Twisted Metal Heart (The Deviant Future Book 3)

by Eve Langlais

  Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2019/2020 Eve Langlais

  Yocla Designs © 2019

  Produced in Canada

  Published by Eve Langlais ~ www.EveLanglais.com

  eBook ISBN: 978 177 384 111 3

  Print ISBN: 978 177 384 112 0

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email, photocopying, and printing without permission in writing from the author.

  Introduction

  In a Deviant Future, the world has been reshaped. Humanity has been changed. Yet despite it all, one thing does survive—love.

  A devastating injury takes Titan’s arm and leg, but a chance encounter with a woman in the Wasteland sees them replaced with a bionic set. These are no simple metal limbs. His body speaks with him. The alien presence forces a bond that he struggles to accept. Changes him in ways he doesn’t understand, making him fear he’s losing sight of himself.

  Riella has been looking for acceptance her whole life. However, certain skills make her not only valuable but hunted. If she were to fall into the wrong hands, or suddenly decide to fight back…she might hold the key to bringing down the Emerald Queen once and for all.

  If they prevail, can a metal heart learn to love?

  Prologue

  In a distant future that is being shaped now…

  New Earth went through a few pivotal evolutions after the devastating event that destroyed it. Actually, it was more like a series of events—a combination of pollution, over-mining of the planet’s resources, too many people, and a meteor shower with toxic dust. It reshaped the world and continued to do so. More than a century after the Fall, the planet was about to go through another upheaval, a political one this time.

  No matter that the world spun in a different direction and the sky wasn’t always a mythical blue. One thing remained the same. What went up still came down.

  That would refer to the Enclave, a ruling group that emerged when survival had to be kept under control underground. What worked when the food and space was limited began to fray as they emerged in the domes that protected them from the surface. The greed of the Enclave meant they lied to their citizens. Told them the air was poison. That death awaited them away from the protection they provided.

  They might have continued to rule had they not gotten greedy. Take too much and the people would eventually revolt. But that revolution, that decision to make a difference, had to start somewhere. One spark led into two, then three. Light enough flames and you’ll get a bonfire.

  But what would be the price that finally set the humans off against each other?

  In the end, it wouldn’t matter, for they’d start effecting change. The kind with the power to transform the world.

  One

  I’m going to make it. Despite breaking down and having to fix a damned blown hose, Titan refused to even contemplate for a moment that he might not make it to safety before full dark. He’d strayed much too close to a chasm, and nightfall came quicker than he liked.

  He still had time to make it away from the rabid ghouls that lived in the deep. They emerged only in the dark. Given he was attached to living, he did his best to avoid them at night.

  Just a little bit farther. Still plenty of time to get somewhere safe. His engine purred, the wheels clung, and the small spikes in the rubber rim held well to the ground, moving him smoothly. A simple machine, it usually served him well, being a combustion engine that worked in even the worst areas. Electronics, computers, and such, so popular in the domes, would fry in most places.

  Not his ride. He inwardly crooned to his bike. His sweet set of wheels that he’d been lovingly caring for. Much to Gunner’s amusement.

  “You can’t fuck it, or can you?” Gunner had queried, and Titan jumped him. Claiming he enjoyed the company of his ride more than that of a lover? It might be true, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He hated being alone.

  He could have sworn the bike between his legs hummed a little louder. He tightened his grip. They would make it.

  And he’d give his bike the most thorough cleaning and tune-up.

  It purred and shot forward with a little more oomph.

  There was no warning. Next, a swath of dirt lunged into the air, transforming into a viper. Its jaw unhinged as it struck at the bike. There was a whine of the motor dying, the hiss of the snake as it chomped on his ride and sent him flying. As soon as his body left the seat, he tucked his body and angle himself to land. He didn’t quite succeed and stumbled, falling hard on his knee. Pain rollicked up him. He didn’t let it distract him from pulling a knife.

  In the Wasteland, hesitation would kill. He knelt and brandished his blade, only to see the creature had no interest in him. It was wrapped around the bike, squeezing it into a shapeless, useless hunk.

  He sighed. So much for making it to pseudo safety by nightfall. He’d hoped for a tree or an abandoned mini dome. There were quite a few scattered around the Emerald demesne, a kingdom spanning hundreds of miles. Unfortunately, there were none he could reach before night by foot in this section. He found himself at a very remote end of it, stuck between a chasm and barren plains. Although not so empty at night. Things would come hunting.

  He trudged, keeping a steady pace despite the fact he hated it. The entire situation sucked. Like, seriously, blew a fucking wolgar hard. Not that he knew about blowing wild animals firsthand. He’d never lost a bet that required him putting his face that close to their parts.

  His boots offered a ton of lag with each step. Obviously, they’d gained weight since he put them on. The armored toes kicked up puffs of dust. The land he traversed was beyond dry. The moisture sucked from it had left it cracked and desiccated. The bright sun also made it impossible to see, despite the goggles on his face. At least there were no indications of a storm. They could rise suddenly on the Wasteland plains and proved to be deadly to those with flesh.

  He sweated inside his patched leather duster but didn’t dare remove it. Taking it off meant carrying it. Given he could barely remain upright, he doubted his ability to do that. He kept putting one foot in front of the other, hoping to see something, anything, that would provide shelter and a few hours rest. Water would be nice, too. His flask had run dry.

  A really bad thing to happen in the Wasteland. But he’d probably not die of thirst. Night was falling, and he was outside alone in it. No shelter. No partner. If something caught his scent, it would get ugly.

  He kept walking, his pace steady and brisk, hoping to see something in the distance. The horizon remained empty. Shadows stretched across the land. Once darkness fell it would be hours of avoiding the denizens of the night. Smart Wastelanders, living ones
he should add, knew to hide.

  Hide where?

  He broke into a jog and wondered if he should try another angle. Turning around showed him nothing. Not a single slight hump in sight.

  The sun dipped below the horizon, taking all hope with it.

  A roaring started in the distance, a sound to send a chill down the spine. He turned to look behind him and realized the plains at his back were already too gloomy to make out. Did the predators of the night already race to find him? With daylight gone and starlight so dim, would he even see them coming?

  As if to taunt him, the tiny breeze that had finally arrived to cool his feverish skin turned brisk and hard. It whipped him, and his coat rippled, the crisp noise announcing his location.

  He pushed it back and put his hand on the hilt of his gun. Fully loaded at least. How many would come after him?

  Would he have the courage to keep one bullet for himself, or would he die fighting? He still remembered that wild look in his mother’s eyes as she held the gun in a shaking hand and said, “We have to keep two bullets. Just in case.”

  That was more than two decades ago now. Only when he was much older did he understand what she meant. How much she loved him.

  He had no one to use a bullet on him. He looked down at his hand holding the weapon. He could end it now. Before the pain. Because he had no doubt dying by being torn apart would be horribly agonizing.

  But killing himself before even trying? He had to fight. Had to at least see if there was a chance he could prevail.

  The first furry body came flying from the gloom, teeth snapping. A fucking tigber. Striped and massive, they liked to eat meat. Any kind of meat. Liked it so much there usually weren’t even any bones left behind.

  He fired in its face. The only way to truly stop a tigber. Hit them in a limb and they’d get twice as pissed.

  Another flew at him from his left, and he took a step forward and pivoted. Aimed. Killed it and whirled. His next shot went slightly awry, and the beast slammed into him, tearing at his arm.

  Titan couldn’t help but bellow, especially since it was his gun hand. His other already had a knife, and he plunged it into the gut of the beast, spilling its innards in a hot rush before shoving the body from him, hands sinking into the fur. If he lived, he should take the fur with him. If he scored enough, it would make an epic blanket.

  But first he had to live.

  He sprang to his feet in time to meet the next rush. He dodged and then swung around, plunging the knife into the beast. The blade wedged between muscle and bone and refused to budge. The tigber roared and thrashed. He fought to keep his grip. “Fuck me!”

  He was forced to release the knife. He dove for the ground, fingers scrambling for his gun, skimming over dirt until he hit the hilt of it. He scooped up the gun, sprang to his feet, and ran. He couldn’t have said where he headed. There was no safety out here. Nowhere to fucking hide.

  He yelled his frustration as he turned in a circle. He would die out here. It was inevitable.

  And then there it was.

  The citadel rose from the ground with only the slightest of rumbles, startling him. He stared at the rising structure, a squat shape against a twilight sky. A building. What the fuck?

  As he ran for its walls, he noted the details. Solid stonework that boasted no windows within the first ten feet or so from the ground. The few it had were covered in bars and softly lit. He spotted only a single door, blocked by a portcullis, the metal bars thick and sunk into a solid stone ledge.

  If he’d had time, he might have wondered at a building that rose from the ground, but he saw only the safety it would provide.

  Was anyone watching his approach? Surely that was why the building appeared, to save him. Or was it automated? Had the night triggered something automatic? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d come across strange relics caught in a mechanical loop.

  There was a temptation as he arrived at the bars of the building to grab them, shake them, and yell at someone to let him in. There was more growling behind him. Those he’d killed were just the vanguard of a larger group.

  He didn’t beg because if anyone watched, they knew he was in trouble. Would they let him in?

  If they didn’t, then they knew exactly what they did. How they condemned him.

  Titan retreated a few steps, watching the creeping shadows. Eyes glinted in the dark. The tigber were getting bold. They weren’t letting the bodies of their dead deter or distract them.

  His back brushed the stone wall of the citadel. A paltry protection.

  “Who are you?” a voice asked.

  “Could we do this inside?” he snapped as the growls paced closer from the darkness.

  “I can’t. The door won’t open until the keep is locked into place.”

  Meaning he was stuck outside a while longer. But at least help was coming. Just not in time.

  The ground stopped shaking, and there was a massive click that he hoped meant something good. Too late.

  A tigber barreled into him, hard enough that he slammed into the wall of the building. Something in his chest cracked. Through the blinding pain, he still managed to stand and shoot the beast in the head.

  He kept shooting, aiming for the glow of the eyes as they swarmed toward him. Shooting without even knowing how many he killed, but it was a lot. More than his friend Casey had ever boasted.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Sinking to a sitting position, he heard more snarling. He needed to rise to meet it, only he couldn’t move far. The pain hitched in him, a blinding agony. He blinked, unable to focus. He managed a scream when teeth clamped onto his leg. Heard his bones crack.

  Now he’d die.

  Instead, a bright light illuminated the area, causing more than a few hisses and growly yowls. He heard the rat-tat-tat of a gun spraying rapidly. Beasts bellowed and died. There was a scrabble of claws and paws as others ran, abandoning their human prey. A small mercy. At least he wouldn’t die while being eaten. Given the pain with each breath, he hoped that death came quickly.

  The rattle and clank of metal meant nothing to him. The door opened too late.

  He saw a strange masked face leaning over him, metallic in appearance with odd glowing eyes. A robot. That explained the rough grip on his forearms as it dragged him over the ground and brought him into the light.

  The shutting of a door sealed off the sound of firing guns and roaring beasts. Now all he could hear was something panting. That was him panting. And his eyes were having a hard time staying open.

  He could hear voices but not make out the words. Pain was also talking and refused to be ignored.

  Someone leaned over him. Someone with eyes a bright green and a face of beauty.

  Apparently, Old Gordie was right. There was a Heaven after all. But who the fuck was running it and letting him in?

  Two

  “I can’t believe you brought him inside,” Alfred rebuked. “The number one rule is ‘don’t take in strangers.’”

  “I know.” Riella glanced down at the broken and bleeding man, unable to explain why she had ignored a basic safety requirement.

  She’d not even known the man was out there until the citadel was partially raised. She’d been impatient to be above the ground and maybe enjoy some actual air and starlight. They didn’t dare expose the citadel in daytime when they would be visible. Hiding only worked if no one saw you. Which meant, when she realized he was out there, she’d had a choice.

  The easy one being to let nature take its course. Stupid man unprotected in the Wasteland at night. Dinner for the locals.

  But then the stranger had glanced at the citadel, given it a good long stare, as if he could see her watching. Not only spot her but condemn her for doing nothing.

  What choice was there? How many times had it been drilled into her that strangers meant danger? The only good wanderer was a dead one.

  Yet, instead of letting the tigber handle him, she’d gone on the attack and brought a strange
r in. Now she felt the angst. Had she exposed them by rescuing him? Then again, she had to wonder, was keeping safe worth the price of turning a blind eye?

  The man on the table wouldn’t think so. He’d probably whine she’d come to his aid too late when he should be thanking her for saving him at all.

  Alfred ran digitized fingers over the man’s flesh. The sensors in the pads gave him an excellent ability to diagnose. He spoke aloud as he rendered the results in simple terms. They kept the technical stuff for the reports they could study later.

  “Contusions on more than forty-seven percent of his body. Minor lacerations over seventeen percent. His left arm is severely mangled. Missing sizable amounts of tissue and all related components close to it. His right leg below the knee is in the same condition. His heart is struggling as well. The breakage of his ribs is causing stress, and I expect if he doesn’t expire of his wounds, he’ll have a heart attack.”

  “In other words, you expect him to die.”

  Alfred kept running his fingers over the man. He didn’t frown, didn’t do anything at all. One hundred percent efficient. That never changed. “He doesn’t have to die, but it might be kinder.”

  “He’s young.” Close in age to her she’d wager. Not quite thirty but getting there.

  “Young or old, those wounds will kill him.”

  “You think infection will set in.” All the medical advances and equipment sometimes couldn’t prevail when an infection stubbornly claimed a human.

  “Yes. We could excise more flesh to try and stop it, but then he’d have almost nothing left but bone.”