by Andy Remic
“Kill the kids,” he said.
~ * ~
“Give me the shotgun,” said Keenan, voice barely more than a growl. He did not shift his gaze from the rigid AIs at the bottom of the ramp. He felt the touch of barrels against his glove, the proximity of Franco close behind. He heard the click of Franco’s Kekra quad-barrel machine pistols as he took the D5, cautiously, in one fist...
“Leave the zombies to me,” growled Olga, turning with Knuckles by her side. The young lad grimaced, and brandished his rusted machete in sweating hands.
Keenan twitched a look behind, at the snarling, charging mass. And back, to where Nyx was moving like flowing liquid metal...
Keenan leapt down the ramp, D5 booming. Nyx was caught in the blast, spun, and fired backwards with a screech of stressed alloy. Franco charged with Keenan, both hands firing Kekras. Bullets howled and whined. Sparks flew. Nyx, blasted, curled into a ball, rolling with the D5 onslaught. Momos, with yukana swords whirling, was punched back, along with the twirling blades of Lamia. But even as Keenan pounded the steel, so Nyx turned the roll into a move which defied physics, spinning, and like a globe of needles she rolled at Keenan. The D5 snarled again. Franco halted, dropping to one knee, Kekra tracking Momos who circled in the dark underground vault. Franco fired, but quad-shots hissed over Momos’ head.
Behind, at the top of the ramp, Xakus ran for the small console on the wall. Olga and Knuckles ignored him, for the wall of charging zombies were almost on them. One leapt to the attack, and Olga caught its grey flesh in powerful hands. With a crack, she snapped its spine and tossed it aside. And she howled, her huge jowls wobbling as her face changed into a mask of basic animal fury. Knuckles leapt, his machete swinging with the anger of the condemned. A zombie head rolled, the body collapsing sending arcs of black blood spurting. Some zombies tripped, slipping on blood. Knuckles hacked at them blindly, furious, sure now he would die here and it would all have been for nothing! His entire, pointless pathetic young existence, all for nothing! Teeth bared, he hacked and slashed, cutting hands from arms, feet from legs. He felt zombie blood wash over him. He laughed maniacally, lost from sanity as the world became this moment, this wail of hating snarling flesh and... he slipped, on gore, fell back under the weight of zombies and watched, frozen, as they fell towards him, their stench on him and in him, and he breathed in their deep slime and pus and blood which ran thick like black honey over his face and into his mouth and he screamed...
Keenan’s D5 boomed again five times in quick succession, and Nyx was sent spinning away—as Momos leapt, yukana swords whirling for Keenan’s head. He ducked, stumbling back as the blades hissed around him. One slashed his WarSuit, which buzzed a warning. Keenan unleashed the D5 in Momos’ face. He heard a low feminine chuckle, followed by the blasts of Franco’s Kekras. Keenan’s boots slammed Momos, and she staggered back. Again Franco’s guns boomed, and the force sent Momos skittering across the base of the ramp, yukanas showering sparks over alloy—as Keenan turned, into the frenzied whirl of Lamia, her arms and legs glittering blades, and Keenan and Franco scrambled back up the ramp in hasty retreat, slipping, sliding, guns snarling, bullets whining and smashing and everything, all discipline, all procedure forgotten under that panic of bright whirling attack of blades too fast for the eye to follow—
Knuckles gurgled on zombie blood like engine oil, which ran down his throat and into his belly and he tried to scream but nothing would come and he realised he was drowning. He felt claws caress his skull. This was it. Realisation hit him like a brick. They would eat his brain... then Olga was there, her bulk pushing the mass aside as huge shovel-like hands punched and slammed, fists smacking faces, cracking noses and cheekbones, breaking jaws, crushing skulls, lifting and throwing and snapping backs and arms and legs like brittle firewood. She reached down, lifted Knuckles, tossed him away, back to Professor Xakus who was tapping furiously at the wall console. It buzzed at him, red lights flickering. Knuckles rolled to a halt on the cold, hard metal ground, stunned.
Both arm blades slammed down, and Keenan slipped back, his D5, held in both fists, stopping a blow from cleaving his skull like ripe fruit. Pain and vibration shuddered down his arms, nearly dislocating his elbows. Again Lamia cut down, and the D5 buckled in Keenan’s grasp, barrels bent, the shotgun useless, and Keenan snarled, boots kicking out uselessly at Lamia’s elegant and perfect machine body. Lamia’s blades slid, grinding sparks over the D5, and down, agonisingly, towards Keenan’s face. He grunted under the effort, straining against the bent shotgun, the only thing between him and decapitation. There came a clonk, and Keenan saw Franco’s hand withdraw. Lamia looked down. Keenan’s boots smashed her chest, and she took three steps back. Franco’s Kekras boomed in her face and she whirled away, blades flashing... as the funnelled BABE—now attached to her abdomen— detonated. Fire and smoke screamed, roared, and Lamia was flung like a metal ragdoll across the dark underground chamber, away, clattering with sparks into the shadows. Nyx rolled, leapt at Keenan who hurled the battered D5 and drew his Techrim. Nyx uncurled, at the base of the ramp. She was smiling, head tilted to one side. Her jaws worked, and Keenan saw poison gleaming on thousands of needles which protruded from her metal skeleton. Keenan realised his mouth was dry. Fear was something to which he was unused, but as he watched Lamia stroll from the darkness, only a few scorch marks on her black casing—evidence of a full BABE fucking—he knew the weapons they carried were ineffective. They could not kill these GKs. The machines were far too advanced. The smile fell from Nyx’s face, as Lamia and Momos closed ranks behind her. Nyx stepped onto the ramp, lowering her head, and readying herself for a final charge Keenan knew they could not withstand...
Olga lifted her head to the ceiling of The Great Malkovitch Library and roared. The zombies cowered for a moment, yellow feral eyes glittering, many of their fallen, deviant kind littering the floor, broken and bent, many squirming, trying to crawl with snapped spines, broken femurs, crushed heads; Olga charged them, a sudden movement from the huge woman, and talons came up, slashed out, but Olga batted them aside as she powered into the mass, fists slamming, pounding, beating, pulping, every blow a devastating jackhammer, every headbutt crushing deformed noses and skulls. She was a mighty powerhouse, an unstoppable bear of a woman, growling and roaring, her fists her weapons. She forced the zombies back into the narrow corridor, where they could only attack her two abreast, and she slammed them down, broke them down, until they were crawling over their fallen to reach her brains and wobbling, plentiful fresh flesh.
There came a high, ululating call, and suddenly the zombies fell back. Olga stood, her hands and arms covered in gore as if she were some bizarre butcher caught ripping a carcass apart. Olga stared at the snarling, spitting mass with contempt, a sneer forming on her lips. “You filth! You cannot beat Olga! Olga triumph, yes?”
The zombies parted, and from their midst came three with a brightness in their eyes, an intelligence Olga recognised. They moved smoothly, almost feline in grace, and the other zombies seemed to show reverence to these creatures which now faced the great woman...
One lifted its hand, and Olga tracked talons. And realised with a start it carried a small black gun. The gun slammed, boom echoing, and the bullet caught Olga high in the chest, punching her back scrabbling at the gunshot-wound, then slipping on the spilled gore of the fallen.
“We are the New Breed,” said the zombie, eyes glinting. It half-turned, to the growling, urgent mass. “Eat her!” it commanded.
Nyx charged Keenan, as Professor Xakus hit RETURN. There came a click, and the ramp slammed upwards, catching Nyx in mid-charge and pinning her by her abdomen between ramp and frame. Motors whirred, straining, cogs grinding and clicking against powerful ratchets.
Keenan deflated a little. Relief flooded him. He moved forward, where Nyx glared up at him, struggling, matt black eyes clicking, her hands flexing as they tried to grab his soft human flesh. Keenan halted just out of range and dropped to one knee. “Who sent
you?”
“Keenan... the zombies!” snapped Franco; he turned, and charged at the zombies which flooded the chamber from the corridor above, charging at the fallen figure of Olga, who lay with eyes fluttering, blood spreading across her punctured chest...
Keenan turned and ran after Franco, and they opened fire. Bullets tore into grey flesh and zombies were kicked spinning backwards. But the two Combat K men realised in an instant; they could not hold the flood. There were too many of them.
And then Knuckles was there, the young lad struggling under the weight of a fire canister. It was red, and down one side, past signs of a skull and crossbones, of toxic danger, biohazard and horrible bioreaction, it read: DANGER—PERMAFROST BIO FIRE EXTINGUISHER*
[*NOT TO BE USED BY MINORS].
“Stand back!” screamed Knuckles, aiming the nozzle. There came a buzz, a click, then a HISS as a cloud poured from the PERMAFROST BIO FIRE EXTINGUISHER’S wide cone nozzle, shuddering in Knuckle’s hands. Like raw chemical ice the cloud slammed the charging zombies, freezing them solid. Screaming, Knuckles advanced, the canister rumbling and spitting as the stream of chemicals gushed and billowed over the zombies, turning them instantly white and crisp. He reached Olga, fell to his knees by her side, and only then did he release his grip and the chemical cloud evaporated leaving a silent wall of rigid zombies, a frozen tableaux of unyielding aggression.
“Reminds me of the last time I saw the football,” said Franco, turning, scanning, checking for any other dangers that might emerge to bite them on the arse.
“See to Olga,” said Keenan, replacing the mag in his Techrim. He turned, nodded at Xakus, who grinned weakly and gave a thumbs up, then strode back to the still-straining ramp. Gears were whining. The ramp gave little rhythmical judders, still trying to feed its mammoth weight into its acceptance grooves. Nyx was still struggling to break free. She looked far from impressed.
Keenan crouched, just out of reach. Still, Nyx grappled for him, inches away from his living flesh. The GK’s jaws worked, soundlessly, and Keenan could see its legs kicking beyond entrapment in the heavy ramp snare.
Keenan sat down, cross-legged, placed his Techrim on the ramp with a clack, and lit a cigarette. Nyx watched him. Beyond, he could see Momos and Lamia pacing. He blew smoke into the GK’s face.
“Who sent you?”
“I will not answer your questions.” The voice was beautiful; a lilting, female voice. Keenan stared into emotionless matt black eyes, and shivered.
He poked the Techrim in its face. “Do you have a name?”
“I am Nyx.”
“Well Nyx, I’m Keenan. You already know I’m Combat K, so we’ll skip the fluffing and get right down to hardcore pornography. Why do you want to kill me?”
Nyx said nothing. Keenan fired a shot into the GK’s face; the shot screamed, bullet ricocheting. Keenan peered close. One of the hydraulic valves which operated the mouth was damaged; it bubbled a thin white oil.
“Next, it’s your eyes.”
“Go to hell, little man,” said Nyx.
“I’m already there,” whispered Keenan.
“Keenan, get up here!” snapped Franco.
“It might take a while, but this gun,” he waved the Techrim, “can eat away at your face. I’ve never tortured an AI before, but an old ex-friend of mine once said it could be a lot of fun. I’ll be back in a minute, love. Don’t go anywhere.”
With cigarette dangling, Keenan strode up the gentle slope of the ramp and eyed the chamber. Franco had bound Olga’s wound and stopped the bleeding with a D-PACK. She sat, pale and obviously in some agony. Knuckles held her hand. Xakus and Franco stood by the wall console.
“What is it?”
“Xakus has tapped into the Library’s monitoring cameras. Come have a look.”
Keenan stood, smoking, staring at the scene of devastation outside the library. More Mammoth MK13 tanks had arrived, with thousands more zombies.
“Can you see them?” said Franco.
“I can see we’re in the shit,” said Keenan.
“Look, from where the tanks came. When we were up on the balcony. Look.”
Keenan stared, then dropped his cigarette with a curse. The alleyway was full of dark-armoured SIMs. Battle SIMs. Armed, armoured, silent, immobile. A waiting army.
“So the zombies have proper military backup,” said Franco, with a grimace. “This gig just gets better and better.”
“We need to get out of here right now,” said Keenan, taking a deep breath. “Those bastards could advance at any moment. And a fire extinguisher won’t halt SIMs. Olga, can you move, love?” Olga nodded, and Knuckles helped her lumber to her feet, grunting. “Xakus, we need to get to this back door. We’re pinned down here. Are you sure the only exit was down the ramp? And we need transport. I’ll even risk a chopper.” He eyed the monitor again, shaking his head. “This puzzle gets more and more twisted the longer we play. We’re being fucked with. Again. And I don’t like it.”
Professor Xakus rubbed his white beard. “The only escape route is down that ramp. That much is for sure. There’s no other way out of this building. But that’s OK, because MICHELLE is down there. I’ll let her out of her cage.”
“But what about the AIs?” hissed Franco.
“I’m sure MICHELLE will make short work of them. It’s just, I couldn’t release her whilst you two were on the ramp; without me, she gets a little too frisky.”
Keenan frowned. “Actually, just what the hell is this MICHELLE?”
“Perhaps I should explain. I used to be an engineer at NanoTek. This much you know. Well, a leopard never changes its spots. Just because I left NanoTek, didn’t mean I stopped building, inventing, creating. MICHELLE is my... my pet. My little project, shall we say. A way of whiling away the long winter evenings here on The City when your wife is dead and your children have grown up and travelled six billion miles to university.”
“You never answered my question,” said Keenan.
“MICHELLE’S a Military Grade bio-mechanical transport vehicle slash war machine. A Mechanically Integrated Killer. A MIK HELL. MICHELLE. See? And she ain’t pretty, so don’t get excited when you see her. She might just rip off your damned head.”
“So she’s... organic? And a machine?” Franco frowned.
“Better just watch,” said Professor Xakus, patting Franco on the shoulder like father to son. “And don’t say anything. Nothing at all. MICHELLE’S pretty temperamental; she gets upset easy. And when she’s upset, she starts to kill things.”
~ * ~
MICHELLE slept. She slept more and more these days, and she was suspicious Xakus was putting drugs in her food. But then, why would he do that? Why would he want her to sleep ? After all, he loved her, he nurtured her; he had created her. MICHELLE nodded to herself in slumber... and was gradually awoken by the whistle. It was tuned specifically to her command nodes; it brought her a subtle sexual pleasure.
MICHELLE awoke. She stretched, huge metal claws clanging off the sides of her cage. The place she loved. The place she liked to call home. MICHELLE stood, clanging her square head from the roof of the cage, and waited patiently as the twin blast doors opened; they could withstand a Grade 2 High-J blast. Huge knuckles of steel unmeshed and lights flickered on in the underground gloom. MICHELLE strode out, square metal boots clanging, but as she approached the ramp something was not quite right and script flowed fast through her half-organic, half-machine brain.
MICHELLE stopped. She could sense danger. Something you only got from organics. This meshed with computer instructions flowing at billions of instructions per nano-second.
The ramp was up. And there. Tiny metal legs kicked.
MICHELLE’S sensors hummed at her, and she saw the two tiny AIs dancing down below. One carried twin swords, the other had blades as arms and legs. Flicking on dazzling HalogenV lights she flooded the chamber with brilliance, then stomped forward in huge lurching hydraulic motions.
“Xakus?” boomed MICHELL
E’S metal voice. The whole chamber reverberated. And then she... clicked with him, flowed with him, could smell his thoughts. Huge metal nostrils quivered.
I hope you slept well, my sweetness. Could you please do me a favour? The three robots, they have been causing me some pain. Trying to kill me. Could you please dispose of them?
Certainly, thought back MICHELLE, smiling at Xakus’s use of the word please. After all, she thought, it’s so important to have manners in this day and age.
The six hundred and fifty-eight tonne bio-organic machine took a couple more steps forward, huge iron boots clanging, and bent, motors whirring, pincer claws reaching down towards the GKs. The first danced at her, and tiny swords slashed, opening metal runs across her pincers. A signal flashed pain in her brain and MICHELLE gave a howl, taking an involuntary step back. This little robot had hurt her!
Script turned red. Her organic half flared in anger, whilst her computational half calmed her irrationality. She switched on electro-magnets with a hum that would have blacked out five square kilometres of The City’s Global GRID, and the two GKs were sucked from the ground and pinned to her pincers, swords and blades immobile, heads twitching under a seemingly unstoppable force. Clanking and whirring, MICHELLE turned and strode clomping back to her cell. She hurled the two GKs into the chamber, and with a heave and a grunt, pushed shut the blast doors. She stomped back to the closed ramp and surveyed the wiggling black metal legs.
