Breachers

Breachers – Path of Steel

6

I

Pinky Promise

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Around him, voices murmured—some measured and composed, while others carried the weight of raw emotion, even tears. Suddenly, a forceful pressure against Marcus's jaw tore through the auditory haze. It stretched his mouth wide open, introducing an unfamiliar object that forced its way into his throat, triggering a gag reflex. The sensation surged within him, as though an intruder invaded the core of his being. He wanted to scream and protest, but his body lay unresponsive, rendering him voiceless.

 

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[System activation: 100%]

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Marcus then suddenly woke up, his steel frame tensing up as a surge of power coursed through his body. The sight that greeted him wasn't a pile of mud and dirt but the vast, star-speckled night sky, stained in an unnatural blue hue again. ‘Blue again? What the hell is going on?’ he wondered, before shifting his attention to more pressing concerns.

 

He could hear his mechanical components whirring as he took a look at his surroundings while the HUD flared up again, giving error message after error message. He realized he was no longer in the same place he had been in when he had lost consciousness. Instead, he now sat on a rickety chair, flanked by a plastic mannequin and another robot. Around him were piles and piles of garbage. It took him a while, but he realized that he had seen the robot before. ‘That thing was at the Tech Event too, just a few booths away from where Oscar had brought us,’ he recalled.

 

‘But why does it look so banged up? How much time has passed already?’ Marcus wondered, seeing the frame partially covered in rust and dust. Beyond the rust on its frame, dents and puncture holes marked both the robot and the mannequin, along with graffiti plastered on them. ‘Bullet holes?’

Marcus wondered for a moment before a sudden sheer panic overwhelmed him as he examined his own steel torso, which also bore three similar holes. However, he swiftly calmed himself as he realized that the danger had long since passed. Alongside the trio of holes in his metal frame, a new ‘paint job’ covered it, brimming with derogatory words and offensive icons. ‘Oh, come on! They used me for target practice?’

 

He ran a metallic finger along the three new bullet holes in his framework, wondering what type of weapon had been used to do this. Upon doing so, he discovered that he was also missing a finger on his right hand. ‘Shot off?’ he thought as he wiggled his remaining four fingers. ‘Just great… perfect. It’s not like I needed a right pinky.’ Burying some of his irritation and anger, Marcus moved his hands, arms, neck, and torso, testing his mobility, until he rose on wobbly legs.

 

Marcus then slowly shifted his weight, taking small steps while using the chair for support. When he felt more confident, he let go of the chair and moved forward on his own. The lack of balance and the inability to feel the ground beneath his feet made it challenging. He stumbled and tripped multiple times, feeling frustrated by his unsteady movements. ‘Next time I reincarnate as a robot, I hope it’s got better sensors... or wheels,’ Marcus grumbled, pushing himself up from the ground. Despite knowing his energy would eventually run out again, he had decided to spend a few more minutes practicing walking, figuring efficiency would win out in the end.

 

 

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Several minutes later, Marcus awkwardly maneuvered through the junkyard, no longer stumbling every step but still occasionally losing his footing on wet mud. Seeking a vantage point, he clambered onto a small stack of washing machines in order to better see his surroundings and figure out where he needed to go. A sense of unfamiliarity washed over Marcus at what he saw. He failed to recognize any of the places he had previously spotted from atop the colossal pile of scrap metal before he had blacked out. ‘Has this place changed, or did they dump me in some other spot?’ he thought as he looked down again, thinking about how best to get down again.

 

With an awkward descent, he managed to land on his steel feet, barely maintaining his balance. Pushing forward, he walked on, eager to spot something recognizable. The sight of massive mounds of jumbled junk, a disorganized mess of metal, concrete, and endless bags of garbage, was everywhere. Each passing second reinforced the weird messy state of it all, as if speed trumped any notion of organization. ‘This place is odd… even for a junkyard,’ Marcus pondered, noticing a few items in surprisingly good shape. ‘Why not sort these things or recycle them? Why are they throwing away perfectly fine things?’ he thought as he picked up a small cooler that appeared to be intact, afterwards dropping it again.

 

After navigating around a corner cluttered with stacked cars, he noticed something strange on the dirt road he was following. ‘Footprints?’ Closing the distance and crouching down, his steel fingers delicately traced the outline of the tracks. ‘It doesn’t look human... maybe a dog?’ he speculated, noting the unusual paw-like shape. Growing up in the city and seldom venturing into rural areas left him inept in tracking or even identifying things like this, but even Marcus could make out canine characteristics. ‘Perhaps there is some sort of guard dog?’ he wondered before moving on, deciding to follow the trail. As he did so, he could feel his time running out again, forcing him to pick up the pace.

 

He followed the tracks until he stumbled upon a trail of blood leading to a half-eaten fox carcass. Marcus stood there, his single camera checking out the lifeless creature. ‘It’s been pulled apart,’ he realized. Something had eaten several parts of the fox, but it had torn it in half beforehand. ‘What kind of dog does that?’ he thought before he recalled the strange monster that had eaten parts of Oscar back at the Tech expo. Noticing several more footprints scattered in the vicinity, Marcus suddenly felt vulnerable, alone and low on energy. ‘I need to find shelter first, or I’ll end up as target practice again or a dog’s plaything... or worse.’

 

He moved away from the carcass and tracks. ‘I need someplace sturdy and secure where I can hide before I black out again,’ he muttered to himself as he spotted a large section of stacked cars nearby. With a steady pace, he made his way over, gradually growing more comfortable with his movements. It felt strange not feeling the ground or his body in motion, but athleticism had always been his forte. It was one of the few things he was actually good at in life.

 

He moved past several rows of cars that were on the bottom, spotting the occasional discarded item inside, ranging from clothes, plastic bags, to old lighters. In a rusty old pickup truck, he noticed a dirty-looking grey tarp sitting on the passenger seat. He tried to open the door, only to find out that it was locked. Weighing his options, he glanced at the door handle.

 

‘A robot should be stronger than a normal human, right?’ he asked himself while bracing his left hand against the car frame and gripping the door handle with his right. He then yanked at it as hard as he could in one motion, causing the handle to snap off, with him slamming on his back in the muddy ground because of the sudden momentum. He remained still for a while, his steel frame not showing any movement, yet internally he could hear an imaginary slow clap. ‘Great performance... Idiot.’

 

Embarrassed, he rose slowly, his motors and pistons bringing him back to an upright position. He then approached the car again and nonchalantly punched through the window with his fist before reaching inside to loot the tarp. ‘Stop thinking like a human. You can’t bleed or feel pain,’ he thought, shaking his steel head. His gaze then shifted to the row of cars elevated one layer above the ground, hoping it would provide some measure of safety. An unsightly brown van caught his eye, and he climbed up towards it, opening the rear door to reveal a dusty interior with enough space for him to lie down in. He awkwardly slid his mechanical frame inside, pulling the door shut behind him. The outside world remained visible only through a dirty window at the back, as the rusty cars blocked the other sides.

 

He wrapped the tarp tightly around his metallic form, pausing to rub a section of the dirty window with it to provide a slightly clearer view to the outside. Thoughts of Felix’s safety crossed his mind, unsure of the duration between the Tech event and his robot frame getting dumped in this junkyard. ‘He’s fine... He’s got to be alright by now, right?’ he mused. ‘He’s a survivor. He’ll pull through.’ Clenching his fists, he pulled the tarp tighter around his frame, sensing the strange energy gradually running out. By remaining still, he felt the drain lessening slightly. ‘I hope someone has found my body by now,’ he thought, before his spark of hope turned sour again. ‘But even if I am still alive out there… how the hell do I get out of this metal one?’

 

A moment of respite washed over him, an unusual sensation of silence and peace. No longer engaged in a desperate struggle against a bizarre creature or trapped within a mountain of scrap metal, he found himself with a rare opportunity to collect his thoughts. Within that moment of peace, an unsettling ache surfaced, as if lacking a valid excuse to distract himself with. ‘Mom... dad...’ he whispered inwardly, feeling his strength wane with each passing moment, prompting him to lower himself onto the cold metal floor. ‘Please, just hold on a little while longer before you give up on me. I’ll find you,’ he promised his family. As the darkness closed in, the sound of metal meeting metal echoed in the van for a moment.

 

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Copyright: OsiriumWrites