Survival by K. A. Riley

Survival by K. A. Riley

Author:K. A. Riley [Riley, K. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Travel Duck Press
Published: 2019-08-24T16:00:00+00:00


22

“Press-and-Die?” Cardyn asks as the towering steel door, as high up as the entire arena, grinds open on rusted rails.

What lumbers out is a Modified.

But this isn’t one of the shrunken, near-catatonic Modifieds we encountered in Caldwell’s lab in San Francisco.

This Modified is a flesh and blood tank. He’s part human, part industrial machine press. His exposed muscles on one arm and one leg are wrapped in thick coils of orange wire. His forearms flex with spring-loaded industrial hydraulics. Whatever power source he has in the clunky steel box affixed to his chest must be radioactive because even the metallic parts of him are covered in sizzling blisters.

Clearly a slave of the Survivalists, he stomps toward us, an inhibitor collar clamped on his neck, War’s vulture symbol burned deep into the part of his mammoth skull that’s still covered in human skin just above the asymmetrical ocular sensors passing for his eyes.

Without hesitating, the titanic Modified charges across the pit. The ground literally splits under him, a fault-line forming between his massive steel boots.

“Survival,” War shouts down to us from his mobile throne, “is its own test, its own result. Survival is its own reward!”

After looking up at War, the giant machine-man swings around to face us.

“Press-and-Die?” Cardyn pseudo-smiles. “That thing’s name is Press-and-Die? Talk about on-the-nose.”

“The Modifieds aren’t ‘things,’” I remind him. “They’re people.”

“Either way, I don’t think it, I mean he, is much of a people person.”

Launching into battle mode and guided by our training, we form a loose circle around the behemoth.

Cardyn calls out to him. “Slow down, Big Guy, or you might blow a gasket.”

That seems to disorient the giant machine-man but only for a second. He shakes off Cardyn’s persuasion and takes a swing with his arm of gears, pulleys, and pistons. For someone and something so large, he moves fast, and Cardyn rolls to the ground, barely dodging the mighty blow.

Wobbly from the intensity of my connection to Render and the equally intense after-effects of separation, I’ve got nothing to offer.

Emergent or not, I’m still just a hundred-and-twenty-pound girl squaring off against a very angry industrial engine of tunnel-visioned destruction.

I try anyway. Because, after all, what choice do I have?

I manage to evade his first strike, but he clips me on the follow-through with one of the synth-steel rods making up his forearm. The impact, even though it’s the smallest fraction of his strength, drives me into the ground and forces my arm to get twisted under me.

I’m trying to be strong and get back to the fight, but my arm is swollen, and I can hear the radius and ulna bones crunching against each other as I try to roll away.

Press-and-Die pivots his head around on a pair of screeching cam-shafts and looks down at me with an expression that I swear is apologetic. He pauses for a second, seemingly unsure if he should continue his attack now that I’m wounded, or else back off at my all-too evident pain.

Taking advantage of his hesitation, Rain distracts our opponent while Manthy slips around behind him.



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