—
Standing atop the flight of stairs, a wave of white artificial light flickered in an erratic pattern, casting irregular shadows in every direction. A trail of black liquid riddled the stairs of the forsaken underground train system.
At the top of the stairway, stood a man in black chrome armor.
Every inch of flesh was enveloped in the strongest and most durable of metals, only allowing his murky orbs and flowing black hair to reveal a glimpse of what he looked like. Wires coated his arms, steam fumed from his back in a horizontal pattern–as if an engine were pumping from within and metallic black spikes trailed from his cervical vertebrae, down to his lumbar vertebrae. A massive collar covered the entirety of his neck and mouth, concealing his features.
"Seriously?" Grumbled the man in black-chrome armor. "You lost against a girl?"
As of late, out of the seventeen men he sent to scout throughout, only three crawled back to him. Literally. Their limbs mangled, sparking; their legs in directions where they weren't anatomically possible.
They spoke. Mere phrases sputtered out due to ruptured voice boxes. "Str–...Strong. Sh–..."
Schlrk
Shot. They were shot. They didn't speak anymore. Each of them had of them had a bullet caved in their cranium.
"Nuisances." He said, slipping his weapon back into the holster on his hip.
Treading away, the artificial light above blinked. Sparked. Stepping into a new area, reaching passed a threshold, each step echoed. No longer inside a hallway, instead, slipping through mega pillars, that stretched endlessly up above to the point only darkness consumed what was supposedly the ceiling. He continued his stroll. He reached for comms.
Grumbling, he said: "I told boss we wouldn't need those doped-up goons." Stepping through a seemingly endless room with no walls in sight, enveloped in dark, he continued. "I was right. They're only leaving traces."
…
Empty subway tracks. Rebar riddled the solid ground. Accumulated dust permeated the air. Twinkling sparks among the rectangular lights above illuminated the subway. For a second, there was only black, and then the second after, there was light. Erratic–an unpredictable set of lights and shadows danced around.
Closer, a sign in bright green neon flickered. Revealing itself to be the restrooms.
The sheer amount of dust can make one sneeze their organs out, and heaps of chipped concrete laid around even within the stalls. Ceilings had holes above, wires peeking out, letting out a fair share of sparks.
Sobbing echoed.
Constant sniffling.
It burned her nostrils but she can't help it.
Someone died.
"No…No…"
Cupping her legs in between her arms, she cradled herself. At the corner of the women's restroom, she hid herself. Her forearms were doused in splattered black as if she intentionally splashed her arms into a bucket of crude oil. Her face was smeared in dirt. Her eyes were red from crying, her cheeks puffy.
"Why did…W-Why did I…"
For reasons, she blamed herself. Klara accused herself.
She gazed at her hands doused in black. Her melancholy look flared into a hardening glare. Clenching her fists, her knuckles whitened until her palms bled. Gritting her teeth as tears riddled her cheeks. "Die…die die die die die–"
…
Several men. Several Droids. One office room that seemingly stretched endlessly. The lights ceased to comply. Only the dark was what enveloped the surroundings. Anything that existed within that space was barely visible to the human eye.
Those present within the room, however, abandoned their humanity. And some aren't even human, to begin with.
Creaking and groaning tiles from the ceiling above cracked. Cubicles littered the room, papers that had been laid for what seemed like centuries, laid haphazardly among desks and on the floor, untouched—accumulated enough dust to become the color gray.
"Do you have it?" Static, flickering. The voice rumbled every word uttered. Its red glowing eyes flickered within the dark, concealing his figure.
There was no human resemblance to the one who responded. Only wires, metal flesh, and oil beat from the inside. Churned up into a walking metallic mess. Chromed to the very brim. Every step was an effort, his face deformed, replaced with lenses for eyes.
"We already put it in one of the trucks." He responded. His voice was gurgling and raspy. "Departure should be in progress as of now."
"Good." Its red minuscule eyes flickered as if blinking. "The rest?"
"Pending."
"Elaborate."
Oil abruptly gushed out from the man's mouth, affecting his speech. However, that didn't stop him. A spark flashed on the man's left temple. "The girl. She's slowing down the process."
"That abnormally strong female?"
"Yeah."
"I'll deal with her. Move it. Make sure packaging reaches a hundred percent by the time I finish."
"Noted."
As if on cue, a familiar blinking red light illuminated the seemingly endless sea of cubicles."You, you, you, and you. With me."
—
Meanwhile, 3 kilometers southeast, deep within the uninhabited office underground, Klara stood in front of a metallic gate. Rust was evident on its edges. The teenager did not hesitate to strike down the rusty gate. Her right fist recoiled from the moment of impact.
Said impact shattered the steel gate, allowing for entry. Stepping past the gaping hole from the force of her strike, the teenager found herself within the confines of a narrow office. A seemingly abandoned workplace. Metallic and wooden doors alike are within arm's reach on both sides, square windows from said doors were shattered, scattering sharp glass shards.
At the moment, no one was present.
Slowly, she took several steps forward. Every step she took an audible crunch echoed due to the sheer amount of stockpile dust layering the ceramic floor.
…
It was deadly silent. That was obvious enough.
Silence to the point Klara can hear her mind churning, her neurons transferring information of her current position perceived by her sense of sight.
"Can't see shit…" She growled, taking careless treks toward the darkness knowing she couldn't see a thing.
Another step. Another. Another. And another.
Accompanied by nothing but thoughts of what could pop from the darkness, she trudged further.
While the crunching of glass beneath her sneakers entertained the silence around her, she passed through a few doors. Some were kicked down, the desks within those rooms, printers, chairs, any of the like–shattered and spread about as if they were searching of relative importance. She passed through doors that were left untouched. She took a halt at dead ends, turning around and recounting her steps. She passed through an empty cubicle office room. Nothing of use there, she thought, not bothering to inspect the entirety of the room and stumped toward another hallway.
…
Mid-plod, she stopped. During that very second, she stood still. Her thoughts. They fluttered. Overwhelmed her–as if watching an advertisement in the middle of the rising action of an appealing movie.
'I killed someone'. She thought to herself.
White noise clogged her cerebral cortex. Realization after realization struck her like an arrow to the head.
'They were bad guys so…it's fine.' She reassured herself.
Right after she took comfort in her thoughts she–
'Dante's dead though. Her expression darkened. She bit her lip. No. He's not dead. He's alive.'
'He's dead. I felt his blood–No he's not. He's not dead. He's alive–not dead. I refuse to believe that.'
'You saw it yourself.' He was killed.
'No. No, the lights…the lights blocked my vision.'
'I felt blood on my hands.'
'No. He's not dead.'
'I saw his eyes. They're dull…'
'It was that asshole's fault. The guy with red eyes.'
'His lower half was literally ripped apart.'
…
"He's not dead. Dante's not dead." Klara finalized. She'd rather stick with the delusion that her best friend's still alive than sulk about his supposed murder. "He's…n-not dead." Sniffling, she clenched her fists. Her knuckles whitened. "He's not dead." She repeated.
That said, she continued her reckless trek down an unknown corridor.
Red eyes.
Twenty meters from the distance, the darkness erupted the same robotic red eyes, rectangular in shape, that ripped Dante apart.
Her vision turned red, her fists clenched, knuckles whitening amidst the oil dousing her forearms. "I know you…" She said, her tone dangerously low.
Then a set of circular robotic eyes flickered to life, popping up on the right of the one with red eyes. Then another, and another, and another.
Until there were six of them.
Each of those dull-lit eyes varies in different colors. The first was red, the second was yellow, then green, blue, purple, and orange.
Suddenly, Humming echoed within the tight office hallway as if something was churning on in the background. It was like a key starting a car's engine.
Klara stepped back. 'Shit.'