing her eye at me.
“So what're we doing?!” she demanded.
“...Is it a manufacturing defect?” he asked Cyrii. She remained tight-lipped, saying nothing. “I asked you if she came this way!”
Tell them, I wanted to say, but only static came out aside from a few vague syllables. Cyrii just clung to me tighter, defiance creasing her face.
“She ain't talking,” Trista scoffed. To my utter surprise Sirun whipped around and hit her across the face! She stumbled back in indignant shock. “What in Alkinest?! You wormed or something!?”
“I'm fine!” Sirun snapped. He advanced toward me, brimming with anger. “You! Did you come this way?!”
“Leave her alone! She didn't choose this!” Cyrii hissed defensively. He blatantly ignored her, glaring daggers into me.
“Respond! Now!”
Even as the model I was, I felt like I was in serious danger, with this older mech looming over my broken remains. I hissed and tried to load a missile launcher, but the missile just tumbled out of me... Oh. Apparently that half of me was missing.
He didn't see it as an empty threat, preparing his own chain blades and aiming right at me. What remained of my engine lurched at the sound of those wicked teeth slicing through the air at high speed.
“Sirun!” Trista barked. Gilus recoiled, distancing himself from the 49 model. I raised my wounded arms, hissing again, ready to attack even though the odds were hopeless. I would defend Cyrii with my life even if it meant taking out allies-!
“It was me, all right?!” Cyrii suddenly burst out, “It was me! I DID IT!”
Everyone fell quiet, stunned. The whirring of Sirun's blades died down and came to a stop. Gilus looked so relieved he might pass out.
Sirun shut his blast shield tight, trying to calm down and misdirecting his aim. “Thank you,” he sighed, “that's all I wanted to know.”
“I hate drama,” Gilus muttered, barely audible. “Drama causes death, drama always causes death-”
“No one's dying!!” Sirun screamed. Gilus jumped and everyone else took a step back. “We're not going to die! No death! No fines! None of that Tribunal crap!”
Another speechless silence. Sirun had fallen immobile, but the quick glances of his mech's eye betrayed a sort of conflict he was having. I didn't know what the heck was going on, but the fright in Trista's eye fluctuated, as if something suddenly dawned on her. “Sirun... is it your pills?” He growled nastily at her, but it only confirmed her suspicions. “Do you have your pills?”
“NO!” he exploded at her, “I RAN OUT TWO HOURS AGO! But we can't DO anything about it!” He seethed. “We're stuck out in the damn wasteland, in this damn simulation that killed Cith, and everyone is missing and we don't know why!!” He gestured wildly to the surrounding badlands. “Where the Alkinest are the Superiority models?! Or what about our Backup group?! Or the bloody TANKS we were supposed to be helping?!”
Whoa, he's mad! I thought, I've never seen such a thing before! He must have something- The thought terminated before I could finish it and I felt a sharp pain under my head, making me gasp out. Cyrii shifted, her concerned face coming into view. Right, my motherboard.
I resigned to simply observing the situation, letting m
y pilot shuffle closer to me. Gilus had whimpered something inaudible, with Stratien simply watching wordlessly. Trista stashed her attitude, now regarding the twitchy 49 model with caution. “Maaayyybe you need to take a break,” she suggested.
“I'll take a break when I want to take a break,” he hissed, not even looking up at her.
“Sirun-!” she began arguing
“Zip it!” he shouted, meeting her gaze with challenge. She returned it, but he ignored her, whipping back around to glare at Cyrii. “YOU! You hacked your mech?!”
Cyrii's nape scales flared. “Yes!” she shouted back, both scared and defiant.
“You got away with it?!”
“Yes!”
“Did she protect you because she wanted to?!”
“YES!!” Cyrii screamed. Gilus fidgeted, hiding his cringes and staring at the ground. Trista and Stratien were both frozen. I wanted to be whole so I could bring Cyrii closer to me, to keep her safe in my head, away from this lunacy. What was the Empire thinking, giving this guy a Pusher model!?
Sirun held a long stare with the orange Xinschi-uual. He looked... conflicted... confused. Cyrii was wheezing from all of the stress and the heat of the desert.
He finally breathed out in resignation: “...Then work your magic.”
“W-W-What?” she stammered. Sirun crouched low to the ground, and his mech reset to the factory default stance but didn't shut down. A dark grey Xinschi-uual then shambled out of it, stress etching deep lines into his face. He looked normal enough, except for the fact that he also looked like he could take down a drone with his bare paws. He broke into a run, rushing toward Cyrii.
“Don't come any - AAH!” Her threat was cut off by a yelp as he roughly grabbed her and dragged her back to his mech. I wriggled in vain, trying to shout at him, but only static came out. The others just watched, paralyzed by disbelief.
He shoved Cyrii toward his mech. “Do it! Do what you need to do.”
“Do what?!” she cried.