onto the top of the shoulder, hands and feet finding purchase on the dull surface.
At the back of the robot’s neck, the access hatch is already open. I pause only to look for Elias, who is still frozen in the gaping hole where the window used to be. I descend without further delay.
It’s strange, but the metallic scent of warm circuits and electricity is welcome, as is the low hum to which I’ve grown so accustomed. I flip the toggle for the hatch and take a seat, surveying the instruments and controls.
They all seem to be in their normal array, bright but no longer blinking a maddening pattern of confusion. Once the hatch seals itself, the cockpit transforms into its Stage Beta form, Kinetic Drive and all.
I’m settled into my standing position when fear blindsides my mounting confidence. What if Worthington returns to unleash his hellish voltage upon me again? I’m convinced it was Worthington and not ADS02 who is responsible for this. In all its mystery, the machine has not only shown self-preservation but some strange allegiance to its pilot—me.
“Didn’t think I’d give up, did you?” the familiar arrogance of the Illuma Corp agent relays over the radio.
I scan the immediate vicinity to find the upper torso of ADS01 below me. The scarred asphalt reveals the robot dragged itself over to my position on strained arms, legs too damaged to walk. Now it’s grabbed hold of my left leg, trying to right itself.
“Let me have it!” the agent demands. One robot arm reaches up, clutching at the air.
I inject as much disgust as possible into my reply. “Have what?”
“Your machine!”
Jostling the controls, I can’t shake loose what’s left of the other robot. It hangs on with the determination of its rabid pilot.
Elias looks on from the hole punched in the side of the office building, yelling something. He’s shaking his fist as though to proclaim he’ll get even with us both.
I ignore him for now, turning back to the ragged machine at my feet. I kick; I swing an armored forearm. Nothing deters the battered, gray appendages from hanging on. “Don’t you get it?” I yell. “I’m not giving up!”
A flailing hand reaches up again; I bat it away. Twisting the grips on the upper control arms, I flex the hands of my robot in an attempt to grab hold of the crippled ADS01.
The other pilot maneuvers to avoid my reach and jerks my mechanical leg back and forth as if he’s trying to shake me out of a tree. “Come down here with me. We’ll see who gives up.”
My patience reaches its limit in a sub-second surge of rage boiling in my pores. I’m sick of the expressionless features of ADS01, worn thin by the quips of the other pilot.
Casting aside caution or any regard for whether I’ll topple, I reach down in a rushed, uncalculated response. I ignore the onscreen warnings that equilibrium is not optimal and push the control arms even further down.
The muted crunch of metal on metal vibrates through the cockpit like a faraway storm. Once more I twist the control grips with force and this time the searching hands of ADS02 find their target.
Holding ADS01 in place by a piece of ragged armor, I guide my free arm into its face with repeated blows.
It absorbs each until losing hold and falling away. Dust from smashed concrete billows out from beneath as it collapses into the ground.
I don’t halt my retaliation, stomping with unmeasured violence until the head of ADS01 disconnects from the body. When it raises a protesting arm, I take hold and wrench it back and forth, shearing it off at the already weakened joint.
Tossing the loose arm aside, I maneuver a step back and seethe in near silence, my rapid breathing the only reminder I haven’t become part of the robot. This doesn’t last as a blinking light on the map demands my attention.
Just outside Western Lights, the indicator labeled “ADS03” serves as a painful slap on the wrist for not paying closer attention. It’s clear the robot has
At the back of the robot’s neck, the access hatch is already open. I pause only to look for Elias, who is still frozen in the gaping hole where the window used to be. I descend without further delay.
It’s strange, but the metallic scent of warm circuits and electricity is welcome, as is the low hum to which I’ve grown so accustomed. I flip the toggle for the hatch and take a seat, surveying the instruments and controls.
They all seem to be in their normal array, bright but no longer blinking a maddening pattern of confusion. Once the hatch seals itself, the cockpit transforms into its Stage Beta form, Kinetic Drive and all.
I’m settled into my standing position when fear blindsides my mounting confidence. What if Worthington returns to unleash his hellish voltage upon me again? I’m convinced it was Worthington and not ADS02 who is responsible for this. In all its mystery, the machine has not only shown self-preservation but some strange allegiance to its pilot—me.
“Didn’t think I’d give up, did you?” the familiar arrogance of the Illuma Corp agent relays over the radio.
I scan the immediate vicinity to find the upper torso of ADS01 below me. The scarred asphalt reveals the robot dragged itself over to my position on strained arms, legs too damaged to walk. Now it’s grabbed hold of my left leg, trying to right itself.
“Let me have it!” the agent demands. One robot arm reaches up, clutching at the air.
I inject as much disgust as possible into my reply. “Have what?”
“Your machine!”
Jostling the controls, I can’t shake loose what’s left of the other robot. It hangs on with the determination of its rabid pilot.
Elias looks on from the hole punched in the side of the office building, yelling something. He’s shaking his fist as though to proclaim he’ll get even with us both.
I ignore him for now, turning back to the ragged machine at my feet. I kick; I swing an armored forearm. Nothing deters the battered, gray appendages from hanging on. “Don’t you get it?” I yell. “I’m not giving up!”
A flailing hand reaches up again; I bat it away. Twisting the grips on the upper control arms, I flex the hands of my robot in an attempt to grab hold of the crippled ADS01.
The other pilot maneuvers to avoid my reach and jerks my mechanical leg back and forth as if he’s trying to shake me out of a tree. “Come down here with me. We’ll see who gives up.”
My patience reaches its limit in a sub-second surge of rage boiling in my pores. I’m sick of the expressionless features of ADS01, worn thin by the quips of the other pilot.
Casting aside caution or any regard for whether I’ll topple, I reach down in a rushed, uncalculated response. I ignore the onscreen warnings that equilibrium is not optimal and push the control arms even further down.
The muted crunch of metal on metal vibrates through the cockpit like a faraway storm. Once more I twist the control grips with force and this time the searching hands of ADS02 find their target.
Holding ADS01 in place by a piece of ragged armor, I guide my free arm into its face with repeated blows.
It absorbs each until losing hold and falling away. Dust from smashed concrete billows out from beneath as it collapses into the ground.
I don’t halt my retaliation, stomping with unmeasured violence until the head of ADS01 disconnects from the body. When it raises a protesting arm, I take hold and wrench it back and forth, shearing it off at the already weakened joint.
Tossing the loose arm aside, I maneuver a step back and seethe in near silence, my rapid breathing the only reminder I haven’t become part of the robot. This doesn’t last as a blinking light on the map demands my attention.
Just outside Western Lights, the indicator labeled “ADS03” serves as a painful slap on the wrist for not paying closer attention. It’s clear the robot has
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