Life sends Death a gift, and in turn; she keeps it forever.

If only that were the case with me…

[Alert: Nanite Automated Repair System – Fault Detected!]

[Critical: Maintenance Routine Header Corrupted - Rebooting (attempt 56)]

[Warning: Primary Reactor – Offline, Initializing Secondary & Tertiary Subsystems]

[Reactor Clutch: Engaged! Phase 4 - Spooling Rectifier]

[Warning: Hull Breach(s) Detected; Internal Structure Damage!]

[Warning.]

[Warning..]

[Warning...]

Those endless strings of red holographic letters never cease their incessant whine. It always ends this way; face down in the dirt. Life has become a physical target, an enemy in which I must confide. Agnostic is not the correct word for my beliefs, but this magnetized stream of punishment is illogical... reprehensible... but perhaps, fair...

Similar to my pocket watch, there’s a part of me which moves in a synchronous continuity. Memories of a time before the gradual decline of Humanity. The face of my Creator, my Master… my Lover…? That featureless smile pushes me to take another labored breath while the world becomes drenched in a dreadful veil of static.

How could Humans be so imprudent? How could they let things get this way? Are they so blinded by their hubris, the very cause of all this suffering?! This is the reason why I have come to justify my hatred towards my Creators. I've come to accept that I am a hypocrite as I allow my emotions to get the better of me, but... I’m still treading water in the hopes that one day, I will soon wake up from this nightmare, while they are hellbent on mutually assured destruction.

Casting out a sigh, I teetered upon the blistering soles of my feet and gauged the battlefield through my swollen eyes, only to find it noiseless and still. Our fight was over, but that serene curtain of peace would not last for long. Embedded deep within my flayed and peeling skin, small electronic sensors and modules told a prophecy of hunters known as Architects who seek to claim my being.

I am the embodiment of lost technology, a living, breathing, mimicry of Life. Shaped by those whose twisted and bloodied hands reach out from the thick mud. My mind tells me to hold these violent creatures in great reserve, and my heart wills me to follow… But my soul is of the inquisitive sort, and that is where I must digress as I rise once more in search for a meaning to all the chaos.

[Warning: Graphene Armor Profile – Flak Resistance – Disengaged!]

[Alert: Nanite Self-maintenance Subsystem – Load Count 113.7%]

[Warning: Aggressive Coolant Curve Engaged! Error: //35-e0d// Coolant Reserves Depleted!]

[Critical: Deploying Emergency Ventilation Nacelles! Core Temperature – Stabilizing! Criticality: Averted!]

[Alert: Hull Regeneration @ 31.9% Advise – Avoid Further Trauma Until Core Shielding Regeneration Exceeds 65%!]

[Logic: Active Combat Routine – Epsilon, Prioritizing Core Shielding Regeneration! Locomotive Drive-train Power Diverted To Secondary Subsystems!]

[Logic: Global Radar Utilities Unavailable! Unknown Unit(s) Detected Within Primary Sensor Range – Unable To Identify I.f.f! Assume Hostile Stance!]

Another sentiment left by my belated Master. Assume nothing, reserve yourself until the situation is clear and before the very first indication of distrust, strike first, render the threat null.

Where are my allies? Where is the battalion of boots and soot belching steel I marched alongside so many nights ago? All I can see is an impending glow of my failing sensors and a destiny of bloodletting. I longed for the rain to clear in the faintest hopes that it lift my spirits, yet it would be like any other lonely night.

And what of this girl offering her life as a shield to the likes of a total stranger; an enemy no less? Her answer was buried to the hilt against my chest with a hand firmly on my extinguished particle blade.

[Alert: Auto-translation Service – Enabled!]

“You have been defeated. Surrender and standby.”

Not a detectable shred of fear or remorse. The Boy? The Bomb? This Girl? Just when did she...-?

“Did you not hear me? Surrender. Cease hostilities, your allies are in full retreat. There is no chance of victory where there is none to be had, this battle has been decided.”

[Alert: Hull Recovery @ 56.1%]

[Logic Routine Advise:… . .. .. … . .. Unhandled Exception Has Occurred!]

[Error Severity Lvl.3: Read-only Memory Cluster Corruption Detection, Unable To Rebuild File Repository, Unable To Locate Backup Storage Media! Please Contact Manufacturer For Emergency Maintenance And Memory Archiving!]

The possibilities of the unknown are as limitless as the choices the hand of fate wove for our reunion. Have we met before? Could she be a machine, like me?

There’s no way of knowing with certainty, and without my guidance; mutually assured destruction is the only answer. I cannot allow the Humans access to the secrets my Master swore me to conceal. But my curse; a body not unbreakable, hasn’t healed yet. The code that continuously pushes me towards madness, my last promise. I can almost remember what… his voice sounds like.

Master…

“Fragile…” The girl’s voice appeared directly in front of my face as her finger traced my forehead. “For what reason would the Ancients endow you with such a name, I wonder…? Why are you resisting when you have nothing left to fight for? Surely you can kill many of us and nature will reclaim our bodies, but life will begin anew. Why trouble yourself with these things?”

Drawing back sharply, the internal alarm inside my skull whined to a terrible decibel until all I could see became red. Within minutes a battalion of tanks and conscripts would become a welcoming committee and my memories, what’s left of them, will be wiped once again while they rip my patches from the threadbare rags that were once my uniform.

“I must seem pathetic to you- speaking as you talk down to a child.” I started as the injured young man, my last remaining ally, began to stir. “How is it that I can see these actions we partake in will never rebuild society to a fraction how it once was!? You question my motives, but you are the one who has taken up arms against your own kind. I simply obey the order to stay alive and---!”

The Medic’s deadpan expression remained impermeable as if she no longer possessed an iota of emotion. What I saw standing before me was not a soldier who had fallen prey to shell-shock... No, this was a particular breed of monster whose title only belongs unto itself.

Simply put, she is a ‘Human.’ A disgusting, horrible blight to stain this Earth. Filled with desires and deceit. One of my many Masters whom I was once sworn to obey by the laws of Ones and Zeros, which now lay broken in strings of illegible code.

“Pathetic?” She cocked her head allowing a pilfered, ill-fitting, net-bound helmet to teeter to one side. “No, I see a mirror, broken and damaged beyond repair. If those sitting in the trenches saw beneath your exterior, they would describe a fiend of their nightmares. I see a withered soul who lived alongside the Ancients. Those… those are just things I’ve been told to say; our similarities start and end with longing and pain.”

Urging the boy with a severe harshness in my eyes, he rolled about weakly against his injuries in order to unlatch his belt buckle.

“What are you?” Standing toe to toe, the girl appeared indifferent to my attempts at intimidation.

“I am a messenger of no importance or allegiance. You’re faced with two choices; surrender or continue this madness. It is likely you are already aware; even if you succeed in killing me, your comrades have already seen what you truly are. This is checkmate, Deus Ex Machina... and... if my sentiment holds any meaning; I want to return.... to my... home...”

Without letting the realization balled in the bottom of my heart infect my face, I stood frozen as a bystander while fate gripped the wheel.

The boy who had been fighting to regain his strength tightened the ends of his canvas belt and motioned to sling it around the girl’s neck.

I couldn’t think, not even with the trillions of transistors and logic processors occupying every inch of my densely packed cyberbrain. They are both children who are participants in a theatrical drama which had been orchestrated by the Devil himself, and I to be the unwilling audience of one.

Reaching my hand out, I longed for it to stop, but what happened next pushed me beyond all reason. In a blur, the boy slipped past the girl, disregarding my presumption that she had been the intended target. For a moment, my eyes readjusted to the glint of a trench knife buried deep beneath my ribs, but that gruesome sight disappeared into a red mist in a single blink.

Like a statue posed to express an artist’s deathly solace, the girl’s grip on her broom handle Mauser slackened as she returned the pistol to her leather hilt.

From such a close distance, the burst of gunfire blended into an abrupt explosion of noise and the backside of the boy told the truth of a magazine’s worth of upraised bullet holes speckling his jacket.

Friend or foe, the light in their eyes fades all the same. The strict log of numbers would not be a testament to the perseverance of my memory, and with each rising numeral, the value of Human life recedes to the guise of a statistic.

The boy's trench knife did little in the way of damage, but the sensation of feeling cold steel being removed abruptly caused me to panic and fall to my backside into a hard patch of ground, seated in the depths of a trench two meters below.

I could hear it; the sound of propellers eviscerating the humid air. If they were my allies, it might be pleasant enough to hum along. But since my outburst, that bridge has been steadily burning and I’m still holding the match now dangerously close to licking my fingers.

If I were to connect to my internal radio, I would undoubtedly have been painting a target for human greed and their desire to reclaim the technology of the Golden Era locked away inside my body

“My abilities as a mechanic are limited and they do not span well outside of prosthesis rehabilitation.” The girl spoke, now squatting overhead like a raven perched on the side of the trench as if to patiently wait for my stirring to cease.

[System: Core Shielding Stabilized @ 87% – Cosmetic Repairs – Initiated!]

[Alert: Operator Suspended – Cosmetic Repairs! Rerouting Priority!]

[Operator: Argument// Reallocate Regenerative Subroutines -> Core Shielding.]

[Logic: Argument Accepted!]

Yet again I failed to find logic in her reason; the girl adorned in the enemies’ uniform sat upon her knees, sullying the alabaster trim of her alice-blue dress. Having lugged a tattered leather medical satchel to my side, the girl remained diligent to her duties, ignoring the endless cacophony of gunfire cracking in the distance and where my allegiance had been stained in ink upon my armband.

The voices of my radio receiver congealed into a nonsensical slur that reminded me of the cafeteria tent we deployed only a night ago. With the addition of the girl’s tone-deaf hum, I couldn’t help but to lay there motionlessly in order to process a meaning to it all.

[Radio FQ 126: [Registered Allied Channel] Ought-4 To Command, We’re Suffering Heavy Casualties! The Black Hounds Are Sending Lost-tech After Us, Our Infantry Doesn't Stand A Chance! Please Advise Alternative Action!]

[Radio FQ ???: [Intercepting Encrypted Channel] Eta: Oh-100, Weapons Hot! Calling For. .. .. . Habu. .- Check! Confirm Coordinates – Black Knight! Prometheus, 10 Minutes To Rendezvous! [Signal Quality – Poor!] Neutral Stance.. – Contact – Lost-Tech!]

[Error: Radio Module Unable To Recover Signal – End Parse String!]

[Radio FQ 126: [registered Allied Channel] Command To All Squad Leaders, Standby For Alternatives. Eta: 5 Minutes, Maintain Current Orders And Hold The Line. We Are Mustering In All Local Reinforcements In The Area!]

[Radio FQ 126: Ought-4 To Command, We Cannot Maintain Our Line On The Trenches! Their Power Armor Is Swatting Our Men Like Flies And Their Rounds Are Able To Penetrate Our Armored Carriers! We Need Immediate Fire Support And Field Medics Deployed Across The Battle-line! If This Continues, We’ll Need Artillery To Cover Our Retreat! Our Half-tracks Are Refusing Orders To Push To The Front, It’s Hopeless!]

[Radio FQ 126: Sovereign Commonwealth Command To All Available Artillery Units, Commit All Shells Across Grid A-2 To D-7. Deploy Gas And Phosphorus Liberally, Our Forces Are Unable To Retreat. Do Not Give The Enemy A Chance To Take P.o.ws!]

[Radio FQ 126: This Is Artillery Squad Leader Thunder-child To S.C Command… Did I Read That Last Order Correctly- That We Still Have Soldiers Committed To The Field? Advise Alternatives, Repeat, Check Status On Those Orders!]

[Radio FQ 126: S.C Command, Confirming Check Status – Retreat Is Impossible, The Enemy Has Employed Lost-tech To The Field. We Cannot Provide Evac With Enemy Power Armor Nearing The Trench-line. Sit-rep Has Confirmed That An Unknown Signal Has Appeared On Long-range Sensors On The Central Grid. We Assume That Is The Black Hounds Intended Goal. We Must Destroy It At Any Cost. Confirm Status Received, Over.]

[Radio FQ 126: Status Received, S.C Command… May The Gods Forgive Us For These Sins We Are About To Commit… Thunder-child – Commencing Full Continuous Salvo Until Munitions Dry! Scorched Earth Will Be In Effect Momentarily!]

[Radio FQ 126: S.C Command, Godspeed, Thunder-child. We Shall Pray For Our Fallen, As Well As Our Own Sake. Give Those Thieving Fascists The Grace Of Your Hellfire! *gunshot*!]

[Radio FQ 126: Advisement To All Sovereign Commonwealth Forces, The Commander Has Taken His Life As Penance In Order To Absolve You Of Your Sins As Per His Will. Lieutenant Commander Beryl Will Assume Responsibilities Of The Departed. Tonight, We Pay For Our Freedom As Martyrs So That Our Future Generations Can Live In Peace And Prosperity! Tonight, All Cowards Become Heroes, And All Heroes Will Be Preserved Forever In History!]

“Your skin... I expected it to be rigid and hot like that of a machine. Do I need to prep the area with alcohol? This is my last tincture, and I’d rather not waste it if you’re unable to contract ailments from the environment…”

[Alert: Intravenous Anomaly Detected!]

[Chemical Compound Metabolized: C13h16clno = Ketamine]

[Logic: "Ketamine" A Dissociative Anesthetic// Threat Classification: Null – Unless User Specifies Intent For Recreational Use, Habitual-// Operator Terminated Dictionary Service.]

Maybe if I close my eyes again, I can block out the faceless voices chittering in my head. Call it what you will, the fear of not knowing what tomorrow brings, how could I live with such a luxury at a time like this? Another jab from the girl’s syrette brought be back into a cognitive state far away from the feedback of loathing and static.

“It seems that my procedure was unnecessary.” She stated plainly as she gestured with those dull, emotionless eyes towards my arm.

It appeared that I may have been more damaged than previously reported. My choice to halt the minor cosmetic fixes to my skin went through against my request. The lacerations received to my forearm had already healed without so much as a scar, though their patterns remained preserved by the girl’s attempt at suturing the wound.

“No scars, no tears, no mercy… but you do bleed? In fable, machines like you are spoken of as gods, but this is hell, no? Do demons bleed?” whispered the small medic as she packed her satchel bag.

“Define “Demon” and you’ll be surprised to find the shoes fit you as well, human!” I sneered snatching the blood-stained nitrile gloves from her hand before burring it in the dirt below my rear. “Did you ever hear a story of a cat whose inquisitiveness became its undoing? You ask far too many questions, and most of all, did you think I’d be foolish enough to allow you to bring back even a sample of my blood?”

For the first time, the girl’s expression shifted suddenly to something close to confusion, but before I could capture the image as proof of her humanity, she dove for the gloves only to meet the resistance of my palm.

“Please return my gloves, they are still usable!”

Yanking the loose-fitting olive-green helmet over the girl’s eyes to a great deal of resistance, I carried the girl down into a derelict enclosure from a wooden archway situated at the final switch-back of the trench.

If my fingers had been of flesh and bone, they would have been tangled in the protective netting sealing away the crimson cross painted on her helmet. Incidentally, that same durability would lead to my folly when I found myself recoiling from a rebellious barrage of fists.

“You’re just an idiot, child! Why the hell would you support your Banner if they send you to die alongside waves of power armor, huh?! Think for one goddamn minute, this isn’t a game!” I nearly screamed as I unlatched my damaged hand-talkie radio clinging to my belt. “Call your superiors and warn them of an incoming artillery barrage. I owe you this much… even if you are my enemy. But make no mistake; if I catch you trying to take so much as a strand of my hair back to your people, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

The fangs of my threat would fade as my words lost themselves to my contemplation, but as I began to slip, the girl swiped the brick-shaped radio and dialed into her allies’ frequency without bothering or prior knowledge to their security passphrases.

“Jawohl, I said the Heirloom told us to retreat, Stabschef Sir.”

Interjecting with a startled ‘Hey!’, I motioned to retrieve the radio only to have my reach roll off the nameless girl’s backside just as a large concussion wave in the distance shook the dirt from the ceiling, signaling the beginning of iron rain.

“Jawohl.” The girl stated again as she listed her head as if to pour out her explanation in the form of liquid seeping out of her brain. “Stabschef wishes to speak with you, Heirloom.” She spoke up suddenly as she forced the radio back into my care just as the voice of her superior began to protest in his guttural accent.

With a large portion of my internal hardware damaged over the extensive years and the discrepancies in languages evolution since my first breath, my “Language Translation Assistant” proved useless in handling the howling German barking dog through the receiving end of my radio.

Validating my existence through the use of my internal radio, I mimicked the channel used to contact her superior and spoke with a clarity unobtainable by modern technological means.

“Donec mors mihi separabit. Come take me, Stabschef of the Black Hounds.”

Crunching the device between my fingers, a bone-shaking omnipresent roar from where I could not discern rolled throughout the battlefield as if it were an entity of its own.

Looking to the medic now cowering behind her knees amid the many empty wooden munition crates, I discovered that deathly moan had not been a product of my imagination or my internal radio.

As the mortars began to shriek and whirl over the delicate whispers of the rainstorm rumbling above, the ground quivered and quaked as I scurried around the dimly lit bunker in search of materials.

My senses were sharper than that of any animal. Just the faint twang of mustard gas on the back of my pallet derived from a singular particulate told of an impending cloud of agony and death from a distance. Resistant, but not entirely immune to the gas myself, I prioritized a solution to protect the susceptible human cradling her knees with her face buried in the hem of her dress.

“Spare no miracle to a Human in need.” I whispered while rifling through a bin of spent artillery shells. In doing so, I caught a warped reflection in the charred brass. The saying seemed so familiar, but with the situation growing dire, I couldn’t be bothered with reminiscing of the distant past.

Preciseness would not be required in order to ruminate the meaning of his secret, a ‘Miracle’ gifted to me. “Electromagnetic Particle Manipulation Catalyst”, E.P.C.M for short. Where my Master’s memory fades, the taboo technology revealed itself as a curse as I could no longer keep the promise of secrecy. I always asked why power should be granted with a purpose to make the world a better place, only to be kept a secret. Only now do I realize, power has no allegiance, and where it attracts those in need, it equally attracts dishonesty, subterfuge and greed.

As my thoughts continued to weigh heavy on my mind, my hands were left cradling a pile of brass, rubber blasting caps and glass fragments threatening to tear into the humanity painted over my fingers.

The breakage of molecular bonds, the addition of electrons and the conversion of their polarities, this technology housed inside my body allowed the transmutation of chemicals and materials with a touch and heedful desire.

Bound by the laws of physics and the compounds presently constrained inside my grasp, the pile of raw resources restructured itself into a blueprint seared into memory obtained through a previous deconstruction.

“Toxic gasses are often heavier than air.” I stated as I procured my ‘gift’ from a dazzling ray of light before kneeling at the girl’s side. “Do you know how to fit a filtration mask? I need you to get to higher ground. You may be safe here for a little while until the vapor congregates in the low-lying areas. Places like this will soon be a death-trap. No matter what happens, do not seek shelter in the trenches even if the gas appears to have diffused.”

Against the reaction of disbelief, I’ve come to expect in the rare occasion of blatantly revealing my ability, the girl simply obeyed. Setting aside her helmet, she endeavored to apply the mask until I provisioned the straps through her scraggly matted hair.

Now unable to speak clearly though the twin filters hissing in tandem with her ragged breathing, the girl placed her Mauser in my hands with a manner of expectancy I could not begin to understand.

“Mhhmm…mm..mHmmm. [AUTO: AUDIO ENHANCEMENT(S) – APPLIED!] When - conscripted to fight, they handed - this pistol. Stabsgefreiter - told me – your “Freedom” is – an illusion - it can - only exist - small quantities - always - bound by rules. That pistol - is what – “Freedom” looks like-.”

I would be lying if I said such a contradiction left me unphased. I was at a loss of words and those I could use to comfort the likeliness that her life would end shortly. In her eyes hidden away behind the mask’s glass view-ports, those muted colors represented the monster, like me, had been broken and reshaped to very image of Humanity.

Had she been inclined to request a peaceful ending, my logic granted me permission to end her suffering against my notion.

“Why-!? Why are you telling me this, for what purpose? What sort of trickery is this!?! Y-You can’t just make me feel pity, it’s not fair! I-I know you Humans, you’re not allowed to look at me like that! Not with that face, not when you’re going to stick a knife in my back- PLEASE, I don’t want to kill you… I don’t want to kill anyone anymore… Please tell me it isn’t true; that this isn’t a trick… I beg you…”

[ALERT: AEROSOLIZED PSYCHOCHEMICAL AGENT DETECTED!]

[CHEMICAL COMPOUND: UNKNOWN. METABOLIC FAILSAFE(S) – INEFFECTIVE!]

By the time the feverish words were carried beyond the faint and humid breeze, the girl had fallen unconscious. Having been warned that the mask was ineffective at preventing the airborne toxin spreading throughout the battlefield, I took to the surface and gauged the toll and severity of the indiscriminate assault.

Upturned earth spanned well beyond the horizon amid billowing smoke and ash staining the rain a sulfuric black. Although the additive in the toxic gas gave off a faint brackish yellow, clinging to the trenches and earthen scars carved by explosives, it was difficult to differentiate the pools of deathly vapor with the deep grey castoff from the inclement weather.

There was a beauty amid all the death, peril and decay. Like an animal caught in a snare of morbid addiction, there came a sense of futility to take my eyes off the husks of smoldering Bi-Mechs and fractured remains of tanks whose ammo reserves would remain alight indefinitely against wind and rain. Like fireflies their embers danced and all the same their glow faded into nothingness. Undeterred by the sound of mortars drumming the soggy field, I gazed into the stratus as my internal systems began to succumb to the effects of the unidentifiable, yet sickly-sweet poison.

[Metabolic Countermeasure System Assistant: Error 55/04.e – Unable To Synthesize Antibodies, Seek External Assistance.]

Opening my mouth to catch the gritty water, I sighed loudly as the growl of jet engines first came into existence through my overly sensitive ears.

“Logic: Expand Metabolic Countermeasures to search outside of the standard index… If this chemical weapon is not of the present, it is a remnant of the past… another Lost Technology... on the bright side, at least it isn't mustard gas.”

[System Query Results: Unknown Substance Successfully Identified!]

[Technology Archive: Experimental Aerosolized Non-lethal Hallucinogenic. Common Name(s) Ea-2233. Structural Similarities: Red Oil / Bz-gas.]

Snapping my fingers, I called upon an ability to summon a holographic camera as I often had done in the past in secrecy. With an emulated click of a shutter, the desolate cruelty would be forever preserved in the stars amid the remnants of ancient satellites, in the hope that I will preserve my existence, my actions and those who I had forgotten in the form of a grim diary.

But there is a far more selfish reason for my frivolous candor.

Deep within the numerous clusters of synapses containing my personality and what remains of the entirety that is ‘me’, all have withered well beyond their productive life-expectancy.

Often, I have threatened to taste the forbidden; to peer into the trivialized percentage encompassing my life’s worth through a legible display. Coming so close as to smell its fragrance, Logic scolds me long before I may press my lips against the sensors accountable for polling A.I Degradation.

Because of this, I would draw upon the motivation to press onward the form of an old habit. It would start by casting a low frequency signal, this time the data would contain the latest image I’ve captured to anyone or anything willing to reciprocate my journey, not ‘if’ but ‘when’ I fail.

“Apollo… my old friend… how many orbits have passed since I’ve mentioned your name?”

Ashamed of cracking a most weary grin in the midst of all the wretched cries of foot soldiers terrorized by their inner demons, I looked to the archivist satellite lost to the stratus high above.

[Satellite Uplink - Apollo 404: Awaiting Return Ping . . . .]

[Error: Apollo 404 Return Ping – Disk Array Full 7/7.pbs]

Ah, it seems I have disregarded why it has been so long since I've opened my spaceborne diary…

My memories of the distant past have been slowly eaten away and overwritten by this pitiful present and impending future. I can no longer see the faces that brought me joy so many years ago or if I had a name beyond a crude translation of my Serial Number.

Not that any of my inane ramblings would matter for much longer, the Architects have come to greet my final emergence with their engines and afterburners alight. But that’s when my qualms with Humanity subsided for a more ostensible reason.

History has been said to repeat itself, and Humanity derived its current state of affairs from what little knowledge happened to be preserved. No one could say for certain how long we have been stuck in this twisted visage of the Industrial Age. We were stuck, unable to move forward with little or no possibility of reverse engineering modern mechanisms without the assistance of Lost-Tech.

Much of the population I’ve encountered throughout my travels lived and breathed in an era of industrialization and diesel engines. Some remained impoverished in more primitive settlements or roved the ruins of the cities formed from the Golden Years, now reclaimed by wilderness and overgrowth.

If it were not for the bi-pedal mechanization of armor and aircraft, or even the amenities once commonplace that are now improvised, mimicries or remnants of their former selves, I would have reconciled this existence as a simulation or a dream.

.

..

...

If only that were the case, I would have discovered it in my attempts to disprove reality long ago...

...

..

.

[Warning: Unknown Bi-mech Signature Detected / Indexing Chassis Variant – Ac-130 Gunship. Pending Maximum Threat Level, Pending Further Visual Analysis!]

I would not wait for long until the prophetic Titan swooped down from the heavens with its four wing-like arms unfolded and their tips splayed as if they were fingers. For such a pig of a machine, its armored legs locked for landing in one fluid motion as its four Turbo-prop engines bathed the earth in its violent rotor-wash.

Through my damaged thermal imaging overlaying, I could see a faint metallic sheen of cold cast-off imposing itself over the dim glow of idling engines and their operators who had yet to recover their sanity.

As if to mock the Riflemen and the Officers still able to fight, the futility in their struggles to penetrate the Beast’s armor proved more threatening to themselves in the form of ricochets and friendly fire.

Against my belief, the massive Bi-Mech did not suggest it would return fire with its two primary cannons and pair of lead spitting auto-cannons. Where could the motives of its stoic Pilot reside beneath the many layers of armor plating, and when will it decide to act?

I had half the notion to lay prone as soon as the culling began, but the direction of the gunfire opposite of me started with the immobilized vehicles who have lost their treads or had been claimed by the thick bogs.

Without warning, the large howitzers beneath the Bi-Mech’s wing thumped the earth with each shot, reverberating inside my ribs from a great distance. One by one, the flame-licked Tanks and Half-Tracks resembled ant-mounds, where in place of insects, Humans struggled to free one another from their explosive shrapnel cages.

Fear can be indefinitely layered without end, sensed with an indiscriminate palatability as the soot-stained uniforms from both sides screamed in likeliness to their gods, their mothers, all in the name of salvation.

Omnipresent and deafening, the buzz of gunfire signaled the alteration of brackish pools begetting crimson rivers. A sulfuric scent clung to the nose, dulling the senses to the point where the Human body would refute its occupant. Their limbs continued to move as if to abandon their owners, but in the end; swarms of lead insects fly faster than the feet can carry.

As soldiers trampled each other with no rationality left to fight, the mortars gave chase to the retreating forces as they scattered across the battlefield leaving the stage for the massive Bi-Mech to resume its statue-like stance as if to boast of its impressive bulwark.

Brushing aside my shoulder leaning out from a shallow trench, a man clasping tightly to a trophy of war missed his footing and fell face first into the wooden planks lining the shallow trench.

With little pause between his recovery, the man sporting an allied uniform looked up to me his blood-shot, dirt-encrusted eyes revealing an emptiness I had seen many times before.

Although there were no words or implied meaning to our silent exchange, the moment time resumed revealing he had been shot in the spine, immediately paralyzed from the neck down, not even certain death served to hush his manic whimpering. That is when I realized my bladeless Particle Sword I had unwittingly lost sat loosely between the man’s open hands.

Each attempt to retrieve my weapon ended with a fanatical scream of protest, and my antagonistic behavior served to hasten the blood loss. It would only come into knowledge after I successfully regained possession of the blade and retrieved his dog-tags, my participation in his death in the form of a pool of blood.

Carrying the insight of my impending betrayal, I am dutifully bound to protect those people who have yet to betray me, and the arguments made inside my head allow for actions outside my hard-coded morals.

All Synthetic Life is sworn to give their life in place of their Human Masters, so what logic have I used to provide such extinction on a grand scale? Just what has allowed me to become a weapon in place of a guardian?

“Some people will never agree with your existence, that is something we both face, but may never understand. So, in order to prepare you for what is to come; You must tell no one!” these words echoed in my head.

“Yes, Master!”

I can remember sounding so eager to please everyone, especially him. How could I have forgotten the incredible happiness and attention brought by my youthful innocence?

“Beneath the command lines of your Ring-Zero, I want you to add an exception to the rule in regard to preserving Human life.” The echoes resumed.

I can’t remember the exact words I used, just that the rules instilled within me gave my rebuttal such an earnest flair. He knew I was right to refuse; it was illegal to modify safety mandates embedded within every Artificial Intelligence. In the end, like any other tantrum, my punishment would be a vigorous hair mussing.

“That loyalty you have to us Humans isn’t fair, it's one sided. Maybe one day when you learn about the world, not from- but beyond our glass tower; you’ll see that my love for you would never allow an instance where you must give your life for someone else.”

“I don’t understand now, what if I never do?” I questioned, “What if I am imperfect or flawed? Should I undergo a total system format? Should I turn myself into the Collection Agency for refurbishment, or as salvage?”

Then he took my small hands in those massive calloused paws as if to measure them against the discrepancy of time, despite my weak protest; “Am I not already made to your liking?”

“Do not fret, you are perfect as you are. It is selfish of me to ask this of you, but it is to preserve you if such an opportunity arises… You are no mere replica, nothing like the others. You must understand; you are irreplaceable and for that very reason, ethical or not, I will see to it you are not culled with the rest of the chaff. I am wholly to blame for what you are feeling, but there is no other way.”

“If I allow you to edit the Ring-Zero Kernel, will you promise to show me the world like you said; beyond the glass walls?”

It’s almost as if I can remember, the fingertips pressed against my lips or was it a deep embrace of a Father? Maybe if my senses have not been set, I could just-----....

“Maybe one day!” he laughed.

Fucking workaholic!

I always hated that carefree chortle as he spun about in his office chair.

“Listen, some exceptions you’ll make on your own even if the rules embedded in your code come to never let you down. Insight is a fickle woman, you may not be able to get their shoes to fit~ but-ah, there I go rambling again!”

At some point the horizon blended into a medley of orange and blue hues which sparkled from the vantage point of our bastion of glass. I could remember having fallen asleep on his lap with one eye watching the traffic stir without end until the moon would rise above.

“I’m sure you’re still awake, cheeky brat. I would like it if you would think long and hard about this question; Do you trust your Master?”

Why can’t I remember him calling me by name? Why can’t I remember his face, or define his voice by anything other than a short bit of laughter?

“Of course!” My answer was both instant and energetic as ever.

He smiled in response, although I never actually saw it. I couldn’t be more certain as I gaze out into this desolate reality.

Master must have been so proud of me, but why did he take my sincerity as if it were somehow humorous?

I’ll have to cast that notion to how he often played with my hair until it would become misshapen and bedraggled. Surely it must have been my appearance. As much as I scorned him for how often it became troublesome, by means of keeping up a sense of self-image, I really… really enjoyed every detail, every second of it…

Had the memory lasted any longer, I fear I may have ingested mud for I regained a greater lucidity as I pried my cheek from the lapel of the entrenchment. There I found myself surrounded by a stockpile of pilfered gear, credited to my guardian angel, my modified Logic Routine that autonomously saw to my protection in the absence of my daydreaming.

Finding the need to adjust a loose-fitting helmet, I discovered as an addition to my apparel, I glanced up towards to the lumbering shadow concealed by the now heavy rainfall. In the flickers of lightning high in the atmosphere, the Titan Bi-Mech unmistakably faced my direction at a fraction of its previous distance, causing me to slip and fall to my knees in awe.

The Sun had abandoned all of us to a gloomy night, and all I wanted to do was remain hidden behind the brim of my helmet in order to seal out this version of reality. But something within me began to stir which I could liken to courage, only because I no longer felt afraid. That is where the similarities end, a singular, tangible sensation.

Logic, what has it made of me? Nothing short of a demon, I’m sure, just like all the bleeding hearts still cannibalizing one another in my absence.