by Briana Ervin
The grey 34 model! How could I forget?!
The model held me out of arm's reach and kept running, scraping my hull against the floor with the awful scream of metal and shaving off the paint, coat by coat. This paint was brand new! I didn't need it ruined by mopping the floor!
“Twist! Don't let him pin you!” Cyrii ordered. I flung a leg out to the side, letting the momentum swing me the other way. The 34 model tried to compensate for the shifted weight but only ended up tripping over himself. He fell right on top of me, of course. It wouldn't be a battle without a face full of machine at some point.
I fired up my emergency lasers, but he was too close to concentrate the firepower, so I tried repeatedly stabbing him as well with my free arm.
A loud hum started up, inches from me. Crap, I forgot about the-!
TZAAAAP! My vision danced and flashed static! Cyrii yelped and fled to the back of my head where there were less sparks, instinctively scrambling at the entry panels to escape. For a minute, I thought I had shut down! Instead though some of my vision came back, assuring me that my circuits were still working. Thankfully it wasn't like 433 where I could no longer think straight either. I was given enough time to see the 34 model grabbing my free arm and trying to rip it off, simultaneously charging up his emitters for another electrical shock.
Not a chance! I thought nastily, twisting to free my other arm. I thrust the bayonet upward, aimed for the eye. The blade bounced off of the lens, leaving only a definite gouge, but forced him to tilt upward and slacken his grip just a bit. I tried to scramble to my feet but he grabbed me and slammed me back to the ground. Cyrii hissed as she was thrown violently against the front of my head due to no longer being strapped in. I kept trying to stab but it was hard with one arm's socket loose, while being forced to use my other arm to support myself.
With only partly-rendered vision and another shock imminent, fighting against the 34 model was looking pretty hopeless. In my peripheral I could see Garenede struggling with the 30 model, and it didn't look like he was winning either: up against the wall and just as disabled, a curved thermal blade mere anoQ from his side where the main computer would be. The only thing keeping him alive still was that his left arm was swung around, the blade cutting through it and keeping it at bay.
Despite both of us being in tight spots I saw an opportunity: there was a nice-sized, empty space between us...
The hum started up again, a few cracks from new sparks forming dangerously close to me. I glanced at the 34 model, doing my final calculations and shutting my blast shield tight.
“You ought to trade those things in for a rocket,” I said randomly.
There was a confused hesitance as the mech processed my words. Now!
I loaded in a missile and launched it, hoping my calculations were correct-
BOOM! There was a flurry of panicked beeping and we were all thrown against the walls by the sheer force! My self-preservation code went into a full-on panic from melting-point heat signatures, fragile outer wires melting on contact. My hull was going to be warped and I knew it, but it was worth blasting that space with a high-powered missile! Hopefully the offset shot knocked those Superiority models off of 562 and Garenede as well. I knew that grey 34 was flung a nice distance away! More importantly, I hoped Cyrii lived through that. That was too hot for even a cold-blooded desert dweller to bear. When I checked the DIAS though, she was unresponsive.
Cyrii? I asked, panicking, Cyrii?!
Something roughly grabbed me and dragged me a few q away, and I dared to open my blast shield before it was cold enough to be safe. The 30 model, glaring at me, thermal blade poised. How depressing, he survived.
“You need fire to destroy a mech fresh from a kiln?!” I mocked.
“Shut your mouth, rogue AI!” he hissed accusingly.
“Hypocrite!” Astonishingly, Garenede's words! With a new burnt mark branding his side he lunged from the right, slicing the mech through with a micro-edged blade like he was petroleum jelly. Even in my disabled state I felt a surge of victory as the 30 model screamed and buckled.
“You!!” he shrieked. “I will rend you to pieces! Not even scrapping will save you!”
“I don't need to be...” Garenede began, but his spiteful retort was cut off by a thunderous crash, and he looked up in surprise. “DRONES!”
What?! my thoughts cried in shock. I didn't believe it! Drones?! He has to be-
My own thought ended as something small and copper-colored flung itself at him, making him stumble back. The 30 model tore himself off of his bayonet and put distance between him and his new rival, watching the bladed drone slash at Garenede. It was a pretty intense struggle, but all I could do was watch as my hull cooled down. Any more movement would only warp it further and make moving impossible.
Frustrating! Why did I do this to myself?
“We're being attacked!” someone, probably one of the 30 model's minions, yelled unnecessarily. An immense whirring began to punctuate the room, the air filling with tiny, airborne drones equipped with spinning blades. Not much against a mech unless there are tens of them, and there are usually thousands! We had at least somewhat of an advantage as the still-standing brown 34 charged his own electrical rods, letting the drones that bumped him be struck by bolts of electricity that arched between them, dropping them like zapped bugs. The remaining 36 model began slicing wildly at the air, the 30 model choosing to take cover under the catwalk. Coward!
I wanted to keep fighting, but I had a warning about hull integrity flashing in my mind. It wouldn't be safe to move for a while... the advantage to being an immobile lump on the floor is that the small flying drones completely ignored me. They must only detect movement. What a nice way to find out.
The 34 model disappeared from my vision, the 36 entering it, then looking up at a crash. Something entering the ceiling?! A new light flooded into the room from another part of the factory, signaled by the fall of concrete debris. I swear I have never seen a Superiority model look so scared before. Then I heard 562's voice: “What is that?!”
What is what?! I thought helplessly, my hull still searing hot. There was a heavy clunk, like something big just landed, then several wild yells. Mechs backed up into my vision, all staring at something in terror, but what was it?!
Something lunged out at 562. She screamed, drug out of sight, and there was a crunch.
NO! Not her! Not our Support!!
Okay, I can't wait any longer! Screw my hull integrity! I rolled myself over and pushed myself up with my arms, feeling the malleable metal squishing under the weight, and looked up.
It looked like a giant, wireframe rhododendron with thick, flexible clawed arms like serpentine gelustrik heads, crouched low to the ground underneath a brand new hole in the ceiling. Four of its arms were planted on the ground to stabilize itself like the sprawled legs an arachnid. One of the “heads” had 562 clutched in its jaws, half-crushed and shut down. Alesia herself – who had somehow escaped at one point – was dangling from the mech's arm in a vain attempt to save her. Despite her screams for help, everyone else could only watch, stupefied. I was forced to do the same, my legs completely unresponsive from my own mistake.
The “head” snapped its jaws a couple more times, crunching 562 up further, yet keeping Alesia alive, before seeming to swallow them. The two then promptly showed up into a capsule inside the wireframe body, which was filled with a sort of blue gel. It must be highly viscous, as they slowly descended to the bottom of the capsule. Alesia seemed to lose consciousness immediately.
What... in Gryn's name...did I just see?! Did it just eat them?! Were they still alive?!
The drone's red eye at its base swerved to scan the room, before all of its free heads lunged out at every other mech, including myself. The action reignited, screams and the sounds of combat filling the air even as the airborne drones retreated, but the armored sleeve of the heads' necks prevent any damage, an energy field protecting the main body itself. Of course, I was sti
ll forced to sit and watch the whole thing even as one head hovered over me, its jaws lined with gripping teeth.
It latched onto me, and I willingly collapsed, unable to do a thing. Well, here comes the end...
Then it suddenly dropped me. What the...?
The head reoriented itself while its brethren fought against the other mechs, already managing to swallow the unfamiliar 36 model and deposit it into the same capsule, two other heads splitting up the grey 34 I had blasted and swallowing him too. It was odd how they purposefully minimized damages... It was already looking cramped in that capsule. The head latched onto me again, only to recoil suddenly. It then struck me: I was too hot for it! Hah hah!
Except it simply went over to Garenede instead, helping the other head that he had already almost sliced off in self-defense.
I hate this! I thought, angered by my handicap. I pushed myself up off the ground again. While my legs were finally responsive, I didn't dare move them just yet. Instead, I loaded and aimed another missile. Enough damage might lower the drone's shields.
I locked on. Then fired. The explosion made the drone stumble, but it only re-stabilized itself. I loaded another missile, launched it too. It was a long process; I didn't have a lot of ammunition, and the drone was a lot tougher than it looked!
I was certainly annoying it though. After flinging Garenede through the air, one of the heads swerved toward me and struck me hard. I should have slid, but instead I felt a weird pulling sensation like I was glued to the floor; I must have partly melted to it!
I lay there a bit, disoriented. On second thought, firing a missile at close range was the stupidest thing I had ever done! Long term, this was no fun.
“Fiddlesticks...?” a weak voice came from the back of my mind.
CYRII! You're okay! I exclaimed, overjoyed.
“I... I don't think so...”
I felt a surge of fear, studying her collapsed avatar. Was it something I did? Please don't be the repercussion of a mistake!
“Don't...” she seethed, gripping the DIAS. Instead of finishing her sentence she tried to express stern anger.
Reprimanding me again? I said, concern overriding my mocking tone. I tried to push myself back up onto my feet, but the joints squealed horribly and felt misshapen. The risk of warping myself was still too high for movement. Luckily the drone wasn't focused on me, instead trying to pry apart the brown 34 model, his electrical attacks somehow failing him. Garenede was struggling with two heads that were trying to take Krysis too, who was still collapsed for some reason. The 30 model was nowhere in sight. Sirun had already been swallowed whole somewhere along the way.
I studied the drone, looking for any weak spots. There didn't seem to be an anoQ of it not covered by the shield though. Even the cylindrical base it sat on with the eye was protected! The heads had metal sleeves! I saw no vital points, exposed joints, or anything!
“Tank,” Cyrii wheezed.
Tank? I wondered. We could use a Tank model right about now, someone to distract that thing...
“No, tank.” She tried to sit up, clutching her side, but something felt horribly wrong. A liquid?
Don't move, I ordered.
“But-”
DON'T MOVE. Despite knowing I should be taking my own advice, I tried walking toward the drone. Some of my hull was still malleable, but at least the risk of sagging under my own weight was gone.
“What... are you doing?” she tried to ask.
I ignored her. I had the opportunity to observe this drone further so I could deduct weaknesses, and I needed to do it fast before it switched its attention back to me. If I could get close enough to scan it, I could figure out if its defenses had any shortcomings...
Something swung out in front of me then jerked upward, flinging a mech into the ceiling. Garenede had lost the struggle: there goes Krysis, being swallowed by one head. The curious part of me wondered why this drone seemed to be capturing us, machine and all... that's a new tactic from the Enemy.
The Superiority model wasn't about to give up, fanning his wings and using the thrusters to force a heavy landing onto the head's neck, making it snap to the ground. Krysis was still in there! We might be able to get him out! The drone tried to pull back the head but he struck it with a bayonet, ripping a huge tear in it.
Wait, he tore it open? The other models attacked it repeatedly and nothing happened!...
Unless... it was like wood!
I changed my path and hobbled over to help him as the head was instead pushed out, giving it more length to snap at Garenede from behind and causing him to fall off. A nasty screeching sound punctuated the air as the remaining 34 model lost his fight, meaning the other heads were now free.
“Integrity... fifty... three...” Cyrii weakly reported. I jerked at the realization that she dragged herself back up to my control panel.
What did I tell you about moving? I snapped, yet appreciative of the help. That meant I could move more freely now! I promptly picked up the pace, rushing up to the neck and jabbing at it. The bayonet sunk in easily lengthwise, so I swung around to tear the neck open further. The drone hissed, its remaining five heads now all focused on us.
“Good job, Zepholus,” Cyrii said.
STOP TALKING, YOU'RE HURT, I scolded.
One head grabbed the end of my tail, scoring three long gouges down my hull. Cyrii huddled up to avoid damage. Instead of trying to fight it, I climbed onto the neck that still had Krysis in it and dug my bayonets and claws in, refusing to budge. The result was another head grabbing onto my face, giving me a nice view of the oil-coated interior.
Ew, oil?! Disgusting! That was like machine saliva!
“Fire,” Cyrii said, still trying to be helpful. The idea flashed in my mind.
FIRE! It was brilliant! I fought against the pulling of the second head so it slipped, now off-center with a missile launcher pointing straight down it. A genius idea!
I launched a missile, and the inside of the neck lit up beautifully! The drone recoiled, completing my hull gouges down my face, and tried to recall the head completely. Halfway through sheathing it though there was a muffled bang: an internal explosion! I destroyed something important! YES!
The base of the neck burst, spitting out the grease fire. The drone groaned and shuddered, all of its heads hesitating. That's one head down!
The explosion shocked the drone enough that Garenede had a chance to really rip apart the middle of the major offending head, still fully unsheathed and sagging in the middle; from Krysis's weight, perhaps? It tried recalling that head too, but he had shredded it up to a focal point, almost completely severing it despite the other heads' best efforts to pull him off. The drone gave it a jerk, completely detaching it, but not without slamming Garenede into the ground from the force.
I pivoted, forcing the head from behind to let go, then tried firing my turrets into it to light it up too, but it was recalled too quickly for me to start a fire. Drat!
Garenede stood up to attack again, but saw the heads recoiling from him. I switched my attention to another head, but alas, the drone did not want to play anymore. A great sweep of the remaining heads knocked both Garenede and I into the same wall, before we fell to our knees. It then picked itself up with a moan and used the heads as flexible arms, raising itself up toward the giant hole in the ceiling. It pulled itself up through it, dragging the limp, damaged, still-attached heads with it.
“Get back here you filthy sack of aluminum!!” Garenede roared, already on his feet and fanning his wings, but there was a pop! and one of the wings blew off of him, spitting sparks and smoke from the socket. He stumbled, halting.
“You have to be kidding me!” he growled. “You have to be KIDDING ME!” Regardless, he fired the remaining three thrusters, but the take-off jump forced him into the concrete floor with a crash.
He picked himself up, and screamed a lot of words that I'm not sure what they were. Probably not good ones. I pushed myself to my feet, feeling like half of me me
t a hydraulic press. I ran a quick diagnostic check while things looked relatively safe and empty for the time being.
My lens was broken, again. My hull integrity was still compromised by the temperature, though luckily at least three quarters of it had recovered. Some of the sagging metal conveniently covered my previous thermal rod damages. The joints in my right arm were severely weakened by that 34 model; my circuits jolted, but fine. Long scores all along me – so much for hull integrity – but no breaches yet. My legs were a little squished from trying to stand up too early. I had nearly depleted all of my missiles. Oh, and half of me looked like a slate sheet from slamming into the wall, then of course all of the dents from being smacked around before that. Cyrii was back to being immobile on the floor, the DIAS dead quiet, but her life signs remained distinct and clear; good!
I stumbled over to Garenede, who was still grumbling up a storm and stomping around the head he managed to detach. I looked at it sadly. If we were lucky at all, Krysis was unconscious inside of it, but Alesia and Sirun... what could we do about them? Where did that drone go? What did it intend to do with all of those mechs and their pilots? Cyrii... she had to be fine, right? She was still alive. Breathing hard, but fine.
“Optimism,” she coughed out, clutching the DIAS. The signal through it was faint.
You will be fine! I insisted harshly, trying to keep tones of fear out of my voice.
Garenede slashed at the fractured end of the fallen head, then staggered away, mumbling with his hands on his head, wings still out but hanging limp. I hobbled over to the end and dropped down roughly and awkwardly, looking down it. I couldn't tell if there was a blockage in there. It was like a culvert, the darkness too thick inside despite the huge rips that were torn into it. Equally as awkwardly, I pushed myself back up, before sliding a bayonet into the neck and going down the length of it, slicing it open completely. The metal sheathing was surprisingly quiet to cut open, and its weakness depended on the angle of the force applied, so it must not be real metal. Some kind of polymer, maybe? It was certainly bulletproof and had a high thermal resistance to remain unaffected by full-blown, point-blank missiles.