Pain Bringer (The Constant War Book 2), page 14
She channeled her anger into the Painbringer’s fists. A surge of energy grew around them. She lunged forward, and the Painbringer leapt at the cockroach. A blistering swipe of red particle energy sparked as she made contact. The blast rolled down the gulley like a firework fountain on its side.
But the cockroach dove out of the way, proving more resilient than she had anticipated.
“Char!” the cockroach called out. “What are you doing?!”
Making sure she was safe. Making sure everyone was safe from Sindarhe. That’s what she was doing.
The Painbringer cycled another dozen rounds at the fleeing cockroach. Her target bounced from side to side, dodging explosive impacts. It’d be so much easier to hit, if the Painbringer actually helped her.
She felt disconnected from it.
That’s not how she was supposed to feel in the Painbringer.
It was supposed to make her feel connected. Secure.
Safe.
Sweat rolled down her forehead. Heat sweltered inside the Painbringer’s cockpit. Climate control was already pushed to maximum. Interior fans roared behind her head, trying to keep her cool.
The cockroach ran past her feet in a blur. Somehow, it knew her moves. Knew her blind spots. Was able to anticipate her actions, dodging her assaults time and again.
She turned, looking for it. Listening for the skittering of its feet. But all she saw was empty gullies, flooded by darkened night. The cockroach was nowhere to be seen. Like the Painbringer’s sensors, she registered nothing.
“No.” Her breath came up short. Brief, precise puffs of air, in and out. Her lungs burned. “This can’t be.”
It was out there, somewhere, scurrying in the darkness. It had to be. She couldn’t let it get away. They were depending on her. Rousseau. Wilkins. Dr. Scott. Her father. Heaven and Earth.
Everyone.
Her eyes darted from side to side. She was as manic as the Painbringer’s scans and scrolling walls text and sweeping reticles—all coming to the same conclusion.
For the moment, she had lost her target.
Chapter Sixteen
“C’mon, c’mon.”
Wilkins held his wrist display to the Tigerclaw’s biometric scanner. A matrix array of green light swept across his face and a soothing female voice with a British accent greeted him.
“Welcome to your mecha—Brent—Wilkins.”
“Uh, yeah, hi. Can we speed this up a little?” Wilkins thumped the biometric scanner with two fingers. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
A shadow eclipsed him. The Painbringer towered over him; twin mounted floodlights painted him in spotlight.
“As I was saying…”
The hairs on his neck stood on end as energy crackled over his shoulder.
A mechanical drone whirred, followed by the familiar click of the Painbringer’s rockets snapping into place.
“One moment—Brent—Wilkins. Accessing information”—the biometric scanner made several processing beeps—“now.”
Wilkins rolled to his right, unwilling to become a racing stripe on the side of his mecha, as a charged blast disintegrated the ground where he had been standing. He clambered to his feet and bolted for the end of the corridor, drawing fire. He’d need the mecha if he wanted to stand a chance against the Painbringer.
Ground exploded. Dirt peppered his face. Shielding himself, Wilkins bulled through a shower of terrain.
“C’mon, Char?! Was it something I said?”
Engines flared. The Painbringer soared over his head, landing in front of him.
“Of course it was,” he muttered.
Like an angry porcupine bearing quills, the Painbringer’s weapons snapped into battle-ready position.
“Can we talk about this?”
Particle energy ignited, answering with a throbbing red hue.
Wilkins ducked down a blind corridor, clawing darkness, only to find another dead end.
Floodlights illuminated splotchy dirt circles. Leg servos whined. Coarse rock crunched underfoot. The Painbringer lumbered at the corridor’s opening, paused, and pivoted. Its entire arsenal locked on its target.
“This isn’t exactly a fair fight, Char.” Keeping the Painbringer in front of him, Wilkins backed into the corner.
The Painbringer approached. Its girth practically scraped the recharging units on either side. Favoring his right, Wilkins craned his neck, searching for a way around the mecha. An escape. Anything.
He outstretched his hand like he was trying to calm a wild animal and approached the Painbringer.
“Okay, you were right, Char. There, I said it. I should have listened. This place is making you nuts.”
For a brief second, the only sound was the settling of the machine. Oiled and greased parts glimmered in the night. Grinding gears idly rumbled. Then, a high-pitched shriek shredded eardrums.
He dove out of the way as an energy blast ripped past his head, so close, he heard individual atoms splitting.
“I mean all of us!” shouted Wilkins. “Not just you! I’m seeing things too!”
His pleas failed to appease Char. And the Painbringer. Automated targeting systems zeroed in, predicting his position before he even knew which direction he was heading. The only rhyme or reason to his movements was simple instinct hoping to avoid vaporization. Yet, the Painbringer was two steps ahead, the first blast exploding a meter in front of him. The second, half a meter behind.
Wilkins lunged through a geyser of dirt. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the Painbringer was no longer piloted by a human, but a cold, heartless machine. And then again, maybe he did know better.
“Char!” Wilkins raised his hands hoping she, or the Painbringer, or anyone, would recognize the universal sign for ‘I surrender.’
Apparently, no one within earshot spoke that language.
Wilkins heart thumped. The rush of blood thundered in his ears. His lungs burned.
Amid multiple near death experiences, Wilkins had a sudden realization.
He loved this.
Compared to being shoved into a tiny hole in the middle of Heaven, all safe and cozy, he’d rather fight a mecha in hand-to-steel combat on the corpse of a floating Old God any day of the week.
At that moment, he knew for certain, these were the experiences he was born to live.
“Identity confirmed—Brent—Wilkins. Access granted.”
The automated voice echoed his salvation through the narrow corridors. A green light illuminated, a hazy beacon in the night sky, a lighthouse on the shore, a glowing phosphorescent trail of breadcrumbs.
Backed into a corner, there was nothing left to do.
Wilkins ran at the Painbringer.
It reared back, swiveling at the waist, metal fist clenched, glowing red with energy.
With each pounding footstep, he shouted a mantra in his head—
This is the dumbest idea ever!
The Painbringer swung. Wilkins leapt over the fist as it impacted dirt. In midair, he tucked, landing hard, and rolled between the Painbringer’s legs.
He was through. He could barely believe it, but adrenaline was coursing through his veins and his Tigerclaw was waiting.
On the other side of the Painbringer, he paused just long enough to register his feat, and appreciate the extreme cool factor. Yeah, he was something all right. It was only a split second, but even that much hesitation was probably a mistake.
The Painbringer’s swing overshot its target and the momentum laid it out on its back. Rocking back, legs raised high over its head, the Painbringer flung its chassis forward, like something out of a Kung-Fu flick, and was on its feet again.
“Good gravy.”
Wilkins put his head down, sucked in hot breath, and pounded loose terrain. His focus was locked on the Tigerclaw at the end of the corridor. The blinking green light. The British female voice welcoming him. He channeled his strength and stamina into a free-for-all sprint.
The Tigerclaw was his chance for a fair fight. His only chance for a fair fight.
Strides ahead of the Painbringer, Wilkins slapped the biometric lock on Tigerclaw’s side. Servos whined at the base of the canopy. Air hissed from under rubber seams. The canopy began to rise. He grabbed a handhold and hoisted himself up the side of the mecha.
A blast of red particle energy hit the metal plating next to him, and a concussive wave sent him flying.
Wilkins slammed into a recharging unit and fell to the ground in a heap of flailing limbs. Scrambling to right himself, he twisted into combat-readied position, preparing for counterattack.
Ten meters away, his Tigerclaw, his salvation, was in ruins.
Its canopy was frozen in place, only having opened a few inches. Once vigorously whining servos and hydraulics were now silent, spurting coffee-colored fluids. Wires hung from an indentation where the biometric scanner had been, its glass eye shattered. Smoke rose in twisting ribbons. Half the mecha was scorched. The other half obliterated from the blast.
Wilkins threw his hands up over his head. “Oh, come on!”
The Painbringer swiveled, locking on to his voice.
Instantly, Wilkins regretted the vocalization. As particle energy licked the air, he dove behind the ruined mecha, using it as cover from the quickly approaching Painbringer. He pressed his wrist display against the shattered biometric scanner.
The polite British female, her voice now distinctly metallic, said, “Access…denied…Brent…Wil…”
“No!” He punched the machine, adding a new dent.
“Access…Wil…Bren…Good morning. Tea. Time. Is. Denied.”
“Of course it is.”
The Painbringer rose over the broken remains of the Tigerclaw. Wilkins scuttled backward, blindly searching with his hands for anything that could help.
“Is this about me rejecting you, Char? If I’d known it meant that much to you, I—I don’t know.” Wilkins shrugged. “I doubt I would have done anything different to be honest. Can we, uh, take a minute to talk about it? Work this out?”
Red particle energy formed angry swarms around the Painbringer’s fists.
“Guess not.”
Wilkins glanced at the half opened canopy on the smoldering Tigerclaw. The armor plating on its port side was obliterated. Its torso hung buckled over a pair of mangled hips. Legs were attached akimbo, looking like the entire machine would fall over at any moment.
Even if he managed to slip inside, the Tigerclaw was useless.
“Fine!” shouted Wilkins. “This is how you wanna do this?!”
From a sitting position, he rocked onto the balls of his feet, hands clenched in fists, teeth gritted, vein bulging in his forehead, facing-off with the mecha towering overhead. “Let’s do this!”
Heat rippled his vision, so intense that the O2 in his pressure suit began to reek of a sharp chlorine stench. Instead of running away from the weapon discharge, trying to avoid the inevitable, Wilkins ran right into it—directly at the Painbringer.
Twin beams passed behind his back, as he lowered his shoulder and plowed into the mecha.
It didn’t budge.
But neither did he.
The Painbringer pivoted, trying for an attack angle. It wasn’t made for such close quarters combat with something on a much smaller scale.
Wilkins grabbed its left arm, planted a foot on its knee, and climbed up the machine.
Recoiling, the Painbringer attempted to swat at Wilkins. It pounded its chest like a great ape, but Wilkins dodged the initial assault, and swung around its back. He grabbed a starboard floodlight and twisted it, aiming at the moving machinery on the Painbringer’s back to get a better view. Though it was sleeker than Tigerclaws, there were still seams between the armor plates where he could see moving parts—wires that controlled movement and tubes that carried necessary fuel and lubricants.
He slid between the twin engines on its back, bringing the bent floodlight with him. The seams along the lower back were tight. Armor plates crisscrossed over more delicate moving parts. He thought better of trying to jam anything between them—a good way to lose a finger, or a hand, or his entire arm.
Unlike the tightly seamed lower back, the upper back plates were more loosely spread. They did not move as readily with the movement of the Painbringer, accommodating the large engines that propelled the machine. Beneath them, twin sets of thick tubes ran like a trapezius on its upper back to the engines.
“Perfect.”
He unsheathed a knife from his thigh. Swiping at the right tube, he stabbed, but his hand swayed with the motion of the mecha, and the knife jabbed air.
Briefly, the jerking motion of the mecha became steady. He secured a firm hold on the tube and began sawing through heavy rubberized material.
The intakes whined, flames burst from the engines, and Wilkins understood why the Painbringer had been momentarily stationary.
The mecha rocketed backward, rapidly rushing toward the nearest recharging unit, back first, attempting to squash him like a bug.
Wilkins jumped as the Painbringer collided into the recharging unit. He caught the lip of the canopy and clung to it for dear life. With the heel of his hand, knife pointed at the sky, he pounded on the canopy. “Char, for the love of gravy, stop! I don’t want to hurt you.”
Both mechanical arms went to its head like a robot with a monster headache.
Wilkins leapt from the canopy, caught the bent floodlight, and slid back into the gully between the engines. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning.” As an afterthought, he muttered, “That’s more than you did for me.”
The Painbringer swayed back and forth, slapping at its backside, unable to reach him. Desperately trying to toss him from its chassis, it slammed into the nearest Tigerclaw.
Wilkins stabbed the rubberized tube. Amber fluid spurted in gushing pulses.
The Painbringer crashed into another recharging unit. A fist went through the attached Tigerclaw’s cockpit. An elbow to its vents. The jarring motion nearly shook Wilkins loose.
Wilkins raised his feet and clutched the bent floodlight, bracing for the next hit.
The Painbringer stood up and began punching the hell out of the nearest Tigerclaw, looking like it was sparring with an unconscious opponent.
Wilkins grimaced. Though the Painbringer was spitting fluids, it didn’t seem to slow it down any. If he wanted to survive, he’d have to speed things along.
He grabbed the second rubberized tube on the left, reared back his knife to jab into it, when the Painbringer rammed itself full force into another recharging unit.
The knife sailed from his grip. Desperately, he lunged for it.
But it was too late.
The knife landed, blade down in the dirt, a good five meters below.
“Well, don’t that beat all.”
For an insane second, he considered hopping down and retrieving it, but he had no idea how he would get back up again. And the Painbringer left him no time to consider the matter further.
The corner of the damaged recharging unit raced toward his head as the Painbringer twisted. Wilkins rolled to his side and jammed his hand between a seam in the armor plating. The Painbringer whipped back and forth like a junkyard dog with a new chew toy.
He smacked into vented ribs, likely cracking several of his own. Pulling, Wilkins tried to break free, but his hand was wedged in the groove between plates. He dangled off the side of the Painbringer, hanging under its armpit, desperately trying to free himself.
The Painbringer took flight, climbing to the top of the nearest Tigerclaw, prepping for a high dive from the top rope. It spun in mid-air, ensuring that Wilkins was between it and the jagged, damaged, rapidly approaching Tigerclaw.
He pulled himself up by his stuck arm, raised his body upside down, placing both legs against the Painbringer’s chassis, and pistoned his legs, pulling against his stuck hand. Moments prior, he had been worried about losing his hand—now, he prayed for it.
With a grunt, his hand came free. He was loose, kicking and flailing like a yearling learning to swim for the first time. Certain he looked all the idiot, he pushed himself clear of the collision.
A screech of metal on metal shredded the air. The Painbringer thudded onto the platform, flattening the Tigerclaw.
Wilkins groaned as he hit the surface, thrown ten meters from the Painbringer.
It swiveled, pinpointing him in spotlight.
He raised an arm, shielding the light. Broken wires dangled from his bloody hand. Squinting he could make out the metal monster towering over him, subtle details through silhouette. The port floodlight, a purple Xenon, trying its best to blind him. The other dragged through the dirt behind it, like a broken tail. As it lurched forward, a widening pool of amber fluid collected at its feet.
The whirring engines howled like a hippopotamus that had taken a shot to the testicles. The Painbringer’s head limply hung into its chest. Its arms fell to its sides like a marionette whose strings had suddenly been cut.
Wilkins gave it a moment.
Just to be sure.
“Char?”
He’d seen far too many classic horror films to make that mistake. Besides, any chance to catch his breath and grab a small reprieve was gladly appreciated.
A ribbon of smoke twisted behind the Painbringer. Wilkins figured it probably was the closest thing to waving a white flag that he was going to get.
“Wooooooo-hoooooooooooooo!” His scream echoed through the valley. Probably across the entire planet. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Heaven had picked up readings as well.
Exhausted, he staggered to his feet and dusted himself off. He clacked one boot into the other, knocking loose dirt from the treads. Marching toward the fallen mecha, he retrieved his knife, wiped it clean with a chamois from his belt, and resheathed it. He found a solid handhold on the Painbringer and scaled its backside. When he reached the top, he slid across its dome canopy. His hand slipped under the release and tugged. Air hissed as the canopy raised.
Inside, Char blindly clawed at invisible monsters. “Safe! It’s the only way to be safe!”
