Twisted Metal Heart (The Deviant Future Book 3)

by Eve Langlais

  He snorted. “Nice try. I’m not telling you where they are. For all I know, you’re an Enclave spy.”

  The very idea made her laugh. “I can assure you I’m not Enclave.”

  “I think you are. You have the accent of a city citizen.”

  “Whatever my past, I’m not a part of it now.”

  “So you claim. We all know the Enclave can’t be trusted.”

  “Are you always so paranoid?”

  “All the time, especially when things don’t make sense. How is it you live out here? With medical equipment?”

  “Why don’t you explain what you were doing in the middle of nowhere? Because I’m beginning to wonder if you’re suicidal.” He certainly appeared to be doing his best to tempt her into killing him.

  “I was looking for something,” he grumbled.

  “Did you find it?”

  “Do I look like a man who found something epic?”

  She folded her arms. “Standing right in front of you.”

  It took him a moment to grasp she was bragging. “You’re cocky.”

  “My father always told me to be assertive. Which is why I still want to know what you were doing out here.”

  “A rumor.”

  She blinked at him. “About what?”

  “A guy in the bazaar sold me information a few weeks ago. I caught up to them while they were camping outside Seimor Forest.”

  “The living night trees,” she whispered. “And what was this information you paid for?”

  “He told me about a few ruins I’d never heard of, but the juicy tidbit was there’s supposedly a way through the mountains to the Free lands.”

  “Free lands?” She snorted. “There is no such thing.” Not exactly. From what she’d learned, it was just different styles of ruling.

  “I guess it’s no surprise you’d scoff at it.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “That the Enclave brainwashing goes deep.”

  The taunt stung, especially because it used to be true. “I know what freedom is. It’s the Emerald citizens who don’t enjoy any. But there’s reasons for it.”

  He regarded her pensively. “Are you actually going to defend the draconian Enclave rules?”

  “Not all those rules are bad.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” He snorted.

  “Listen, I am well aware of the Enclave’s faults, but I also recognized the harsh reality of the world we lived in. With a population living in close quarters inside domes, rules are necessary to promote peace.”

  “And justify the subjugation of others.”

  “When properly applied, they lead for a peaceful society.”

  “Peaceful.” Disdain dripped from the word.

  “Are you going to tell me that the Wasteland doesn’t have any rules of conduct?” She arched a brow. “No one in charge? No one setting out consequences for bad behavior?”

  “We don’t tolerate bad behavior.”

  “Because you have rules. And I will wager those rules are always evolving. They have to because the Wasteland is a tough place.” She’d thought more than once of settling elsewhere, but she’d yet to muster the courage to live among people all the time. She preferred her short trips to towns and cities for business than living amidst them full time. Mostly because she feared discovery.

  “Made even tougher because Enclave patrols hunt my kind down. They’ve made it their mission to eradicate us.”

  “I think you over state your importance. The Enclave mostly concerns itself with immediate threats.”

  “We are a threat. We will overthrow the Emerald queen.”

  “Rebels.” Her turn to mock.

  “Our number is growing.”

  “Even if you have an army, you can’t fight against the Enclave soldiers. They will always be better equipped.”

  “Not if they turn.”

  “You’re assuming they want to.”

  “Not all of them are as brainwashed as you.”

  She arched a brow. “It’s not brainwashed. It’s called two sides to the situation. To you, the Enclave seems unfair, but to others, they see their decisions as being made for the benefit of the greater good.”

  “At the expense of those who don’t fit into their narrow world view.”

  “Nothing is perfect.” She shrugged. “But if you’re analytical about it, the Enclave did put in place a system that has benefitted and continues to allow thousands of citizens to thrive.”

  “And how many thousands does it take living in shit conditions to maintain those cities and the ones benefitting?”

  Her lips pressed into a line. He wasn’t entirely wrong. “As I said, not a perfect system. In every society, someone must work. Some harder than others.”

  “It doesn’t have to be at the cost of freedom or at the mercy of power-hungry leaders.”

  “Do you have a plan to replace those leaders and rules? Do you know how to manage a city of thousands?” It was odd to her to realize she enjoyed this verbal repartee. She didn’t agree with him, or him with her, yet it invigorated to discuss.

  “How about starting with letting people be responsible for each other?”

  “So you’re going to tell me you’re not part of a Wasteland tribe?”

  His lips flattened.

  “As I thought,” she stated. “Now, since neither of us will convince the other, perhaps we return to the topic at hand. You aren’t ready to leave yet.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” He went to push himself off the bed.

  “Let me help you.”

  She reached for him, but he shied away with a barked, “No!” almost unbalancing himself on the one leg. He trembled with the effort of remaining upright.

  “Difficult man,” she grumbled. She grabbed a chair and spun it for him so it sat within reach. “Don’t fall down. I don’t know if we have any spare teeth to replace those you might knock out.”

  “I’m not falling,” he grumbled, leaning forward to grab the back of the chair and then swinging himself so he landed in it. He gave her a glare of triumph.

  “You made it from the bed to the chair. Congrats. How many hundreds of miles is it to get home?” she dryly riposted.

  “What makes you think I don’t live nearby?”

  She snorted. “We’re on the edge of nothing. No one comes here.”

  “You’re here,” he countered.

  “Because no one comes close.”

  He glanced around. “Seem pretty lavish for someone living nowhere.”

  “Is that a threat?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Because I should mention I’m equipped to handle dangers.”

  “Then why did you hesitate to bring me inside?” he argued. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see me coming. You could have had the citadel emerge sooner.”

  “I could have,” she admitted.

  “But didn’t.”

  Her shoulders rolled. “Because we don’t like strangers.”

  “We? There are other people here?”

  She ignored his query for one of her own. “Where do you come from?”

  “Where do you come from?”

  Since he already guessed, she didn’t bother lying. “I used to live in the Emerald City.”

  “You escaped?”

  “Yes.” Just not in the way he expected. “Are you Wasteland born?”

  He nodded. “Originally part of the Junkyard Tribe. They scattered when the Enclave confiscated their lands.”

  “They didn’t fight to keep them?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t fight something that’s a hundred times bigger than you. My family had a motto. Live to see another day.”

  “Said by the man who thinks I should have let him die.”

  “Never said I believed in it. And ask me how it worked for my parents in the end.”

  Her lips pressed into a line. “Not everything ends badly.” Now if only she believed it.

  “How else can it end? Look at me.” H
e gestured. “I can no longer protect. No longer scout. Or hunt.”

  “Yet,” she reiterated, “I told you I can replace your limbs.”

  “And I’m calling shit on your claim.”

  She leaned in, smiled. “Do you want proof?” She grabbed hold of his shirt in her gloved hand, pulled him out of his seat, and held him up. Kept smiling as he gaped. “I know what I’m talking about because I have a bionic arm.” She dropped him, and he hit the chair hard.

  She rolled back her sleeve to show him the gleaming beauty of her limb. It started at her elbow and ended in a hand with four fingers and an articulated thumb.

  “May I?” he asked, reaching for it but not touching.

  “I’ve had it for a while now,” she remarked, holding it out.

  Fabricated by her father after the accident, and not a moment too soon, given her mother would have abandoned her to the Wasteland. Despite the fact it worked better than a bio hand, the metal limb only served as a reminder of the imperfection to her mother. All the long gloves in the city couldn’t entirely hide it. Nor a mother’s dislike of her daughter.

  She held out her hand. No glove, not anymore. He ran his fingers over it.

  He looked at her. “It’s cold.”

  “It’s metal. What did you expect?”

  He frowned. “Machines are warm to the touch. How does it work? Does it require charging or a battery?”

  “The body provides it with all the energy it needs. It’s not a piece you take on and off like shoes or clothes. It’s a part of you.” She showed him the demarcation line where the flesh of her upper arm ended in metal, the two intricately wound. Tearing it free would result in traumatic damage.

  “And the leg would work just as well?”

  “They’ll function like a flesh limb if the bond takes.”

  “If? What bond?”

  “Giving you the parts is only part of the process. Your body can still reject it.”

  “Meaning?” he asked with a frown.

  “Meaning you have a slight chance it will work as well as mine.” Very slight chance. “At worst, it barely functions at all.”

  “Any way of knowing ahead of time how my body will take to it?”

  “Do you carry the Deviant gene at all?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then expect minimal function.” She wouldn’t raise his hopes. “You will be able to walk after a fashion, probably not run. Grab things with practice but not manage fine motor skills.”

  “In other words, I’ll be a cripple.”

  “You’ll be alive, and you’ll adapt.”

  His jaw tightened. “Way to sell the process. How many times have you done this before?”

  “A few.” She didn’t mention most were minor upgrades for those with specific gene markers.

  He eyed her metal hand.

  She showed off her excellent control of her bionics by lifting just her middle finger.

  He arched a brow and snorted. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice. When do we try?”

  “As soon as they’re ready.”

  “Which is when?” he asked, his query terse.

  She smirked. “When I say so.” She spun from the table and strode for the door.

  “Thank you for not letting me die.”

  A glance over her shoulder showed him eating, expression intent on the bowl, but she still smiled as she left.

  Only to lose it when she went to visit Alfred.

  He wheeled adeptly around the lab. The sleek machine that was his lower body could tilt him in any direction required. It also stored his tools, which was why he kept refusing bionic legs. He said the wheels were more suited to him.

  Other clients also had a tendency of not always choosing the most exact replacements. The gladiators often opted for the wrist cuff that allowed them to change the attachment on the end. Some installed extenders in their legs to give them a longer, faster stride.

  Because their parts were made by hand—Alfred’s precise hand to be exact—it took time to make limbs. Due to the lengthy process, they kept a select stable of clients and charged generously per job. The costs involved in maintaining the citadel ate into the profit, but at least they now saw the profit, unlike when she lived in the dome and was left with nothing after the queen took her share.

  Alfred leaned over the workbench, protective goggles on, deft fingers sculpting the metal into the pieces required. A furnace in the wall provided all the heat he needed to melt the raw ore to pour into molds.

  Hundreds of the dishes hung on the wall and from the ceiling. They kept each and every custom dish created. How he could tell some of them apart, she couldn’t have said, but she only had to mention a name and he could find all their molds and create replacements. He even knew when someone new had the same measurement as a previous client.

  The molds for her parts she kept in her room. Only she touched them.

  “We are running out of the ore.”

  “I know.” She wandered to their bin and noticed only a few chunks of rock with the dull metal streaking them remained. They might have finally tapped out the line running in the tunnels under the citadel.

  “What are we going to do?”

  Always with the “we” when, in reality, he waited for her to decide. She put it off because she had no answer. Hadn’t come up with a single one since she realized the vein underground had been running low. Yet she really needed to make a decision. Because, without the ore, they were out of business. At least the limb-making kind. They could still do other things.

  She changed the subject. “Our guest is awake.”

  “Our? Don’t you mean your guest?” Alfred grumbled. “You should have left him asleep. The parts are not ready.”

  “How long until they are?”

  “Another day, perhaps two. The modifications you requested are taking longer than expected. Which is why I advised keeping him in the coma.”

  “Given we’re running low on certain items, we couldn’t keep him under any longer.” The excuse she used when, in reality, she couldn’t stand waiting to see his eyes open and to hear him talk.

  He didn’t disappoint with a deep gravelly tone that tickled.

  “He’s going to be trouble,” Alfred predicted.

  “I’ll handle him.”

  He eyed her. “Can you?”

  Good question.

  Three

  The bed appeared a mile away from the chair. Titan eyed it and wondered why he’d been so stubborn as to try and prove he could move from one to the other.

  Because he was a man, and they just always had to prove something. Having eaten the broth, he felt somewhat more alive and used his hands to palm the table and steady himself as he pushed to his foot.

  Not feet.

  He was still trying to come to grips with it. Ever since he’d woken, he’d felt out of sorts. The balance of his body was off. He could feel the lack of weight on his left side. As if that weren’t freaky enough, it was as if his mind refused to accept it, and he kept trying to use his hand. Over and over, falling into a minor panic each time it failed to work.

  There was no pain. Nothing to indicate he’d been recently injured. He’d also lost days because she’d placed him in a coma.

  The reminder meant he focused on the reason for his dilemma. The woman who’d left him outside and then, instead of letting him pass, turned him into half a man.

  He fought against the bitterness that threatened to swallow him. Focused on her scent that remained. Something flowery with a sharper taint. Almost metallic if it could be said to have a flavor.

  She called herself Riella. An unusual name for a strange woman. A beautiful woman with a curvy figure and auburn hair. She didn’t seem as if she went out in the sun often with her fair skin, which made him wonder how she lost the arm. Was it before or after she began living in this place?

  And what was this place? More than a mere building that could appear suddenly in the middle of nowhere. The medical machine
ry in this room alone was more extravagant than he’d ever seen. The kind of thing that usually only existed in a dome, if a lot less sleek and elegant looking. There was a bit of a roughness to the humming robots, and they were raw in appearance, lacking the usual plastic-composite shell casing, as if they’d been cobbled together instead of fabricated by a tri-dimensional printer.

  While the machines appeared somewhat unfinished, the limb she’d showed him, he’d never seen the like. The arm was the right shape and size. The metal felt hard and cold, but her control of it appeared perfect. Would it work at all with him? She’d implied it depended on the person. That the Deviant gene made it more likely to function.

  Which meant he was screwed. He was as ordinary as they came, and yet he’d gotten a second chance at life. Why? By all rights he should have died that night under the teeth and claws of the tigber. A miracle saved him.

  He made the sign of the holy circle and kissed his fingers, even as it felt slightly blasphemous to do it with his right hand.

  Thank you for saving me, goddess. His mother was a follower of the goddess, his father an agnostic. Titan tended to stick in the middle and cover both sides.

  With the initial horror of what happened waning, the more practical part of himself woke. Slapped him a bit, called him a cunt, and told him to stop being a whiny-ass little fucker.

  He lived. That was the most important part. He was somewhere safe for the moment. Or so he assumed. He had only Riella’s word that she was looking out for him. Although he didn’t doubt for a moment she’d worked hard. He wouldn’t soon forget the tearing pain of teeth in his flesh.

  He glanced at the empty spots on his body. No matter her motive in deciding to help, he hoped she spoke the truth about giving him some bionic limbs. It would take two hands to strangle her.

  Would he strangle her? She’d already admitted she could have come to his rescue sooner. Her hesitation had cost him.

  The drumming of his fingers on the table didn’t ease his restlessness. Standing took a bit of effort, as his body wobbled, the full leg trying to balance all his weight. It didn’t help he’d remained prone for so many days.

  The broth she’d left him sat unhappily in his stomach. He refused to spew it. He didn’t know if anyone watched. Didn’t want to show any weakness.