Night Legions

by Jeremy Flagg

  The newer generation of machines had weapons mounted to their forearms, giving them less freedom with their hands. The bullets struck her vest. Either the material absorbed the impact or they were using a caliber too small to dent her skin. It’d take them seconds to determine their weapons were ineffective, then they’d switch to shoulder cannons.

  A laser illuminated one synthetic’s hand. The body armor protected her, but the heat of the shot would leave a first-degree burn when she depowered. Picking up speed, she leaned forward, the second and third laser settling on her breast and right shoulder. Huffing through clenched teeth, she prepared for impact.

  With an arm held out, she caught the synthetic on the right around the throat. Heel down, she used the machine’s weight to spin around, throwing the robot into its companion. She rolled backward into a crouch and lunged as a laser caught her in the cheek, burning the skin enough to warrant a grunt. The machine tried to catch her fist, but she leaned in with her shoulder and sent it back to the ground. Right, left, fists smashed against steel, breaking the camera housing in its skull. As the other tried to climb out from under the heap, she pulled its head backward until the hydraulics hissed and sprayed fluid along the ground.

  “Still expensive toys,” she mumbled.

  In the back of the mech’s hangar, a door slid open and another pair of synthetics emerged. Jasmine grabbed one of the robots on the ground and hurled it at the pair. The machines easily stepped out of the way, hands coming up, preparing to pelt her with searing light.

  As the door started to shut, it caught on the leg of the synthetic she'd tossed, prevented from closing. Jasmine gave a silent cheer and ignored the burning in her chest as she let her skin transform to a denser metal. A scream ripped from her lips as the ripple spread through her body. Falling to one knee, she fought to stay upright. While the muscles in her body mutated, the scorching pain of the lasers grew distant.

  The searing beams were almost continuous at this point. Another scream drowned out the scratch of metal feet on pavement. The synthetics hovered over her prone form, thinking themselves victorious. Jasmine’s hands shot out, tearing into their chests, crushing the batteries powering the machines. Glowing blue liquid burned the fabric of her uniform.

  The robots rose off the ground as she stood, her fist firmly rooted in their chest cavities. After hurling the machines away, she stormed toward the door, a wall of unstoppable confidence. Machines, with machines she didn’t demonstrate restraint. Tonight, she proved why Children should be feared.

  * * * * *

  Twenty-Seven jumped from the roof, hitting the tar paper of the next, tucking her shoulder and rolling into a squat. The five synthetics along the ground broke away from the crowd, working their way from the park near the river. Nothing about them struck her as odd, except moving away from the fighting—that didn’t appear logical.

  “Dav5d,” she groaned, picking up the pace, “I’m too old to chase your goons.”

  Running close to the edge of the building, she caught the synthetics crawling along the ground like animals. The faceless machines already had a creepy vibe, but observing them act like rabid dogs, that made the hair on her neck stand. One pointed forward and they continued in pursuit of something.

  Someone. In the distance, crossing a commuter train trestle, a single figure fled the battlefield. Whether the machines wanted the stray figure, or it just happened to be in their path, it'd certainly be dead if she didn’t catch up.

  Reaching the end of the building, she pulled the rifle from her shoulder and dropped it on the ledge. The air caught in her lungs while her pointer finger wrapped around the trigger. A gentle squeeze and the recoil shoved at her shoulder. Next time, she’d demand a rifle with built-in recoil reduction, for now, she accepted her collarbone would be littered with bruises.

  The torso of the closest synthetic tore away as the round exploded on impact. With no time to appreciate a perfectly placed shot, Twenty-Seven reached to her waist and pulled out a metal spike. After slamming the anchor into the wall, she hooked a wire from her belt to a tiny loop and jumped over the edge.

  Wire spun out with a loud wheeze until she reached a few feet from the sidewalk. The spindle on her belt tightened until she stopped. With a snap, the wire let go, dropping her the last two feet. As she continued in pursuit of the synthetics, she made a list of toys she’d be requesting from the military. Explosive rounds, suspension wires, impact armor—if she made it back to Jonah, she’d hand the man a shopping list. Once she cleaned them out, she would never press her own rounds again.

  The synthetics stopped their straight-line pursuit, moving like pack animals, leaning this way and that to avoid bullets. Down on one knee, she held the rifle to her eye, squinting with the other. Sway left, then right, then left again.

  “Dav5d, you should…”

  Bang.

  “…know I’m a better shot than that.”

  She didn’t need to see the explosion or the lurching synthetic to know her shot hit. Of the many things she excelled at, long range weapons, at a hundred yards, barely required effort. The three remaining synthetics broke apart, taking cover.

  The figure at the train tracks continued running. Twenty-Seven hoped the person stopped at the closest building and ducked inside. In the open, they’d never be able to outrun the machines. At least indoors, there were places a human could go the inflexible machines couldn’t.

  But the figure—now she saw it was a woman—stayed straight on the tracks, ignoring available cover to the left or right. Twenty-Seven watched as one of the machines climbed a nearby building, defying gravity as it moved up the wall, preparing to leap.

  “Above you!”

  The woman turned just as the machine pushed off. She rolled to the left, a tight tuck, the outstretched paw missing her by what seemed like inches. Twenty-Seven crossed the trestle, determined to save this desperate resident from being torn apart by soulless mechanical hands.

  Had she been more forceful when acquisitioning weapons, she’d have a backpack with a small generator capable of a limited electromagnetic pulse. Instead, she opted for speed. Right now, speed wasn’t going to put her close enough to tear through the bodies of the robots.

  Two more machines joined in stalking the woman, circling like savage predators. At any moment, she expected to hear a roar from the pits of the beasts’ bellies. Twenty-Seven doubled her efforts, muscles in her legs pumping as she closed the distance between them. She might not be able to change the tides of war, but since the Outlands, life had been about saving one person at a time.

  I will save you.

  * * * * *

  The interior of the factory spanned further than should have been possible. Jasmine eyed the rows of mechs powered down, awaiting orders to begin a programmed slaughter. Elsewhere, machines built machines, sparks raining down as pieces fused together. With Dav5d at the helm, the synthetics may someday have the ability to ascend to thinking organisms. The idea made her stomach turn.

  Midway down the warehouse, suspended from the ceiling, waited the control room. Following the steel cables holding the nerve center of the factory to the ceiling, she found it wouldn’t be as easy as she’d hoped. The only way to reach the room was to repel from the ceiling or climb. It’d been years since P.T., climbing ropes in front of the cadets. Yet this might be the only opportunity they’d have to damage the manufacturing process.

  Pulling the rucksack off her back, she mounted it to her chest and flipped open the cover. Inside she carried enough explosives to create a light show—not enough to stop the work being done here, but enough to slow it down. Jasmine grabbed a disc the size of a hockey puck and tossed it toward a column. A red light flashed as the disc sped toward the metal, and there it locked into place.

  “Should have packed more,” she mumbled to herself as she tossed out another three. Just as she prepared to throw another, the sound of metal on cement sent her ducking behind a mech’s leg. She’d hoped the fighting mac
hines were busy outside, diverting all resources. She’d never be that lucky.

  Peaking around the shin of the mammoth contraption, she caught sight of two sentinels. Unlike the synthetics she’d worked alongside, these were custom builds, their shoulders slightly lower and a second set of arms seeming to originate from the rear shoulder blades. The faceplates were updated from their predecessors, now a thin black band with a red light cycled back and forth. The entire eye areas lit up bright red as they started in her direction.

  “I am so tired of robots,” she confessed.

  Chucked toward the closest synthetic, a disc lit up and stuck to the sentinel’s thigh. With the press of a button on her gauntlet, an explosion sent the thing hurling across the room into a row of two-armed synthetics. Thrown by the explosion, the second sentinel skid along the ground, its fingertips tearing up strips of concrete.

  It scurried more than ran. The two arms hanging over its shoulders snagged her about the neck and pinned one arm to the leg of the mech. Even with the muscles in her body surging, the sentinel had her at a disadvantage. Its grip tightened, fingers attempting to cut into her throat.

  The machine’s head cocked to the side. Jasmine let out a laugh. “No Dav5d, huh?”

  Her free fist slammed the arm’s joint, pushing the limb away from her throat. With her pinned hand, Jasmine swiveled around the robot’s arm, hooking her leg onto its shoulder. Metallic fingers grabbed at her limbs, attempting to pull her off. When she slammed her fist down on the robot's skull, the casing crumpled, but the machine didn’t relent.

  “Damn upgrades.”

  Grabbing one of the arms, she braced her feet against the sentinel’s chest and pulled. “I’m going to club you to death with your own arm.”

  The three remaining hands secured her to the ground, preventing her from struggling. Jasmine relaxed, though, sure the machines had no way to damage her thick hide. One of the shoulder arms flipped about, and the hand vanished into a small flame, first red, then white.

  “I hate robots,” she growled.

  Her abilities licked against the metals under the surface of her bracer. Almost two years ago, she'd found a metal in the basement of the Facility, denser than any she’d ever absorbed before. The tiny sliver, scratched from the blast door had fallen into her boot and now rested inside the piece of armor. She feared the pain about to ripple through her body.

  Synced.

  There was dense; then there was dense. The surface of her skin tightened, and the ripple moved through an already firm epidermis. Her spine bowed, the sensation like red hot pokers piercing her flesh. Regret. Anger. Fear. It hurt more than she remembered. Nothing mattered. The robots vanished. The mission stopped. Only pain. Jaw locked, she screamed through clenched teeth. The blinding torch inches from her forehead washed away in a searing white pain.

  The seconds had no beginning or end. Jasmine almost let go, allowing her powers to fade and revert her skin back to flesh. As quickly as it started, it ended. Echoes of pain radiated through her muscles, her brain numb and unsure of what really hurt.

  The flame touched her scalp. Jasmine didn’t even flinch; her eyes remained closed as she sucked in air. The entirety of her body felt like rock, unable to move, partially due to the machines, but mostly due to the density of her skin.

  After the pain came a bloating sensation. It started in her arms, then moved into her chest and down her legs. Muscles warmed, turning hot as they expanded to compensate for the density of her skin.

  “Now,” she grunted, sitting upright despite the machine’s weight pressing down. “Now, I’m angry.

  * * * * *

  The a feral robotic feline lunged, leaping into the air less like a robot and more like a beast starved for its next meal. They froze, motionless, suspended in the air by some unseen force.

  Twenty-Seven slowed her pace, afraid to disturb the woman. The two machines struggled in the air, fighting to reach her limbs. Twenty-Seven found it odd that the machines reserved their weapons, instead trying to secure their prey.

  Even in the low light, she saw the woman’s feet were nearly a foot from the ground. The petite woman threw a punch, and the synthetics reacted as if struck. Multiple blows missed the machines by nearly a foot, but they were shoved backward as if struck with a sledgehammer. Ariel never attacked with so much physicality, so who might the telekinetic be?

  Twenty-Seven spun the rifle around onto her back and reached for the gun on her outer thigh. Pistols didn’t offer stability or the stopping power of a rifle, but this close, the difference between life and death could be the ability to maneuver.

  One of the machines snuck up behind the mentalist. Twenty-Seven pointed and pulled. The gun didn’t come with explosive rounds. The slug was enough to spin the machine around, but not enough to stop its approach. It grasped the woman's wrists and pulled her to the ground.

  This woman didn’t appear to have quite the same oomph as Ariel. Twenty-Seven closed the gap while the mentalist distracted the machines. First she fired the gun until it reached empty. The synthetic ignored the pelting of bullets. Why had they given her bullets unable to stop machines? Never again would she allow a soldier to place a weapon in her hands.

  She’s important. The care the synthetics took with apprehending the woman wasn’t something Twenty-Seven witnessed before. Instead of tearing into her throat or punching through her chest, they simply held her in place. The screech of metal assaulted her ears as Twenty-Seven’s prosthetic fingers dug into the shoulder blade of a synthetic. Previously, she’d been taxed the appendage, struggling to crumple the robots in her hand. Now, like tinfoil, the rear panel crunched in her palm.

  The chop shop put together a suitable arm. The bulky limb took months to master, but this arm, the Body Shop technicians recreated a near perfect prosthetic, lighter, more responsive, stronger. Fingers pushed through the opening, tearing at the mechanics in the shoulder blade before the robot spun, knocking her off her feet.

  The woman held out both hands, invisible lines of power holding one synthetic in place. Ariel would have torn them apart one screw at a time, leaving nothing but spare parts. Right now, Twenty-Seven needed something with more stopping power.

  The beast tackled her, its good arm reaching for Twenty-Seven’s face. Catching it by the wrist inches above her nose, with a snap of her own wrist she broke its arm. One leg pinned her hip, digging in its heel and pulling her knee in an awkward position.

  Balling her bionic fingers into a fist, she jerked her hand downward and a blade nearly eight inches long emerged from her forearm. The blade shoved into the neck of the machine, severing wires and hydraulics. A twist and the robot fell on top of her.

  “The camera, take out the camera,” Twenty-Seven yelled.

  Wrestling with the several hundred pounds pinning her, Twenty-Seven found herself unable to get leverage to use the prosthetic. She fought to drag in a ragged breath, each movement sending an electric pain through her knee.

  “I’m trap—”

  The weight lessened, allowing her to suck in a full breath. The machine hovered from her chest. The blade from her forearm was badly bent, so that she had to eject it. Pulling at the ground, she dragged herself from underneath the suspended body. The moment she got free, the corpse smacked down with a thud.

  “Thanks,” Twenty-Seven said. Her knee might be broken, at least sprained. Even if it held her weight, she wouldn’t be running any time soon.

  The woman didn’t speak. On the edge of the tracks, the light illuminated enough of her face for Twenty-Seven to recognize her. An expensive dress clung to the woman’s curves, accentuating her legs, especially where the fabric tore nearly up the hip.

  “You’re Jacob’s cohort.”

  “Was,” the woman said. “We stopped being associated when he tried to mind rape me and steal my body.”

  “Ivan has a knack for that,” Twenty-Seven said, sitting upright.

  “Yeah, I’m a bit late to the party.” The woman held
out her hand. “Lillian.”

  “Twenty-Seven.” The telltale strength of augmented muscles lifted her upright. Ariel always used the trick making it appear she was capable of lifting a car with a single hand. “Where are you running to?”

  “Battle’s that way, right?”

  Twenty-Seven nodded.

  “Then I’m going this way.”

  “Coward?”

  “Survivalist. I need to get away from here. Vanessa—”

  “Vanessa’s alive?”

  “Do all you freedom fighters hang out together? Is there a club?”

  “Yeah, actually. They call themselves Nighthawks.”

  Lillian's eyes went wide and terror crossed her face. Something about Dwayne’s band of superheroes struck a chord with her.. She started shaking her head, arms wrapping about her torso.

  “She saved me, before he…”

  “Before he what?”

  The woman’s frown spoke volumes. “Vanessa’s gone.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  2033

  “I’m too fat for this.” Conthan took a moment to catch his breath as he stepped off the ladder. Leaning against the far wall of the elevator shaft, he could see out of parted doors. Brown bomber jackets littered the pristine white of the floor. At any moment he expected one of the bodies to stir, the image of the Barren covered in blood still fresh in his mind.

  “Conthan, you okay?”

  Gretchen gave his shoulder a jostle. Her fuchsia lipstick caught his attention, breaking the traumatic hypnosis. After lightly smacking his face, she leaned in, her forehead touching his. “You’ve got this.”

  He responded with a slight nod. One moment the princess of punk was close enough he could count eyelashes, then she vanished from sight. The elevator door pushed open a bit more just as Skits jumped down the last four rungs of the ladder. Heat poured through the shaft as her hands started glowing a faint blue. She slid into the unknown room, leaving him and Dwayne to finish their descent.