It was day, and I was on the pavement outside of the hospital where an entire force of guerrillas, maybe a dozen or more, were crowded together in a circle around me. They constantly pushed and shoved into one another in their mechs, cursing and roaring, just like drunks at a dog fight. Their shouts echoed from the cockpit of their mechs, filling the air with a petrifying thunder, drowning out any and all other sounds besides those that their thrashing about created. I was frozen with fear down to my very core, feeling its icy claws branch out into my veins; this was my first time having such an up-close-and-personal look at them. Upon closer inspection, it seemed that each one had a different tribal design painted onto their iron suits: some were intricate designs of blood-red, some were neatly-tinted hues of a tropical-sky blue, but they were uniform in one way alone: the components of each came together to create an icon of chaos, and together, they were a lawless tribe bound by invisible fibers.
In my frantic looking about, I saw Danni in a similar situation some twenty or so feet away. Two or three of them were taunting her in their demented little game. They made the earth quake when they landed with a deafening thud after great leaps, threatened her with all manners of dangerous weapons, and mocked her stress and frustration. With each step she took back, they crept up closer. She turned the slightest bit in my direction, and in her face relief mingled with concern.
“Leo! Where’s Tank?!” she shouted to me as she came running up .The circle began to close in to make up the gap, giving Danni and I little more than seven or so free feet to move around. I opened my mouth to respond, but then realized that Tank hadn’t once crossed my mind since I woke up. Danni stopped short when she came nearer, a little startled. She looked down at my blood-soaked shirt, and I looked as well to match where her gaze fell. The knife wound was gone! We both looked up again at the same time, only having a split second of eye contact; we were immediately distracted by one of the guerrillas who came forward from the pack, continuing to mock Danni. He spoke in a condescending tone, a blend of English and a foreign tongue. With the hand on the end of his mech’s long, skinny arm, he grabbed a steel pipe from nearby and swung it mere inches from her face with deadly force, just to gauge her reaction. Needless to say, she instinctually leapt backwards to avoid the blow, crashing into me in the process. Another uproar of laughter erupted, the loudest and most sickening coming from our attacker. He pounded and scrapped the pipe along the pavement in front of us, making the concrete spit up sparks that rained back down and vanished. By that point, something in Danni must have snapped, and pride trampled over reason. The second his hand stopped moving, she yanked the pipe from it. It took another second for mild surprise to register and quiet the crowd, and in that second, Danni swung the pipe directly into the screen of the mech with every ounce of strength she had. The guerrilla screamed in pain as glass shards flew into the cockpit, forcing him to back up half a dozen feet at the same time. By the end of that second, the crowd’s sickening rowdiness turned into an uproar of fury.
After a second of recovery, he rushed forward. The shadow of his figure loomed over us as he raised a chunk of concrete from nearby with deadly intention, but before he could slam it down onto our skulls, he was yanked away by the shoulder from behind.
This new assailant slammed him into the ground like a ragdoll. The clang of heavy metal against concrete boomed through the air. It was another mech that attacked him, but it stood apart from the others. It was certainly larger, but that was the only difference I could make out in the struggle that followed. Well, it was a struggle at least for one side. The new attacker planted his foot firmly on the shoulder socket of the other, and pulled at the base of his arm. The pinned figure flailed about as if it were being electrocuted, its pilot screaming out in panic and agony. As his begging reached a pitch, I thought he was repeating the same name or phrase over and over, but I couldn’t make it out. The whole time, his opponent was slowly tearing his arm out of his socket with no sign of remorse or even exertion; it was as though this was a tradition being performed nonchalantly.
Seconds later, the arm popped out. Underneath the screech of metal, I heard the gruesome crunch of bone being ripped from flesh and sinew. The defeated guerrilla’s movements started to slow down as a puddle of dark blood formed where his arm was relieved of his shoulder socket. The victor tossed the arm of the mech (still containing its human owner’s limb) to the side, and turned around. The crowd was silent and respectful…I assumed this must have been their leader, one that had no time for games and demanded absolute respect in his presence.
He stared at the two of us.
He made slow, lumbering, methodical steps towards us. Once he reached us, he leaned over so close that I could make out the facial features of this pilot. He was Latino, and had the piercing eyes and scarred cheeks of a man built in a favela. He had a slight stubble on his short face, but besides that, he was clean-shaven. Having an average build, he was a little too small to accommodate his towering mech perfectly. He leaned in just a little closer.
“What…have we…got…here.” he snarled. His voice was deep, gravely. There was an asphalt texture in it, his vocal cords already coarsened. I estimated that he was young, but not too young. Maybe in his early thirties.
Seeing how he was waiting for a response, I had a better chance to look over his mechanical suit before I dared to open my mouth. His figure was a bit taller than the other guerrillas, and it had more humanoid arms, unlike the spidery limbs of his comrades (or servants). The hull of his mech certainly had the most intricate designs. The motifs seemed to be a blend between tribal and Spanish gothic, the black ink being vines wrapped over metal with a slightly blue tint. There seemed to be little phrases scrawled in between the webs, but I couldn’t make out any that were in English; the language looked to be Spanish, possibly Portuguese.
“We were just trying to leave.” I declared in as firm a tone as I could. His only response for a moment was utter silence. He then backed up into the crowd that parted for him. Even after the congregation had mostly come back together, I could still make out his figure through little breaks in the crowd in between the heavy iron suits the congregation was made up of. He seemed to be attempting to carry something with the help of another guerrilla.
“I believe this…” he called out from beyond the crowd, which opened up again.
“…belongs to you.” he gave a mighty heave, and he tossed the seemingly lifeless hull of Tank into the middle of the circle. A meter-long iron pipe was lodged in his neck. I didn’t turn to Danni, but I was sure her thoughts were the same as mine: we were defenseless in a pack of wolves.
“He’s still functional.” their leader declared, standing by Tank as he looked around, making sure he had the undivided focus of the audience. He then looked back to me.
“The only reason you made it as far as you did is because of your ‘guardian’ here. The only reason you’ve made it this far is because of one of my men finding you, dragging you out of that pit, and finding your friend close by. Your machine here certainly didn’t make matters easy…he would’ve caused a deal of damage more if I didn’t have men with good aim. Now, I have no need to torment you further; I know when mercy is practical. If you tell me your names, your business, and provide us a very particular service…I’ll set you free.”
Danni and I glanced toward each other suspiciously. Seeing as we had little choice in the matter, I gathered my courage and took a single step forward.
“I’m Leo, and this is Danni. We were here to— see the doctor.” I paused; I wanted to skip the part about being with U.S.P.L. I hoped that Tank hadn’t given that fact away. Somehow I didn’t think they would get along too well with that little detail. He snickered.
“You and your allies made a grave mistake in trusting that spineless man…his bonds were as complicated and weak as cobwebs. His kind feeds on havoc; that’s what drew him to this place ever since it was burnt to the ground. He set up shop quickly, and fed off of whoever ne
eded his help like a parasite. Unfortunately for you, Miller fed him cash much more efficiently than you could ever hope to. As for the situation at hand now…first, I am Ortiz, regulator of every man who calls himself a guerrilla in my land. We’re a faction entirely separate from political forces like Miller or yourselves, whom I assume to be close to U.S.P.L. While I can’t say I’m pleased to find you here, I’m also a fair man. You’re not here of your own will, I can tell. Again, if you’ll hear my bargain, I’ll let you go.”
Danni and I both nodded, even though I internally cringed at the mention of U.S.P.L. I wasn’t particularly eager to find out what kind of errand he wanted us to run, but the sound of escape was too much to resist.
“A few weeks back, one of our own wandered into a small section of the city that Miller was able to cling to with the help of his soldiers after the initial struggle, and he never came back. The area was infested in the blink of an eye once Miller knew negotiation was too late, as he had to use the disease to his advantage as a weapon rather than try to eliminate it. Now, only abominations roam that land.” Ortiz’s face and tone became a bit darker before he continued.
“We’re a people that respect our fallen. We wouldn’t dare tread with thoughts of violence on ground possibly housing one of our lost men. The issue at hand is that we don’t know for sure that he’s dead. You, on the other hand…you have no such codes to follow. We need you to go find him…and tell us whether he’s alive or dead.”
“So you’re not going into that particular part of the city because…you’re superstitious?” I gulped, hoping that sounded more like a genuine question rather than sarcasm. He looked away for a moment, thinking, possibly trying to figure out which of the two I had intended. Luckily, the less aggravating notion won out.
“We thrive on tradition. We can never forget who our ancestors are, or what they’ve done or believed in. They survived by following their beliefs, so it’s our duty to continue doing as they’ve done. That’s why we live as we do.” he mused.
“It’s all about survival, then.” I nodded. I honestly just wanted to stay as respectful as I could to stay on his good side, but it was genuinely an interesting point of view. He smirked; either his dark mood was lifting or some semblance of arrogance that was invisible before was starting to come through.
“You make it sound like you have something more to live for. You and I aren’t entirely different, no matter what way you look at it. If you look back far enough, we all crawled out of Europe. Before that, out of Africa, before, from the ocean, and before, from nothingness. Our origins end up being the same if you go back far enough, and how we got through to today is tied to our origins: a law of survival.”
The whole time Ortiz spoke, the crowd was completely silent. The only sound besides his voice one could hear was the faint whisper of the wind over the open and broken landscape. After a brief pause, he continued speaking again.
“I’ll take your silence as an agreement. It’d be best if you left immediately. I’ve said everything I need to say.” he declared, heaving out a heavy groan. He and the crowd parted like a modern red sea of metallic sheen, giving us a clear view of the path we needed to take; it was the road that branched off to the right of the building that once housed the doctor and his poor, likely now-deceased servant.
“We are going to have Tank, aren’t we…?” I nodded towards the inert hull with the iron spear still lodged in his neck.
“Of course not. Now go.” Ortiz commanded emotionlessly, looking towards the open path.
As Danni and I prepared ourselves for our journey, he called us once more.
“I’ll give you a single warning: don’t try to forsake your duty.” he glared, his gaze mercilessly delivering his message loud and clear. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind before that, but it surely wouldn’t now.
With that ominous threat, we began our new mission. The first fifteen feet of the path were lined with the guerillas on either side of us. Fear crawled into our hearts with each step forward. Walking a road lined by these lawless monstrosities was the equivalent of guiding a lit match through a grim factory housing barrels of oil; one single mistake could end our lives.
Once they were some distance behind us, I could sigh in relief. At the same time though, Tank was trapped there, unable to protect us. My confidence in our survival seemed to plummet and rise at the same time in a sickening flurry.
Finally having a chance to think, I realized that I hadn’t yet had a moment to reflect on what happened in the dilapidated basement of the hospital. For the past few weeks, I had been following the orders that U.S.P.L. had given me simply because they gave me refuge, and I accepted what I heard and already knew about Miller’s reign. My firsthand experiences of how Miller ruled his contracted dominions was one thing, but to see others face far more mortifying torture, subject to fates worse than death…that brought a new sort of rage and fear that burned deep down in the pit of my stomach. I saw the conflict in a whole new light: knowing that a man who had the will and power to perform such cruelty was still at large was macabre, but also knowing that I was, in a way, in league with two of the factions that would love nothing more than to see his downfall was slightly relieving.
From here on, Danni and I were now inescapably part of a war. Looking at the way she now carried herself, and the loyalty she felt for the city she called home, I’m not sure that she could think twice about fighting for it…and neither could I.
The mechanized bandits disappeared from our sights long ago, and the comatose, gray buildings rose up around us again. This area seemed to be just as desolate, devoid of life as most other parts of the city, but showed its scars of combat much more clearly than those that Danni and I traveled through earlier. Under a slate sky, the decaying remnants of bodies littered the streets, their carcasses nearly picked clean by birds of death. Blood painted various streets, buildings, and windows. Broken tools of war laid around to rust and serve as the city’s new inhabitants without a home.
“Look familiar?” Danni rhetorically asked. I snapped out of my stupor, looking around. We were in a part of the city that laid between the business district and the apartments that we used to call home. It was never a particular favorite in terms of places to just hang out, but we certainly did see it often. I could just barely remember being able to walk through this square and smell all sorts of food being served by vendors. Now, I wouldn’t dare take too deep a breath out of fear of inhaling ashes. A good chunk of the town’s official buildings were here. The charred remains of the fire department stood tensely. The police station was nearly leveled. And the library…teemed with life?
Danni must have seen it at the same time I did. A quick, almost insect-like stirring of movement was seen through one of the cracked windows. It was a blur of motion. She arched her brow, and looked back to me. I hesitated, then nodded, signaling that we should at least investigate it.
Our footsteps echoed quietly upon the broken pavement. As we ascended the staircase into the library, bits of stone chipped off of the steps; Danni and I both had to catch each other a few times when a stair would crumble at an inconvenient point. Each time was accompanied by a worried glanced. She had to be just as nervous as I would that we would attract the attention of… whatever we saw moving around inside before we could have a good look at it. If we had to make an escape, it would be best to at least get a good idea of what resided here now.
When we reached the top of the staircase, we expected to find the familiar, wide open floor of the library. It was unrealistic to expect it to be unharmed, hiding its tattered skin and light bones, but we vaguely assumed to find the spacious vestibule, a study area just twenty or so feet in front of us, the desk and staircase to the second floor off to our left… While the foundations of the building were still intact, a new display resided in plain view… we found the guerilla.
His iron suit was battered nearly beyond recognition. Pieces were scattered all over the floor, crimson stained the ent
ire hull, bite and scratch marks adorned the metal husk, and the little that remained of the pilot was tossed carelessly about. Bullet holes and demolished architecture marked the broken, open space, showing his fierce resistance before his death.
Danni and I were frozen to the spot for a second. I involuntarily yanked Danni’s shoulder to turn her towards me. She inhaled sharply, and her horrified gaze met my own. We both understood fully that our job here was done… it was time to get the hell out.
We turned to run back outside, but the blur was back. It flew over the staircase before us. All I could make out was a black and white figure that crawled like a mite, and its shrill cry was comparable to the layered sounds one would imagine that locusts and maggots fighting for a meal would create. Our short but intense screams couldn’t be contained, and we instinctively retreated back inside. We sprinted for the closest room that was in immediate site, a small storage room to our right.
That was a poor choice.
One of the walls was entirely dismantled, and in its place was a cancerous growth. It looked like scarred flesh, covered in red welts and bumps. The surface was reflective, covered in a translucent liquid or gel, eating up whatever light it could grab from the dim space. It was covered in cavities, deep enough so that their insides were entirely black. From within these repugnant craters, more of the parasitic bustling could be heard, and several more of the creatures began to crawl out. Their figures seemed to be the mangled remnants of men who lost their lives long ago. Their skin was pale as the smoke that rises from tragedy, and their bodies were slathered in a black substance that appeared to be oil. Their faces were stuck in a permanent grimace that expressed the frustration of failure and the rage of being ridiculed. Before Danni and I turned to escape, I had that good look at them, even though I now wish that I hadn’t.
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