"Ephraim! Don't just stand there! Give me the crowbar and the pipe, fast!"
"No... no, no, no... I can't... I can't," Ephraim's voice trembled with terror.
"Do it!"
Clack.
Clack.
"There's no time! Hurry! Ephraim... you damn old man."
I leaned back with all my weight, all my strength.
One.
Two.
Three.
The pain was unbearable, but the skill suppressed most of it.
Come on, you damn arm... tear off, fuck.
Ephraim was muttering something under his breath. Zeno had completely shut down at this point.
Clack.
I had to think of something fast. Think...
I immediately began looking around and noticed several objects—they looked like bolts, but sharp. About six of them. I quickly grabbed them and started driving them into the flesh: one, two, three...
When all six were in place, I began to twist them clockwise with all my strength.
The pain was so intense that I lost consciousness several times—but I kept going anyway.
"Iron..." Ephraim's voice came from behind.
"Damn old man... he could've just given them to me..."
With those words, I hacked through the remaining flesh. And started crushing the bone—with uneven blows.
After a few strikes, I recoiled back on pure instinct, with my whole body.
I fell on my back, my head hitting the hard floor. My ears rang as if I were standing inside a bell. I tried to breathe, but my diaphragm spasmed.
"...kid! IRON!"
Ephraim’s voice broke through the ringing. The old man rushed to me, his hands shaking. He grabbed me by the jacket and dragged me across the floor, away from the rotating Core column.
Skill... initiate "healing" process, I said mentally.
"Tourniquet..." Ephraim wheezed. He ripped off his belt, his fingers slipping in the blood. "Hold on... hold on."
"A—agh..."
Air hissed out of my lungs. Ephraim pulled the belt tight under my armpit.
BOOM.
Steps shook the floor. Ten meters away, in a cloud of dust by the blown airlock, stood Richter.
"Target..." the speaker rasped with radio static. "Confirmed."
"Ephraim... the server room..."
"Shut up," the old man growled.
He stood up. In his hands were the piece of pipe we had used to pry open the hatch and a rusty crowbar.
"Hey!" Ephraim shouted, stepping aside to draw Richter away from me. "I'm here!"
His processors were lagging—likely the effect of the electrical shock at the airlock. Slowly, he turned his gaze to the old man.
"Obstacle... Eliminate."
He swung.
The sword fragment cut the air. Ephraim managed to put up the pipe. But it was torn from his hands along with the skin on his palms. Ephraim was thrown back. He hit the server rack with his back, slid down, and went still.
"Ephraim!"
I tried to scream, but only a wet, bloody cough came out.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Three steps. Four.
My gaze darted around the hall. Red light. Shadows. Racks. The humming Core behind my back. Pipes running along the ceiling.
Pipes.
I squinted. On one of the lines directly above the center of the hall, I saw a marking: a yellow triangle with a blue border.
[Chladon 1301. Fire Suppression]
Richter might be a cyborg. But he had lungs and a heart.
He was already five meters away, raising his sword for a strike. I rolled onto my stomach. I bit my lip, suppressing a scream. And crawled. Toward the wall, where a manual safety control panel was blinking.
"Wait..." I croaked, leaving a wide red trail on the white floor.
Richter took a step after me.
I reached the wall. The panel was smashed. The lever was missing. Richter loomed over me.
"End... of cycle..."
With my left hand—I grabbed two bare contacts.
"Reboot, you bastard," I whispered.
And shorted the wires.
A deafening pop echoed through the hall. Jets of white gas hissed from the nozzles under the ceiling. A stream of Chladon hit him.
Crack!
The chest plate burst, exposing his internals—a tangle of synthetic muscles and pulsing tubes.
Hoarse, gurgling sounds erupted from him. He dropped the sword, clutching his throat. His knees buckled.
"Error... ventilation... error..."
I lay pressed against the wall, trying to breathe shallowly.
Near the puddle where Richter stood lay a thick power cable. Blue sparks danced on its severed end.
After crawling to it, I grabbed the cable with my left hand. The insulation was stripped. The electric shock shot through me instantly. My jaws snapped, muscles locked.
"Hey!" I yelled.
Richter looked down. And I drove the bare end of the cable into the crack in his chest armor.
The flash was so bright I saw the skeleton inside my own hand.
Richter arched back. His steel arms spread wide while blue lightning struck his body, jumping to the floor. I was shaking in convulsions; I was sure my spine was about to crumble into dust. My heart pounded in my throat, skipping beats.
One. Two. Three.
I poured the raw power of the Sector into him.
The lens in Richter's eye burst. Black smoke poured from the helmet.
I let go of the cable. It fell to the floor, continuing to spark.
Coughing came from the corner.
"Impressive," Zeno said. "Look at the body in front of you."
I forced my eyelids open. Richter's corpse lay nearby, the smoke from the helmet gradually dissipating.
"His brain is dead," Zeno continued. "But the hardware is intact. Hydraulics. Frame. Sensors."
"What do you want?" I asked aloud.
"Connect me. That data transfer cable by the wall—plug it into the port on the back of the helmet."
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