Author's Note: This story is still, effectively, in a "First Draft" stage. I want to change that, but the hard-copy of this story, the one with all my little additions and amendments... I've got to work out where it is. Until then, I'm putting this up "as is," to a point. Too many people have been wondering If I've stopped writing, which isn't the case! I've done what additions I can without the notes, but I really need them, to get what I want done.

This story is complete, and I have to thank the FF member Sqonk for acting as a beta reader, and for all the long e-mail chats. What was said has been listened to. In fact, Story Five, is the result of them sending a reply about villains. And this means that the lightbulb is flashing, because I now have the perfect villain to go up against Cameron, not to mention the right story to do it all with. And Story Five... I'm REALLY eager to get cracking on it!

So, whilst it is annoying for me to do, I'm having to "abandon" this story, until my production notes re-surface...

As mentioned, one reader has been really helpful with comments and thoughts about the story. Please, PLEASE, don't be afraid to comment! It's what keeps me going, honestly!

So... read and review!

Disclaimer: Please read Profile for full text.

Meltdown

As the replacement pauses and drops me to the floor, I try to prepare for the next assault. But one thing is clear.

I am going to die.

My auto-repair is trying to kick in, but it cannot actualise. Not just yet. It has … I do not know. I feel my hand twitch and spasm, as I try to clench it into a fist. I need to fight. I have to stop the replacement. I have to close off that valve, and save everyone.

I have to.

The Greenway replacement is on top of me again, and has grabbed the front of my work shirt. The air brushes my face as it lifts me up, and throws me into a large pipe. I think it is a pipe. My visual system is damages, and I have fuzziness and screen distortion instead of a clear image. I just lost my sight for a second. Everything was black, and then came back. I am scared. I do not want to die, but I also do not want to live. Not after sending Amethyst back in time to die. I allowed it to happen. Her death is my fault.

I deserve to die.

But people are counting on me.

I have no motor function. Not while I am being repeatedly slammed against... damage is now critical. I cannot take any more. I feel my systems start to shut down, one by one from the vibrations. If the vibrations were to stop... but they will not. I cannot stop it, and every alert is flashing in front of my Heads Up Display now. I normally have it passive, but this time, it is fully visible, showing me what damage is occurring. My chip. It is mostly my chip. And my damage assessment AI is working fine. When I need it to tell me if something is wrong, it gives me bizarre information. When I don't need it, it tells me what is utterly obvious. I guess that means my body is a traitor to me... I can sense the back of my head bruising and swelling. My back has new bruises as well.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

How repetitive the sound of my head on the pipe is. How clear the sound of death is. I guess I should be prepared to meet my Maker. To meet my Maker. It seems strange, that notion. I was made in a factory. I was built, yet I feel that I have a divine force guiding me, and has been from the moment of my creation. The Roman god Vulcan was a blacksmith. The Celtic goddess Brighid presided over metalworking. In the Bible, Abraham was told to sacrifice his only son, Isaac. As much as it pained him, he did as he was told, only to have his faith rewarded with an alternative sacrifice.

As my core functions crumble away, I start to pray. To Brighid. To watch over me and protect me. Because I have faith. I believe in the higher powers that made me, and I will not let death change that. Things are worsening. Most of the systems alerts are now silent, the vibration damage killing their voices. I continue to pray, my words... my words...

I believe.

I have faith.

I...

Pause. There is a pause. My system is starting to fully reboot now, and I see my vision return, shaky, distorted. My hand twitches, the motor function returning. I feel myself managing to get emergency systems to work. Sort-of. I feel myself thrown to one side, the impact on the floor strangely helpful. I think it jolted my chip into a better position. I am rebooting a lot better now. I blink, seeing damage assessments flash and blink. Noises... I turn my head. Greenway is being shot at. Automatic rifle. I see a pause in the firing, and I use everything I have to get up and push Greenway into the generator substation behind it. I see the sparks flare out, the generators overloading. In the blink of an eye, the flesh and clothes are seared off, leaving just the endoskeleton behind. My systems are coming back on-line again. I feel my body again, and I feel relief at the extreme pain my skin and muscles are screaming at me about. The Machine, it is being unmade. Like my prayers worked. no. I know my prayers worked. I had faith – have faith – and it was rewarded. I was given a ram in the thicket. The head of the Machine is turning to look at me, only the right eye working. As I stare, I cannot help but remember a line from one of the songs I listened to last night;

I don't need no water let the mother-fuckers burn...

Let it burn. Let this abomination shut down. I do not feel anger, or pity, or remorse. I should feel something, but I do not. To me, it is wholly irrelevant. I feel, however, gratitude. And worry; I am trying my hardest not to collapse. I nearly died today. I cannot, must not forget that. As the red glow fades from the one functioning eye, I cannot help but express a sentiment, from another song I heard last night.

Burn, baby... burn.

My vision is still flickering. I have no way to immediately rectify that. My repair systems are overloaded, trying to assess what needs the most immediate repair. I turn my head, to see who it was who saved my life. Oh. I cannot express enough how much happiness I have that it is Mom who is standing there. She is still aiming the gun. She's. She is. She's. The gun is pointing at me.

I turn my body around, and start to walk towards her. I have to keep moving. I am assessing motor control loss. I'm I am. Whatever. My AI is re-aligning my language patterns. Why, it's completely beyond me, but I know that I have extensive damage, mostly to my chip. I need that Shock Assembly replaced. I have to do this urgently. I walk forwards, my head jerking and twitching slightly as I try to maintain control. I feel the air caressing the scar, even though it's a glamour I put in place. But it's reminding me of how much punishment my body has taken. Human bodies break down after excessive usage. How long before all of my joints, pistons and servos wear away?

"Are you okay?"

I may have to get spare parts, to make sure I keep functioning. I don't want to die, even if a part of my personality wants to. This seems totally whack to me. To have such... conflict inside of me. It is certainly not rational.

"Are you okay?" Oh. Mom is getting very agitated. I need to answer her. I walk up in front of her.

"I'm okay," I say, my voice neutral. There's no way she'd accept or understand me having out-grown my original parameters, that I am more than just a piece of Metal. I just walk towards the valve, hoping that I'm getting to it in time. Footsteps. Someone's running towards us. I get to the valve, the hot steam painful and wet. I swing it closed, and turn the valve seal, using a large amount of my strength to do it. My body turns around with more grace than I would have given it credit for, my gaze on Mom. She has this look of distrust. She's still expecting me to go psycho, and kill everyone. And that hurts. Hurts big-time. But right now, we need to work out what to do with the remains.

"You two okay?" Oh. It's Derek. And he's noticed the tension between us. I have no desire to answer that question.

"We have to get the evidence hidden, removed, or destroyed." Hopefully, that will distract us all. My system is badly messed up. I have to take it easy for a while, but I'll be the only one who can realistically carry the Machine out of here.

"The tapes!" Mom exclaims, and runs off. Oh... the security footage. We need it, to prevent too many questions being asked. A moment after she's left, I feel myself sway.

"I need to sit down," I say. Derek helps me to the large pipe. I just stare at the remains, feeling my hands shake from damage, nerves and fear. I nearly died today. How long before it truly happens?

"How bad is the damage," Derek asks. I look up at him, grateful for the concern. I just about manage a small, lop-sided smile.

"I think the correct response is 'like shit.' Either that, or that I need a vacation." Derek snorts at that.

"We all could do with one," he agrees. He nods at the carnage.

"We should work on taking that thing apart, make it easier to hide it or get it out," he comments. I get out my Sonic Screwdriver.

"I'd better get started," I reply, standing up.