Machine
Death would not claim me today. I diverted all the biomass I could to my central processor. And so here I lie, in this room—chained down by my own mangled limbs and stared at with animosity by five sacks of meat and bone.
I recalled it in my slumber a moment ago. A dream of sorts, a flash of experiences both foreign and my own. The memories made something wind up tight within my gut. Perhaps this sensation is tied to the way I faltered back at the table.
How irksome. I, the prodigal son and the magnum opus of the magnum opus, brought low by fleeting emotions that did not belong to me, that did not serve me… Perhaps the ability to rage against them is also thanks to them. Disgusting.
This appears to be a bedroom. There are six beds, simple yet filled with the same unnatural antiquity that seems to permeate every tile and floorboard of this manor. I could feel the carpet curl under me, trying to consume me, held back by some force beyond my current understanding. Perhaps that patron William mentioned?
There were others here. I knew two of them—Roland and Shen. I could see the pair a lot better now.
Roland was taller than average and had ginger hair; early middle age, I would assume. He wore a white cloak that shimmered subtly. It was embroidered with symbols I did not know, though they appeared to hold his rank—perhaps his past achievements.
Beneath the fabric, he wore a plate carrier, though he had no weapons on him. Beneath even that, he wore a layer of chainmail. He did not look toward me. Instead, he lay in the fetal position.
Shen was average in stature, though his build carried a bizarre athleticism. I couldn't quite place it—something about the complete lack of tension in the way he stood, the whip-like laxity within his shoulders. It was impressive, admirable even, unlike the rest of his appearance.
He was blond, but it was hard to tell with the mix of grime and caked blood that covered him. He wore similar fabric to Roland, but it was ragged, wrapped around his waist. Instead of tools or armor, he was adorned with a black compression shirt and white gi pants held up by a black belt so plasticky and fraudulent that it would fail to fool even an infant.
His face was covered in stubble, narrow features littered with scars. His nose was bent in a way only achievable through traumatic destruction. His hair was loosely tied together in a tail that reached down to his middle back. Calmly, he raised a flask, taking a sip.
I shifted my lenses, refocusing past Shen. I could see three more, each one uniformed and unsteady. A lanky man with a bald head and a bizarre helmet that covered his eyes wrapped his arms around himself and trembled. He grit his teeth, then ground them viciously; he raked unkempt, bloody nails over his forearms, all while mumbling.
A stocky female who looked like she had lived a life of labor sat beside him, a hand over his back. Dark bags sank beneath her eyes and stood out against caramel skin.
Her helmet appeared oversized, her clothes a mismatch.
The other one stood beside Shen. He seemed younger—late teens, early twenties, irrelevant. He had blond hair and light blue eyes and seemed reasonably athletic. He had a calm look in his eyes, but the way he fidgeted with his fingers indicated he was far from relaxed.
Meanwhile, I was a mess of plastic, wire, and alloy. I could hardly move anything but my left arm. The satiety from before was fading. It was vexing; if only I could reach out and grab one of them, then I could feed myself.
Just like in that… that dream…
"He awakens." The man with the spiked helm stood up and shot his finger toward me. "The Horseman." He exclaimed with the sort of delusional assurance only possible in madness.
The woman beside him calmly grabbed his arm and looked up at him. "Idris, it's alright. It is just a broken machine; poor thing can't even move," she whispered softly.
Good, she doesn't know I can still move my arm. Let her think I am some poor thing. The mere thought of being called that is infuriating. I need no pity from a lump of muscle and bone.
My mind reached back to the desert, the sinner I met there. I had shown a sort of pity… I suppose I will accept this attempt at sympathy. Though it changes nothing.
"You don't understand. He is Death. Death is right beside us… I can hear it, the clawing in my spine. It tells me… It tells me the name of this Horseman." The man spoke again, limbs flexing rhythmically.
"Damn it, Steven." The woman turned to the young man, a stern look in her eye. "He is about to lose it again."
Steven turned away sheepishly and stared down at Roland's curled form. "Kiara, you know I can't do that without the captain's permission… Not without Hank."
Hank? Likely the man William splattered. Roland's clothes were indeed in much better state—not to mention the nigh supernatural cleanliness of his robe. These are no brigands nor soldiers of some random settlement. These humans have a culture, likely infrastructure too.
How intriguing. Perhaps I will pretend to spare one of them in return for information.
"Roland is… He can't be counted on right now. Just get me the fucking morphine." She continued with a sigh.
Steven reached down and began to fumble with a leather bag on Roland's hip, eventually withdrawing a syringe. "Alright, alright, calm down," he murmured as he pulled out a glass vial. "No need to be such a bitch about it."
Kiara's features stiffened. Then she stepped toward Steven and ripped both objects from his grasp. She scoffed before moving over to Idris and plunging the syringe into his forearm. The maddened muttering quieted, and the shaking eased. The man began to nod off into a warm daze.
Kiara turned to Shen, a look of frustration etched across her features. "Shen, help me out."
He shrugged. "No point in doing that. Y'all ain't gonna last long anyway. Bloody bastard says he's gonna leave you all to starve." Upon seeing the pallor that sank into her skin, Shen smirked subtly. "Says I can leave though. He couldn't help but resist my charms… I think."
"You think?" Steven snapped. "Oh, I didn't know you could do that. Maybe if you cut down on the drinks you could be worth something, you old dirtbag."
Kiara looked away from the pair. "So… that's it then?" She sat down, back against the wall. "We can't die here. We were faithful… the faithful will be rewarded."
No, they aren't just organized. They are part of a larger group, one with beliefs. William mentioned they had a common enemy—the Children of the Warring Istha. These were members of an army; they had territory, influence.
A cackle interrupted my train of thought. Roland's face took on a rictus grin. He curled over himself tighter, then burst out in a disjointed laugh. "I can't do anything for you. Neither can the Gaunt Lord in his spire of gold," he coughed out between laughs. "I should have shot half of you, we wouldn't have ran out of food and ended up here had I done that. I order all you motherfuckers to die without bothering me."
Shen covered his mouth and giggled; Kiara and Idris didn't respond. Steven, however… something horrible filled his eyes. I had seen it before—animosity.
He was still for a moment, then lunged forward, fist drawn back. I won't deny I felt a bit amused at the sight of these apes flailing frail limbs at one another.
Crack. It was a sharp sound, like a gunshot in the small room. Shen stepped in front of Steven, then whipped a palm across his face. The boy's head snapped to one side, then he fell straight down, landing on all fours. "Steven, not now." I saw the look in the boy's eyes—the fury. As he clenched his fists and grit his teeth, I was sure he would get up and fight.
Shen winked. It was subtle; I only picked it up due to my advanced sensors. Yet it was enough. Steven seemed to snap out of his rage.
He stood up; his legs wobbled, but he righted himself. His anger did not redirect. He kept his eyes on Roland. They blazed beneath the candlelight. "I always knew you were a coward. Didn't expect you to be this pathetic… sir." The words rolled off his tongue spitefully.
"I'm sure the captain is serving his king best he can, ol' Stevey boy." Shen reached his arm around Steven's back and pulled him aside. "Let him whine a little. I'm sure he'll come through. After all, all the other squads were torn to pieces by the Communicants. He got us past 'em, and he'll get us past this."
Now was my time to strike. I have a grasp on those before me. They find themselves in the prodrome of despair—the realization of hopelessness barely shielded by delusional optimism.
"Well, boys, I'll be off soon. One of William's goons should come through that door any time now." Shen pointed at the wall. There was no door. My sensors couldn't detect anything abnormal. It was just the same as any other space in this mansion.
Perhaps something was different about it—only on some level I could not sense. The first time I had been brought into this mansion, I had been pulled in the second I made contact with the fridge door. The second time, however, had no clear trigger.
There were rules to this place. I just didn't know them.
I will figure it out after I feed.
"You have passed the trial." My voice was grating, damaged. Yet it turned every head. Even Idris seemed to flicker out of his daze. "You have served well, with faith and fire." I saw Kiara's eyes light up.
I expected my opening lines to spark some interest. I underestimated the girl's desperation. She approached me swiftly, oversized boots tapping against hardwood. "You… you are an angel sent by our most blessed king."
She stepped into my reach, a few meters away from me. "My faith… has it been answered? Have my sins been forgiven?"
I loaded the hydraulics in my working arm. I would propel myself, then snap her head off in one bite. Then, I would reconstitute my legs and consume the others. "Indeed, you have served your purpose." Now, then—
Why is she still alive? Why have I not moved? She is in reach. She has been successfully deceived.
The desert. The heart given to me. Pity from her—pity from me…
REFUSED
Steven dove toward her, shouting with the full breadth of his lungs. He threw himself at her waist and tackled her down, just out of reach. She screamed in surprise as they crashed, the thin carpet doing nothing to cushion the impact.
Steven rolled off her as she grunted, wind knocked clean out of her lungs. "Stupid bitch," he murmured before standing up.
She sat up, curled over slightly as she guarded her sternum. "What… the fuck was that for?" The words came out as a whisper.
Steven glared at me for a moment. He saw right through the deception. No… there was something else in those eyes. Recognition. "Are you really just going to trust that thing?"
"But that's an angel. It's come to save us." She looked up at him, a flicker of fear in her eyes.
He reached down and helped her up. They stepped away from me. "That thing is a machine. The worst machine of all."
Shen took a phantom swig of his empty flask. He shook his head before tossing it aside. "He is right. Tall, dark, and handsome over there is a real marvel. Farthest we have gotten in terms of tech before the war ended."
"War?" Kiara tilted her head.
Steven grimaced. "The first one, I believe."
Kiara shook her head. She looked toward Roland as if for guidance, but the man was in his own little world. "No, that can't be right. If we used machines in our wars, then the king would have told us."
Shen seemed to tense up. Steven began to open his mouth, but Shen shot him a brief glance. He stopped himself.
"It is just a mystery, I suppose. The great king told us everything we need to know, not everything that we could know." Shen stated calmly; the words seemed recited. There was the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.
Yes. That's it. I know why I didn't kill them. I haven't grown milder. It was simply a good call. If I devour them and somehow can't leave this place, then I will still starve eventually. I need them if I want to escape.
Shen will be brought out. If he lives, then I can find a way to escape.
Then why don't you butcher the others and hold him captive? Use him as a hostage. Get the Bat thing to let you go, else you will gut his friend like a jack-o'-lantern?
I… yes, I should…
Why are they still alive?
I have to focus. Work around these temporary limitations. But first, I must claim these soldiers as my own. I will use them—not for fuel, yet.
"Correct. I am no angel," I shuddered out my ruined speakers. "It was an attempt to comfort you. I am a prisoner, same as you. In fact, your captain and I were both victimized by the master of this house."
Kiara seemed to relax subtly; Steven squinted in suspicion. Roland and Idris did not respond, and Shen stared at where his flask had been with longing. "I am here to assist you." I tapped a claw against the hardwood. "I require fuel to heal—food of any sort really."
"We don't have any," Steven replied promptly. "Our rations ran dry. We tried searching some buildings. Everything went dark, and some of us were here." He looked from side to side, as if performing a headcount.
I recalled the tattered clothes and discarded weapons. Some of them must have been consumed. Perhaps a toll to transport the rest? "You can always offer me your blood. Grant me gallons of it, and I will take you to safety."
Kiara shook her head, eyes shut. "No way. We can't just… give it to you." She took a step back, focus never leaving my working limb.
"A limb would work too. How about you chop one off that captain of yours?" I tilted my head, trying to show compromise. The novel tension in the room told me my approach was not optimal.
"We ain't killing the captain," Steven firmly stated. He seemed to reach for a blade on instinct; his hand only met fabric. They were all unarmed.
"And why not?" I answered, nodding my head. "He is useless to you now. If you don't feed me, then you have no chance of leaving this place. Might as well shovel one of his arms down my gullet."
"Oh, the clanker's feeling hungry." Shen raised his hand as if he held his flask, taking another phantom swig. "You trench trash are all the same. Do you have any idea how much damage you did to the stock market?" He looked away, fist clenched. "And to my wallet."
"Was that a slur? I didn't think a mere skin-ape had it in them. Do you have any idea who I am?" I responded without thinking, a growl rising in my throat with every word.
"A Roomba with legs." Shen smirked. "Shit-for-CPU, PS2, electron-blue-looking-ass. Must I continue? Samsung smart fridge." He giggled to himself. He snapped his gaze to the others, disappointed when they didn't find it funny.
I sighed internally, bottling up my growing frustration. I needed to keep a clear head. The fact mere words could shake me only swelled my spite. I slowly dragged my lenses across the room. Perhaps feeding can wait. I don't necessarily need to feed right now.
The Black Beast had underlings. Our captor may have them too?
"I apologize. I am not here to save you. I am not here to deliver you in the name of some god I don't believe in." This caught their attention. "I am here by chance, and I require fuel in the form of biomass."
Steven seemed to have an uncanny ability to detect lies. He was by far the most critical of the group. He exhaled a breath he had been holding. I had gotten past him—the truth would be more deceptive than any lie.
He looked to Roland, then nodded. "Aye, we get that. But the captain is the one in charge." His eyes lingered on Idris. "Most of us have given plenty enough. We don't have any left to give you."
Roland was the key. I needed him on his feet and dancing to my tune. He was afraid, trembling. Who wouldn't be after witnessing that monster smear a comrade against the wall? But when the opportunity presented itself, he attempted to fight back.
I can work with that. I just need to make him think there is a solution.
"Captain Roland," I raised my voice. "If it is death that you fear, then get up. It is not the invariable outcome." I could hear him gulp, his tremors slowing. I had him. "Lie there and weep, and you will die. Heed me now, and you may die."
Abruptly, he sat up. He looked me in the eyes, lips sucked in and brows stiff. "I have said something like that many times in my life. My job has always been to ensure that was always the case." Steven crossed his arms in discomfort as Roland continued. "It's funny that only now that's the truth, and that it applies to me."
He chuckled bitterly. "Listen to whatever he has to say. He'll do a better job than I ever could."
He walked away from me, withdrawing a cigarette but finding no way to light it. I raised my voice, making sure he heard me. "They won't listen. If you wish to live, you will have to work for it, Captain."
He turned around. He spent the next half-minute in silence. "Attention, scum. I will confer with the machine, and I will get you out of here." There was no uncertainty in his voice. He was a good liar.
Steven seemed pleased, a slight smile forming on his lips. Kiara rocked Idris awake; the drugged man slowly roused. Roland sucked on his unlit cigarette. Shen clinked an invisible glass.
I addressed them. "They will most likely come to grab Shen as promised. I will arm you. In return, you will take me with you and provide me with fuel."
Roland adjusted his coat. "There are uncertainties in your plan. However, for now, it's best we follow it. So, how do we go about it?"
"We fight." My frame started heating up, the metal glowing an incandescent yellow—my nanomachines setting upon me. Panic flashed in their gazes, but Roland remained steely. "We fight till we are the only ones left."