12 Miles Below

They came into view, trailing right behind where we’d come from. I counted seven of them, racing towards us. From this distance they seemed small. But I recognized just how tall the alleyway had been when we’d run through it, and their heads cleared window sills I couldn’t have grabbed with my hand.

They were nightmares made manifest.

Elongated legs and arms far too thin and long to be human proportions, but just close enough to be uncanny. White plates of armor lined their bodies, their hands ended in claws with rust or dried blood. Exposed pseudo rib cages, stark white, covering black wiring mimicking where innards should have been, if the creatures had been alive. All of it juxtaposed to the bone white carapace-like armor. They must have been seven or eight feet tall, while hunched over.

The faces were the worst part. Like human skulls, with far too many teeth, and no jaw. Deep glowing violet eyes that seemed tiny compared to the larger eye sockets, the violet motif also outlining the skeletal frame. Their spines jutted out, bladelike.

And they ran at us like starving predators that had finally spotted food. Hunched over, occasionally using their arms as legs in those loping strides. There was hardly any rhythm to their motions, they simply propelled themselves forward however they could.

Father braced the rifle against his shoulder. Nothing but the wall edge gripped the gun’s stock, his left hand still hanging limply at his side.

Even a broken arm could be moved in emergency situations. Did he think he could avoid using that arm for the entire fight? Or was he truly physically incapable of moving it?

He watched as the enemy descended towards us, no flicker of movement in his form. Waiting for the moment the enemy would be in effective range. He didn’t need to wait long given their speed.

"Tsuya, guide me to victory.” He prayed under his breath, then pulled the trigger.

A three-round burst of bullets rocketed out from the rifle, striking directly into the first rushing automaton, ripping its head backwards and shattering pieces across the floor. The body collapsed on the ground, sliding to a stop across the concrete, lights winking out instantly.

He shifted focus to the dropped grenade next, just as the feral group ran across. A single bullet flew true, and the world shook with fire. The explosion tore up two more automatons, but the rest surged through the dying flames without pause. It looks like they’d been spared the worst of the makeshift mine.

Father refocused on the next closest automaton and fired another round of bullets. It tried to dodge, but he tracked the movements and matched the direction with three more bursts of rifle shots. It wasn’t a perfect takedown. Still, the creature stumbled downwards, arms failing to hold its weight as the skull-like head cracked hard onto the ground. The violet lights flickered across the monster, struggling to remain active. The creature blessedly couldn’t get back up.

The next target gracefully dodged the hail of bullets sent its way, moving in a pattern that maximized Father’s broken arm.

The relic armor compensated for recoil. His bursts were short and contained, but only so much could be done with one hand and the corner of a wall to work with.

The machines might not have respect for the fallen, but they clearly hadn’t been blind either and had already analyzed how to avoid the gunfire.

Father’s gun clicked empty a moment later. He hadn’t downed his third target. Four down, three still left to go.

He tossed the rifle and ammunition pouches in my direction. “Reload this, now!” He barked out, then kneeled and pulled out the boot knife with his customary panache. The blade spun around in his palm, lit by a halo of blue as the weapon ignited mid-flourish. Father assumed the best stance he could muster, trying to balance the limp arm, taking a few steps back into the open to maximize mobility.

The rifle skidded to a halt nearby, and I scrambled out to grab it.

Despite the losses they’d taken, the machines continued their charge without hesitation.

The first automaton barreled into knife range. This close, I could see how massive they were as they overshadowed us. Almost three heads taller even while hunched, they must tower over humans if they bothered to stand straight. Those arms were far longer than I had thought possible.

The opening attack was a bloodthirsty grab for his throat, but he’d clearly been prepared. With a quick duck and a head tilt to the right, he narrowly avoided the grasping hands by what looked to be sheer luck. Sparks flew as the metal claws scraped past his helmet.

He lunged forward in the same instant, knife seeking the automaton’s throat now that he’d made it past the arms. The creature hadn’t failed to notice and replicated Father’s own movement, tilting its own head to the side to avoid the knife. Given the lanky arms, that might have been the best thing it could have done.

It wasn’t quick enough to completely escape, the knife cut through parts of the wiring exposed under where the jaw should have been. The automaton jerked and twitched in response but didn’t collapse.

Knife still in hand, Father spun the dagger on his palm into an under grip, and stabbed backwards with a roar. It sunk into the back of the automaton’s head down to the hilt, where father’s weight and power shoved the towering monster into the ground.

He let go of the hilt, making use of his freed up hand to pull out the last grenade on his belt. It flew directly at the racing enemies, an expert toss.

No blinking lights. He hadn’t primed the explosion.

The two targets instantly aborted their charge and leapt to the sides, recognizing the incoming device without realizing it was harmless.

With the free time, Father extracted his knife with a jerk, standing up on top of his victim’s dying throes. The last two automatons twitched as they took stock of the situation, chittering to each other, realizing the deception he’d used had killed their charge.

Father raised his knife in wordless challenge. They stopped chittering and hissed, moving further apart, aiming to surround their single opponent next. They still didn’t get close to the grenade, keeping it far away. Looks like they weren’t going to take chances with that.

I ducked my attention back to the rifle, frantically trying to hit the release switch. They built the weapon for relic users, compact and made for armored hands with far more dexterity than my clumsy gloves could manage. The fat fur that protected me well against the cold was actively stopping me from telling if I’d hit the small snag or not. Panic and frustration bloomed inside me, further slowing down my progress.

The automatons glanced at each other, contemplating, while Father took a step over the dead thing at his feet. Using the body as leverage for a high ground.

As one, the machines turned and focused their sight on the body. Their violet eyes strobed, a signal being sent.

The corpse Father stood on exploded.

The blast knocked him up, but his armor could handle that sort of weak indirect damage. The real danger was the loss of position and stance.

As soon as their ploy succeeded, the two automatons surged forward together, each trying to maximize their momentary advantage.

It worked. The long reach of the automatons lashed out, unerring, as Father landed hard on the ground. He only had enough time to recover his footing, dodging a swipe of a claw, but was then struck backwards by the other strikes. The relic armor’s shields flared to life with a blaze of blue light, absorbing the blows. He scrambled out of the way, backpedaling on the defensive. One of the automaton’s claws gripped his ankle, tripping him on his back.

He yanked his leg forward, the relic armor strong enough to overcome the automaton’s pull. The knife flashed in his hand, neatly cutting the invader’s wrist. Immediately he rolled on the floor to the side, avoiding the followup attacks before lunging blindly up with the knife.

The automatons backed off, avoiding the obvious hit. It didn’t buy him enough time to fully recover as they leaped back moments later.

Relentless strikes flew at him, unyielding. Forced onto the defensive, he twisted, blocked and stumbled through the onslaught, each time surviving with slimmer and slimmer margins. His armor took the brunt of the damage. Blue shield flaring over fatal hits but conserving itself during non-critical strikes. Those, the armor let through.

The machine assault racked and gouged lines into the family armor. In desperation, father managed a few hits in the frantic melee, slicing off fingers or tearing out parts of the machine armplates.

The fight reached a tense stalemate - the machines unable to batter past his one-handed defense, yet never losing an inch of ground. They could have continued to fight him into exhaustion until they spotted a better way.

Switching tactics, the machines began focusing their strikes, corralling him towards the nearest wall and abusing the lack of defence from the left arm they’d clearly noticed.

I hadn’t been idle, but neither had I been efficient. The empty magazine had finally been released from the rifle, but a bullet had gotten free and lodged into the system, when I’d incorrectly loaded a fresh clip. I frantically tried to reach into the mechanism with these fat gloves, wedging fingers into the magazine chamber to knock the bullet out. That only jammed the loose metal further into the rifle, the gloves too thick to get a grip.

Despair sank in my stomach like lead. My rush and inability to think through stress was costing me.

Almost like an afterthought, and far too late to help me anymore, was the realization that I could have taken off my gods damned gloves in the first place. The environment down here was only cold, this wasn’t the surface.

Years of being a scavenger had made working with gloves almost unnoticeable, and now those reflexes had betrayed me. Still, I ripped my right glove off and tried to fish out the stuck bullet with newfound dexterity. There might be hope.

Father had finally been forced up against a wall and the automatons sensed their moment had come, one of them getting too impatient and diving in for the kill. It had made one fatal mistake in its own haste. The attack had been the same one the first automaton had opened with - a lunge for the throat.

With reflexes forged in war, Father moved. He ducked to the side, tilting his head and using the helmet to deflect the claw with perfect precision, the same steps as before, every action a work of art. A flash of recognition caused the automaton to abort its attack, clearly aware of the technique that had ended its sibling. This time it leaped backwards in an attempt to avoid the following knife slice to its jugular.

The gambit worked. Father’s knife scythed through empty air, a clear miss.

But now he had room to move.

He followed through on the momentum, twirling on himself and transferring the energy of a full rotation directly into his knife. It flew fast from his hand and viciously caught the automaton midair, sinking slightly under the right eye down to the hilt. The machine jerked as the impact carried through, then collapsed as it landed, limp. All the lights died out on its shell a breath later.

Six down. One single machine left to go.

The last automaton struck out, scything through the air but missing as father leapt to the side, rolling on the ground.

He launched himself at it the instant his feet were firm, barreling hard into the creature’s chassis with a heavy crunch, using his limp shoulder almost like a battering ram.

The creature skidded backwards, gouging the ground with its feet. It held, coming to a stop.

That was just the distraction. Father threw out an uppercut with his right hand, directly at the thing’s missing jaw. Sparks lit up the relic armor’s gauntlet as the blue shield flared to life to protect his fingers. The machine’s head reeled up, cracks forming in the ceramic material of its skull.

It hadn't been enough to take it out of the fight.

Father drew back his hand and drove it through the ribcage, searching for something. The creature attacked simultaneously with a haymaker punch.

Father’s left arm twitched at the shoulder, a reflexive attempt to block the attack running through. The shoulder lifted slightly up. The hand and arm guard remained completely limp. Leaving his head completely exposed. The relic armor’s shield flared to life once more, but broke before the skeletal fist. The blow carried into his helmet, cracking his neck sideways and launching him into the air.

With a sickening crunch, he crashed to the ground and slid to a stop seconds later. His body twitched horribly, the right hand extended up in a lingering fencing reflex.

A few horrifying seconds passed while I watched, frozen in place. Bile rose in my throat, but fear and panic rooted me in place.

The automaton straightened up, almost pleased at the outcome. Then it lumbered forward, analyzing the changed situation.

Father remained prone on the ground. The twitching that had racked his body faded, the arm gradually dropped back down.

The machine chuckled darkly, victorious.

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