Bitstream

10.4

The rooflab hatch exploded open with a metal clang, rattling its hinges. Then came the Rebel leader, bull-shouldering through like a goddamn battering ram. Rhea barely had time to turn. The door caught her full force in the face and sent her staggering backwards.

She hit something solid.

Scrapboy.

The bot didn't move to catch her. Only stood there as she clawed for its arm, trying to stay on her feet. But she wasn't fast enough. Her grip slipped, her legs went out, and she hit the floor hard. Pain ribboned through her body. She gasped, choked, and let out a scream that tore straight from her gut.

"Don't make this difficult kid." The Syndicate rebel leader brushed past Scrapboy, clenching his hands in those steel gauntlets with all the grace of a streetfighter. "It's for the city's own good."

"You can't have it," Rhea shouted. "It's my dad's work! You don't even understand what it does! Go away – just go, go away!"

Behind him, the others were moving in – slower, but steady. Only three now. The fourth, the one with the crowbar, was trailing behind, blood leaking from a fresh gash above his brow where the android leg had struck him. And in the last breath of sunlight, they looked like shadows learning how to walk.

Lucian stepped in front of her, grabbed the nearest thing: a splintered broomstick. "Don't touch her!"

The rebel leader slowed, amused. "Who's this supposed to be? Gutterman's kid?" He gave a crooked grin. "Thought you'd have more sense than to play hero."

Lucian tightened his grip. "Try me."

"Listen," the rebel leader said, his voice almost patient. "Nobody wants to hurt a couple of kids who don't understand what's really happening here. Put the broom down, hand over the chip, and we'll be out of this shithole."

"No!" Rhea shouted. She was crying hard now: real, ugly crying. Tears streaked her face, snot wetting her lip. She clutched the chip to her chest. "It's—" she choked, trying to speak, but the words tangled in her throat. "It's not—" Her voice broke. She couldn't finish. Couldn't say yours. Couldn't say anything.

"Just grab it off her, Derek," said the man with the crowbar. "She's a kid. Do it and let's go – blues'll be here any minute."

"Shut the fuck up, Ron," the rebel leader snapped, turning enough to glare. His voice was sharp, but there was something raw under it: not hesitation exactly, but restraint. "I'm not like you. Yeah, she's a kid. Maybe not the smartest for getting in the way, but we're not crossing that line."

Ron hissed through clenched teeth, one hand pressed to the bleeding gash on his forehead. "Kid or not, this is bigger than her. It's the whole damn city. If you won't take it, I will." He stepped forward.

"Don't." Derek raised a hand, stopping him cold. Then he turned back to Rhea and began to walk towards her.

Lucian didn't wait. He swung the broomstick hard. Derek caught it mid-swing with one steel-plated gauntlet, yanked it away, and flung Lucian backwards. He slammed into one of the trellis supports; a hanging planter snapped free and exploded on the ground beside him. Clay shards flew.

"Luce—Lu—" Rhea tried to call out, but the words wouldn't come. Her breath hitched and stuttered. Chest rising too fast. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak.

All she could do was clutch the chip tighter.

Derek closed in, and the others followed. Ron yanked the centre table sideways and shoved it over with a bang, cutting off the path beside her. Tools spilled across the floor. There was nowhere to go. No way out. The chip was as good as gone. Her dad's life's work – years of code, hours of testing, nights he'd barely slept – all of it would be lost.

She couldn't let that happen.

Derek crouched down in front of her. He pulled off his gauntlets and reached for her arms. She fought to keep her grip, fingers locked tight around the chip, but he was stronger. He pressed a knee into her ribs, dragged her back an inch at a time, pried at her hands. She cried out, but didn't let go.

Something in her snapped. She twisted her head and lunged forward without thinking. Her teeth clamped down on the flesh of his hand, hard, sharp, deep. She felt the skin give. Felt the warm burst of blood in her mouth.

Derek howled.

And he let go.

Rhea scrambled upright, her breath ragged, chest burning. She cleared the flipped table in one hop, shoes skidding on loose wires and screws. The rebels moved to cut her off: two on the left, one flanking her right. Thinking fast, she twisted back a step, ducked low, and shoved herself under the centre workbench. Fingers scraped at her shirt as she slid through, knocking her elbow hard on a metal strut, but she didn't stop. Didn't dare.

She saw a gap and ran for the hatch. Got a few steps in before a hand snagged her shirt.

"Gotcha, you little runt!" Ron snarled, yanking her back hard. His grip clamped down on her right arm, tight enough to make her cry out. The pain shot straight to her fingers; they opened on instinct. The AI shard slipped from her palm and hit the floor.

She kicked, clawed, did whatever she could. One lucky hit knocked the shard across the rooflab.

"Let go!" she screamed, thrashing against his hold. "Let gooooo!"

Ron yanked her again and flung her to the ground. She hit it hard. Before she could even push up, his boot slammed into her stomach. The pain was instant. She folded in half, gasping, mouth wide but no air coming out. Her fingers scraped uselessly at the floor.

"Ron," Derek shouted. "Are you fuckin' insane?"

"Fuck you," Ron snapped, crowbar aimed straight at Rhea. "She bit you. She made this messy. We should've done it my way from the start."

"She's a little girl," Derek shouted back. "Back the hell off."

"You people are muh-monsters," cried Rhea, wiping snot from her lip.

Ron reached down and grabbed Rhea by her hair. He pulled her up until eye level with him, and she could smell his breath – that awful smoker's scent. She nearly gagged, feeling his grip tighten.

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"Say that again," Ron snarled, his face inches from hers. "Go on. Call me a monster one more time."

Rhea whimpered, trying to twist away, but his grip held firm. Her scalp burned. Her body shook. She wasn't sure if it was fear or pain or both. "You hurt my dad," she managed, blinking through the tears. "You don't even know what you're doing."

Ron pulled her closer. "I know exactly what I'm doing, you little shit. I'm making sure this place burns before it buries the rest of us."

"Let her go," Derek snapped. "Now."

But Ron ignored him.

Then… the noise came.

A low hum, quiet at first. Then the snap of joints locking into place. A slow build: louder, sharper, like something booting up. Gears shifted. Steel plates clicked into position.

Ron turned.

And there it was.

Scrapboy rose from the floor in one smooth motion. Seven feet of rust, weight, and power, humming as if it had made up its mind. A faint white light pulsed behind the visor slot. Not fast. Not showy, but ready.

"Please input command," Scrapboy said, voice deep and imposing, but there was a tone that felt off.

And next to Scrapboy stood Lucian, all of his five-foot-even stature, a single streak of blood rivering down his forehead as he glared at Ron, took a deep breath, and said, "Halcyon."

The robot responded: "Yes, Lucian?"

After a moment, Lucian said, "Protect Rhea."

There was a pause. Then: "I will obey. Please be advised: I am not permitted to harm another human being."

Lucian stepped back. "Then don't hurt them…. Just stop them."

"Not gonna hurt us?" Ron laughed. "Then what are you gonna do, tin can—"

Scrapboy lunged forward with incredible speed – so quickly that for a moment Rhea couldn't believe it – and Ron barely had time to react. One metal hand closed around the crowbar and yanked it clean from his grip. The other clamped on his shoulder, spinning him away from Rhea and sending him into the nearest wall. Hard. Not enough to kill, but enough to drop him like a rag.

"No harm?" Derek shouted, slipping on his steel gauntlets once again.

"I did not harm him," Halcyon boomed. "The wall did."

Ron gritted his teeth. "Oh, hell no – Command override! Stand down!"

There was a pause.

"Command denied," Halcyon replied. "Current directive is incomplete. I must protect Rhea Steele. If no danger exists, protection will be confirmed. Until then, new orders will not be processed. You are here to cause harm. Relinquish your weapons and leave the premises."

Derek raised his voice. "Like hell we will. Wreck the damn thing!"

Scrapboy moved.

Ron backed up fast, nearly slipping. The others spread out, cautious now, but still circling. Scrapboy stepped in front of Rhea, blocking her with towering bulk, arms low and ready.

One of the men lunged. Baseball bat. Aimed for the shoulder.

Scrapboy caught it mid-swing. No strain, no sound, just a clean, snapping motion. He turned and hurled the man across the lab. The body hit a metal table, hard, and didn't get back up.

They didn't stop coming. One after the other, swinging pipes and rods and fists. Scrapboy tossed them aside, crashing them into lab benches, snapping through trellises, scattering tools and broken monitors.

Lucian crouched low by the hatch and beckoned Rhea towards the stairs. "Come on – go!"

She started forward on her elbows and knees, dragging herself inch by inch, ribs screaming, doing her best to suck in the pain. But she barely made it three feet when Ron cut in front of her. He didn't have the crowbar this time.

He had the garden hose.

"Hey, tin can," he yelled, reeling the rubber slack around his forearm.

Scrapboy pivoted to face him.

Ron squeezed the nozzle and let it spray – full blast, high pressure – right into the robot's chest plate and vent ports. Water slammed through the seams. Droplets sparked as they hit exposed servos. Scrapboy staggered back.

The voice crackled. "Recalib – recalib – re-re—"

And then it locked up.

Ron didn't stop spraying. He laughed. "How's that for a logic loop, asshole?"

Scrapboy convulsed once. The sound that came out of it was no longer a voice but instead a garbled shrieeeek of metal, something broken clawing to correct itself.

Then it moved.

Faster than before.

One arm snapped out and grabbed Ron by the throat. The hose hit the ground, coiling like a dead snake. Ron choked, flailed, kicked, but the bot's grip didn't budge. And the arm began to lift him. Higher. His boots scraped against the table edge. Then air. Then nothing.

"Halcyon—!" Rhea shouted.

The bot slammed Ron into the steel ceiling beam. Once. Then again. A wet sound cracked through the rooflab. Blood splattered across the blueprints taped to the wall. His body went limp, still held by the neck. He only twitched for a moment, just one moment, before going completely still.

Scrapboy began glitching again, sparking, misfiring; it let out an awful sound:

"GRAAAAA-AAAAAAAAGH!"

Like broken code. Like a glitch. Like pure evil.

Its head snapped towards her. "Prote—ceh—the—teh—Rh—rrrrrrea—" And it hurled Ron's body at the hatch; he crashed into it so hard that one of the doors came slamming down. And it flashed forward, closer to her this time, looking down at her with that awful changing eyeslit: white, then red, then blue, white again, back, forth, different.

She scrambled back.

Derek came in fast and tackled the bot from the side, trying to throw its balance. But Scrapboy didn't budge. Instead, it twisted, grabbing him mid-motion, and slammed him flat onto the ground with a metallic roar, crushing his skull in an instant.

Lucian shouted something, but Rhea couldn't hear; the pounding in her ears was too loud. He helped Rhea to her feet, grabbed her hand, and made for the hatch.

But another hand caught her right arm. Clamped down so hard she could feel the metal penetrate the bone. She screamed in pain. In awful, horrifying pain. It was the worst pain she'd ever felt: so sharp, so real, she thought she might die.

"GET OFF-FFFFFFFFFFFF!" she cried, but the words became nothing more than a screech.

"Stop it!" one of the rebels said, lunging forward to take a swing.

Without looking, Scrapboy snapped its arm back and thumped the rebel in the skull, knocking him flat on the ground with a massive dent in his forehead. Dead instantly.

The last man dropped his baseball bat, ran over to the edge of the rooflab, and, after a moment, jumped off the edge, down all two-storeys. Rhea heard him hit the mud and let out a cry.

"Let her go," Lucian cried, pulling at her left arm. He got into the stairway, pressed his feet against the sides of the hatch, and pulled, pulled, pulled. "That's a command, Halcyon!"

"Di-rec-rec-rec—incompluh—t-t-t-t-t-" Brrrrrrrrrr.

Rhea's vision went blurry once again.

"Stop…" Rhea said, her voice dwindling to a whisper.

Scrapboy crunched down hard again. The pain was so excruciating that she couldn't believe it; she was going to die. This was it. Her heart was pounding, yet her consciousness, her vision, her hearing…. It all….

"LET GOOOOOOOOOOO!" cried Lucian.

"Prote—ceh—the—teh—Rh—rrrrrrea—"

"Luce…" Rhea whispered. Her voice was just air. Just breath. Her eyes wouldn't stay open.

"NACP!" a voice barked from the stairwell below.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEELP!" Lucian's scream was far away now.

And then—

KRRSHHK-SNAP.

A sound like bone through wet branches.

Her right arm: gone.

Scrapboy had yanked it clean from the socket. She buckled backwards in what felt like slow motion. Her body gave out. She and Lucian tumbled down the stairwell, hard metal thudding against bone, her head bouncing once, twice, until…

"Open fire," an officer shouted.

The last thing she saw was a swarm of lights at the top of the stairwell. A final flash as Scrapboy lurched above her, riddled with bullets.

And then, black.