Bitstream

7.9

Rhythm of Rhythm reaches for the generator hose attached to the side of the sonal cube, and we open fire. Bullets slice through the air and tear towards him in a tight arc, but he moves fast, flicking that metallic coat forward. The rounds hit, clatter, spark, and vanish. The coat doesn't tear. Doesn't even ripple.

Shit. It's protected.

He glides away, boot-jets whining beneath the rising crescendo of his soundtrack, slipping behind a scrap bank. The cube jerks with him, and a moment later, he yanks it again. The beat shifts. No longer background noise. Now it's everything. A pounding metronome that drills into my skull, swallowing the world until sound is all there is, and my vision swims again. Red ones and zeroes flood the edges, that same code that greeted me when I first came back to life, that same abstract static Cierus uses to read the world, but it's not as bad as before. Not down here. Not from this distance.

Maybe it's because…. Yes, the signal is proximity-based. The closer you are to the cube, the harder it scrambles your head. But with distance, it fades, weakens, maybe even stops.

I raise my voice against the noise, fighting to keep balanced, but with the distortion it's proving rather difficult. "Spread out," I yell. "I—we need to draw him out and hit him from a distance."

"Where's Vander?" Fingers shouts, her pulse rifle flaring as she backs towards a cluster of cars, slipping once, catching herself with her free hand, still firing.

I swing around, scanning the debris—splintered gantry, shattered platforms, the twisted steel guts of the Clawfather raining down in smouldering chunks—but before I can call out, something slams into me. Hard. I stumble, and then I'm yanked off balance completely.

Cormac.

His arm sweeps across my chest and drags me down just as a blast of blue energy scorches through the air where my head had been a second ago. The force of it rattles the scrap heap behind me, sends sparks spitting off nearby metal. I hit the ground, shoulder first, just in time to see Rhythm of Rhythm perched atop one of the Clawfather's claw housings, half-shrouded by smoke. His coat billows behind him, and the cube by his side glows red.

It must be on cooldown.

Cormac retracts his arm and pulls me behind cover. He crouches beside me, one hand still on my shoulder, eyes calm in that unsettling way of his, as if bullets and death and deafening sound were just background noise on a lazy afternoon. "Pay attention, Ms. Mono," he says, his voice almost cheerful. "And aim, if you will… for the device."

If only it were that simple. The truth is I can't get a good shot, not with him behind that much cover. But he can't keep it hidden forever. That cube, the way it scrambles us, shuts us down: he has to expose it to get full signal range. And when he does, even for a second, he'll be at least vulnerable.

"Vander, where are you, mate?" Dance's voice comes through the Cloud Room in a garbled mess of static, so crushed I almost miss the telltale 'mate' that marks it as his.

No reply. Just white noise.

"Fantastic," Dance says. "Music Guy's wrecked the line. Who decided to give braindance dookies this kind of tech?"

"Listen!" I shout. "His cube needs a clear line to disrupt us. It's on a cooldown. When it flares again, he'll have to pull it into the open. That's when we hit him: either the cube or anywhere not covered by that coat."

"Yeah, because he's definitely going to fall for that," Dance says. "Not bein' funny mate, but I think a guy with boots like that knows how to protect himself. We need to force him out. Can't you hack the bastard? Come on, Mono. Balls to the waaaaall—"

"Not from here," I snap. "He's out of range. But maybe…"

My optics flick to the claw he's hiding behind. It's massive, thick enough to stop anything smaller than a missile, but it's old tech. Wired in. Maybe still active. I run a quick-scan, and… yes, the claw housing is indeed still active. Interface is available, too. I punch in the 'Manual Override' command. A control grid blossoms in my visor: pivot angles, grip strength, piston pressure. I select 'Right.'

The Clawfather's claw groans awake, dragging its shell across the belly. Rhythm of Rhythm adjusts his aim, trying to track us while keeping the cube safe. But it's no use. The claw shifts again, and for a fraction of a second, he's fully exposed.

Bang.

Fingers fires.

A streak of blue cuts through the junk-smog. It slams into Rhythm of Rhythm's side, hard enough to send him spiralling down through the air, coat flapping uselessly, jet boots hiccupping to keep him stable. He drops, off-balance, and I don't wait: I step out from cover and bring up my spoofer again. Lock onto his tag, run a scan.

'Short-circuit' primed.

This is it.

But then I hear something else.

Not music.

Something fast.

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh—

"Move!" Cormac roars.

I look down. A white blur tears towards me, the sound rising to a scream. My heart spikes. Everything slows. I see the blade spinning, curved, glinting red where the scrap-fog catches its edge.

I throw myself back—

Whoosh.

It passes just in front of my face, close enough to tickle the skin with the rush of air, close enough that I feel it steal the breath from my lungs as it misses me by inches.

I roll, dirt and splinters grinding into my side, and the blur halts a few paces away, stabilising now, slowing, until it takes shape. And the shape is unmistakable.

It's her.

Cierus.

"You righteous little bitch." Her spine flexes, shoulders twitching as if the joints are under too much pressure, and they very well might be with all that tech. She lifts her head and I see her clearly now: the obsidian visor, the white tank top and military jeans, those twin mantisblades gleaming with red circuitry as they fold into attack stance. "You steal from my vault. Hack my men. Kill my men…"

And before I can speak, breathe, move, she's gone again, flashing forward in that impossible phantom speed, skipping low like a travelling stone with death on its breath, and she leaps.

But Cormac is already moving, his long, silver snake of an arm snapping out and slamming into her chest. The sound is unreal: bone on steel on wet meat. She rockets up into the air and comes crashing down in a heap of thrashing limbs.

"Oh, how wonderful it is!" Cormac bellows, grinning as he retracts his arm, dragging himself forward.

Up above, Fingers pivots from her perch atop a leaning tower of scrap and takes aim. Her rifle charges with a high whine, then fires. The blue streak tears, but it's too late.

Cierus is gone again.

Zap.

Fingers screams, flails, then tumbles down the tower, bouncing. One bounce, two, then she hits hard and doesn't move. Her limbs fly in that horrible, wrong way, like electricity is arguing with her nerves. She's breathing, but only barely.

The bitch short-circuited her!

Then I feel it: a signature ping in my HUD. Through my spoofer I watch the line form, a digital tether drawn between my I.D. and Cierus'.

She's targeting me next.

I try to bring up Data Blocker, but I'm too slow, I'm—

Gone.

The line disappears before I can even react. Cut clean.

And from the wreckage steps Dance, ash and soot in his hair, brickie lit. His eyes squint, and his voice is about as dry as the dirt under our boots.

"Oh, not so fast, mate," he says, tapping something on his brickie. Must be one of the upgrades. "'Scuuuuuse the fuckin' pun, but I think you're one right little bitch yourself."

He... blocked it?

Cierus scowls as she glances back at the Clawfather, where Rhythm of Rhythm still hasn't moved. His metallic coat is torn along one side, and his chest heaves. I raise my pistol, line up the shot on Cierus, and fire. Miss. Fire again. She sidesteps it. Again. Another blur. She keeps moving, closer to him.

I squeeze the trigger one last time and get nothing but a hollow click. Empty.

And I have no ammo left.

Cierus turns her head back, locking eyes with me for just a moment. Then, without a word, she kneels beside Rhythm of Rhythm, reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a syringe filled with something red. She presses it into his neck and thumbs the plunger. His body jerks, spasms, and then he begins to rise. Slow, unsteady, his mask now streaked with blood. It slips down the mesh under his chin. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"You know, Rhea," Cierus says, wiping her hand off her tank top, "I really did think you had something, but you never knew when to walk away. Like father like daughter, eh?" She chuckles. "Even if you did survive this, even if you did get your memory back, you'd wish you'd stayed there buried beneath the piss and shit of N.A.'s bridge. That little chip you're so desperate to keep is not a treasure. It's a weight, and it's going to be waaaaay too heavy for you to carry, sweetheart."

I activate my blade with a wet snap. The steel hums at my side. "There's a reason you tried to erase me, because you were scared. Isn't that right?"

She cocks an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? Of you?"

"You tried to erase my memory, but that wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to kill me, too. Why not just kill me and leave me to rot? Why waste the energy...? Heh, it was this, wasn't it? You were afraid I'd come back to life, show up at your doorstep like the reaper himself."

"You don't understand a single thing," she says, her voice dipping into a mockery of sweetness. "You just haven't realised it yet."

I raise my blade. "I've realised plenty. I realised you took my fucking life, and I'm not here to reason anymore. You're just another tyrant who's run out of time. You think God can't touch you because you spent all your time and money building a wall around yourself. Well guess what? God's here." I tighten my fist. "And this time, he brought a fucking blade."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Cierus tilts her head, her smile fading. She spreads her arms. "Then come and cut me, Little Spark."

"That's it," Dance says, tapping his foot erratically. "I'm itchin' for a brawl, mate. Oooooh, I'm gonna wreck your whole fuckin' week."

Cierus lets out a dry, breathy laugh. "Right," she says. "Enough messing around then. Have it your way." She raises her hand, pressing something along the edge of her visor. Not a dramatic gesture, not a threat, but an input. Instinct kicks in, and I bring up my Data Blocker, expecting the usual cascade of quick-hack tracer lines to fan out across the battlefield, but nothing comes. No data surge, no pulse. Just white sputtering to red across her visor, like a lightbulb begging to die but too stubborn to quit. Silence stretches. Fingers hauls herself up from the dirt and broken tech, leaning heavy on the pulse rifle, but the tremble in her grip says she won't be lifting it again anytime soon. Cormac stands tall, unfazed, his metal fingers steepled as always, still wearing that maddening, jolly smile as if none of this surprises him in the least. Dance is tapping one boot on the ground, wound tight and ready to explode, eyes darting, full of strange energy. And Vander… still nowhere. Not a word, not a sign, and a hole opens in my chest at that. Because whatever's about to happen, we're not together. He could be dead, or worse...

I hear it: that hiss, low and wet and full of all things evil.

Sissssssss.

We step back in near unison as four hulking metal snakes crest the scrap wall. Their weight tears the structure apart as they spill over. The ground jumps. Their heads rear high into the air, and every one of those black eyes locks on to our position with cold, reptilian intelligence. They stare, not moving yet, not pouncing. Just… staring.

I activate my spoofer again and flick through my suite of hacks, desperate to find something, anything, that'll give us a fighting chance. Gossamur Sig is still active, still displaying the tags I had changed before. But when I scan Cierus, my heart drops. The identifier hasn't changed to anything that would whitelist her from the snakes and blacklist us. CIR-732. Just as it was

"What?" My voice comes out hoarse.

Cierus hears me. She always hears. "Oh, that little trick?" she says, her tone sharp and bitter. "I admit, it was clever. Didn't expect that out of you." She starts pacing, and the snakes behind her stop, waiting. Her visor flickers, no longer pulsing red, but burning blue. Bright and clear, the colour of command. The colour of Manual Override.

"This isn't possible," I say. "You… you can't control them all at once."

"I can now," Cierus replies coldly. "You really don't understand what you're dealing with. I don't need to be near something to own it. I just need the key. And unfortunately for you, I built the fucking locks."

I don't know how she's controlling all four—her processor speed, her relay frequency, whatever the hell she's packing—it's not something I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot. I don't know. And I don't have the time to know. I'm scared. Really, deeply, truly scared.

Cierus raises her arm and points.

She says nothing.

And the snakes move.

Not one, not two—all four. Smooth, coordinated, fast. The kind of fast that ends lives.

"Crikies!" Dance squeaks, voice cracking. He grabs at his brickie, as if it might magically open a portal and let him escape to the Outback.

I try again to hack the snakes. Try my spoofer, quick-hacks, even a basic override, but they're all greyed out, the ICE signature glowing heavy, locked, unbreakable. No access. No chance.

Shit.

The snakes slither closer, parting the scrap metal, eyes trained on us with singular intent. My feet refuse to move, my hand shakes, and there's another sound now: not the hiss, not the engines, but something else. Something older, deeper. I don't know if it's a growl or my brain cracking under the weight of what's coming.

Dance glances at me. "Just had to attack the lady, didn'tcha mate?"

And then the ground begins to shake.

And the snakes stop.

"What is that?" Cierus shouts, her voice cracking. Not with rage, but with something worse. Fear.

And then I hear it fully now: not from below, not from the ground, but above, from somewhere in the smog-choked heavens, something huge, something coming. I crane my neck, blinking, and just as the sound peaks into a howl, something monstrous drops from the sky like the hand of a furious god.

SLAM!

The impact knocks us all back. I hit the scrap behind me and roll, choking on the sudden blizzard of dust kicked up by the force. Everything goes white. For a few seconds, all I can hear is a high, sharp ringing, as if my ears are packed full of shattered glass and electricity. I cough and spit and wipe my face, and slowly, slowly, the dust begins to clear.

And there it is.

Appearing through the parting haze is the Clawfather: that ancient, lumbering machine. In its monstrous grip, clamped so tight the metal groans, is one of Cierus' snakes. Screaming. If a machine could scream, this is what it would sound like: a squeal that cuts the blood, high, full of slither and terror and white-hot death. The snake thrashes, its segmented body twisting in the claw like it's trying to escape its own skin, but there's no way out, not this time, not anymore.

The Clawfather lifts it higher, and just when it reaches full extension…

CRACK!

The claw clenches down and the snake's body explodes, a rain of shredded armour and thick black fluid falling in ropes across the junkyard, spattering the rust, pooling in cracks, coating Cierus' boots.

Silence.

Then, from the top of the Clawfather, backlit by the storm clouds and flickering sparks from the broken gantry rail, Vander pokes his head out of the cockpit window, wearing the grin of a man who's waited half a lifetime for this one moment.

A sound crackles across the junkyard, loud, echoing, playing from some distant telecom or megaphone, and it doesn't take a genius to realise who's speaking:

"Rert," Vander says, his voice reverberating. "So much for 'indestructible'."

Without hesitation, he jams the lever forward again, and the Clawfather's claw slams down, striking another snake dead-on and crunching through its plating. The snake squeals, a sound that's more mechanical than biological, but still filled with something unmistakably alive, and once again it's hoisted skyward before the claw clamps down hard and folds it like a steel pretzel before tossing the remains aside in a splash of oil and sparks.

"Oh Vander, you sweet, sweet bastard!" Dance shouts, practically foaming with glee.

"Kill him!" Cierus screeches, pointing with all the authority of a queen whose kingdom is burning. Rhythm of Rhythm, blood still trailing from his mask, snaps his rifle into place and kicks off the junkyard floor, jetting into the air towards the Clawfather's upper rig.

I reach into my suit pocket, find the MX-inhaler Dance gave me, and toss it towards Fingers. She fumbles the catch, scrapes it up from the filth, slams it into her mouth, and just like that, she's back on her feet, wild-eyed and breathing hard, already turning to keep Rhythm of Rhythm busy as he streaks through the air.

"Keep him busy," I say. "Cormac. Dance. Let's kill this bitch once and for all."

"Right behind ya," Dance says, grin wide and boots already moving.

"And I, Ms. Mono," adds Cormac, the polite snake that he is.

As the Clawfather brings its claw down for a third time, another of the towering serpents caught in its grip and reduced to a mess of boiling cables and bent alloy, we sweep around the giant steel appendage towards Cierus. She doesn't speak. Her eyes—well, the place her eyes would be—glow as the visor burns with red data strings. She's ready. Dance has his brickie drawn, thumb on the quick-hack kill code, eyes narrowed and focused. Cormac flings an arm low into the ground, anchors it, retracts, and launches his frame up, bringing his other arm down in a crushing arc.

Crash.

But she's gone before the impact lands. Just a blur again, her body stuttering and sliding through the air, and when she returns, it's with a slash aimed square at his throat. I meet her in midstep, our blades ringing out, then duck her retaliatory strike, spinning back. She comes at me again, vicious, relentless, but Cormac's bulk slams in from the side and sends her sliding across the junk and wreckage.

"Aim for her upper spine," Cormac shouts.

She tries to quick-hack us, but Dance is ready, cutting the signal before it even finishes forming. "Not today, sweetheart," he says, laughing. "Kill the bitch!"

Cierus turns towards him, her face—what's left of it—twisting in fury. "You're doing this!" She dashes towards him.

But she doesn't get far.

Cormac plants his left arm in the ground, spins on the axis, and, bam, slams her in the side again, knocking her into the ruins of a support beam. "Down you go, madame," he bellows. "Oh, you are a worm, of the insignificant sort!"

Cierus shrieks, an inhuman, broken modem of a scream, and her entire body begins to shake violently, her Spinal Optic Relay overclocking into a mad blur of light and rage. Her limbs spasm. Her head jolts side to side. Her blades click in and out uncontrollably.

But to Cormac, oh Cormac O'Cormac, she's still just a slow, failing machine. He hurls himself forward, swings back on one great arm, and with the other he grabs her leg and hoists her off the ground. With a snarl of effort, he begins spinning her in a violent circle, faster and faster, until her shrieks are nothing but wind in the air, and then he lets go.

Cierus sails across the junkyard and hits the Clawfather's tank-tread assembly hard, her body bouncing off the steel plating and folding into a heap beneath the groaning axle.

And for the first time in her cursed reign of terror, Cierus Marlow doesn't get back up.

Finally. She's down. But what's that... sound?

When I lift my head, I see Rhythm of Rhythm tumbling downward again, spiralling like a faulty satellite knocked from orbit, but this time he's not alone. Vander's up there with him, latched onto his chest, and they're thrashing mid-air, fists going wild as the rocket boots try to stabilise and fail miserably. They hit the ground hard, metal and flesh clanging against the junkheap in a knot of limbs and sparks, and I don't waste time thinking. I run. I lunge. I slam my boot into Rhythm of Rhythm's chest and knock him flat. Then I drop the blade down, straight into his neck, deep, and the moment I feel bone, I drag it across. The head rolls free. It's done. No coming back from that.

Vander's not looking great: scuffed up, limping, bleeding somewhere under the collar. But he pulls an MX inhaler from his coat and takes a long, ragged drag. His pupils dilate, his breath returns, and his footing finds him again. I help him up.

"Always wernted to do that," he mutters, his voice gravel, his breath short but proud.

I don't respond. I'm already turning. Already heading towards the body.

Cierus.

She's still there, still curled under the tank-wheels of the Clawfather, but she's moving. And it makes something deep in my gut go tight. I clench my fist. This time, no speeches. No threats. No dramatics. She dies now. That's all. But as I approach her, I see it.

Something in her hand.

A faint light. Bright. Yellow. Glowing.

No.

"Lumina?" I breathe.

Cierus raises the syringe and plunges it into the side of her neck. The plunger goes down. The contents go in. And then she begins to rise, not in a dramatic lunge, but in a jittering, spasming twitch, like a corpse half-resurrected by a broken spell.

At first, I think it's just the Spinal Optic Relay again—maybe she's overclocked it to compensate for her injuries—but then I see the veins. Bright yellow, bulging beneath her skin, slithering up her throat and down into her arms. Her mouth foams. And for one moment, one long, awful, stretched-out moment, she's not a woman anymore.

She's something else.

Cormac pivots to face her, and his eyes widen. His arms raise instinctively. No more wit. No more jokes. Just raw, human reaction.

"Stand back," he says. "She's—"

SHH-THUNK!

The sound is wet, surgical even.

I blink.

She's standing directly in front of him.

Her blade's in his gut.

Straight in, to the hilt, if you can call it that.

"Oh dear…" he says softly, looking down, then back up at her.

"Cormac!" Fingers yells, pushing past pain as she stumbles into view, blood on her thigh, limping hard. She drops to one knee and yanks the pulse rifle into position, her arms trembling from shock, fear, or both. The shot goes off with a heavy blast of blue light, but Cierus is already moving, vanishing mid-stride, reappearing in a crackling burst of yellow just inches away. Her mantisblades crash down with brutal grace, and Fingers blocks with the rifle in time. The two of them grind against each other, locked in a death dance.

Vander, limping, gritting his teeth, dives towards Rhythm of Rhythm's corpse and rips the pulse rifle from cold, dead hands. He plants himself, breath held, and fires. The beam hits Cierus directly in the spine, staggering her forward, her balance breaking for the first time in the entire fight. But she doesn't fall. Her microbots swarm to the injury, sealing ruptures, reinforcing weakened joints, rebuilding her before our very eyes. In seconds, it's like he never shot her at all.

Then she turns.

A whip-crack of movement, and Fingers screams as the blade slices across her leg, taking her off her feet. She hits the ground, clutching her thigh, teeth gritted so hard I swear I can hear enamel crack.

Cormac tries to rise. He really does. But he's down, metal hands slick with his own blood, unable to breathe. His mouth moves, maybe to shout, maybe to pray, but nothing comes out.

Cierus blinks forward again. This time to Vander. She strikes, stab after stab, and he drops to one knee, shielding his head with his blowout gauntlets as if they could hold back the tide. Each blow digs into his arms, shoulders, legs, just deep enough to hurt. To disable. To make it last. And as she does so, I notice the sonal cube pulsing on the ground, still attached to Rhythm of Rhythm's corpse.

Maybe...

Then Cierus stops. Just long enough to let it register.

She raises her arm. The blade pulses red. The final strike coming.

But I'm not letting him die today. I'm not letting anyone die. I grab the hose connected to the sonal cube. And I pull.

The air around us folds. It sucks itself inward like the lungs of the junkyard just collapsed, and then whoooooooooooosh. Music pours out in a scream made of synth and teeth. A low warble. A heavy bassline too violent to be called sound. And I do not let go.

My eyes fracture. I can see my own heartbeat. My brain itches against the inside of my skull, but I hold on. I hold on because it's working.

Cierus seizes.

A judder. A pause. Then the convulsions begin. She falls to her knees, yellow liquid spilling from her mouth as the Spinal Optic Relay goes haywire. The screech she makes isn't human. It's static and metal and pain wrapped into a thing that was never meant to leave a throat.

Dance hits the ground. Fingers, too. Vander groans and slumps sideways. Even Cormac goes down, choking on a bloody cough.

I'm the only one left standing.

And I know: this is it.

I let go of the hose. The cube hisses, the music fades to a garbled, gasping loop. My balance sways, my skull screams, but I find my footing, draw my blade, and I run for her.

Closer now.

All I have to do is raise my blade and...

And...