Chapter Two – A Broken World

Millions of tiny points of fire twirl and wheel above me in a velvet sky; stars and planets and satellites of the long-dead human race.

It was once as beautiful on this earth as it was up there, I think, perched on the barrel of some enormous land-cannon. I stare at a tattered street map I seized from a roadside station to find my way about the ruined city. The cover shows a vibrant green city street, smiling humans flowing up and down a broad sidewalk beneath the shade of countless oaks. Old, perfectly maintained buildings line the crowd, prestigious signs spaced at irregular intervals. It is, without a doubt, a perfect world. I lay back on the barrel and tiredly wonder how my master will replicate the green of the trees.

Small print in the bottom right-hand corner of the flap reads Conurbation Public Services Department, © 1851 V.E.

The humans must have destroyed themselves after 1851, then...whenever that was...But not long after, else this map would have rotted.

The humans had so much excess, so much to rely on...

What went wrong?

Nothing in my borrowed memories seem to deal with the end of the human world, which is interesting..though annoying in the current situation. My master talked of the human's end coming in wails and fires of Ragnarok, but that seems overly ornate...I look about the ruins of Conurbation around me. A natural disaster could not have possibly caused this much damage, or cause only halfs of buildings to collapse like that...

A war. The only logical explanation could be a war.

But who...against who?

There were great fighting nations of humans, some spanning almost half the globe..But humans had always, always, acted first in self-preservation. Was it possible they could be stupid enough to destroy themselves in one final, all-consuming war?

Possible...but highly unlikely.

Who were the humans fighting against, then?

And out of the darkness comes a noise, interrupting my thoughts.

The sound is constant, but quiet; a strange rustling and humming mixed with a steady chuk-chuk-chuk. I glance around wildly. "Hello?" I call out. "Who's there?"

Chuk-chuk-chuk.

I flip my wrists clockwise, suddenly glad of the swords on my arms. "Stay back!" I yell, wishing my cry could be emotionless like my master's. "Do not come any closer!"

CHUK-CHUK-CHUK.

A light begins to shine, high up over the ruined towers. I yell and slash a sword in that direction. A searchlight on the bottom of...whatever it is...swivels in my direction. My eyes white out, and I stumble backwards.

The sound is deafening. I cannot see. I slash wildly with my sword-arms, vivid images of blinding, ravening demons darting through my brain.

The light grows brighter. I scream in desperation and fear. I cannot see. I cannot see.

Thunk.

My right arm digs deep into something. The light shuts off. I close and unclose my eye shutters several times as my vision swims back at an agonizingly sluggish pace.

A miniature blimp sits on the ground in front of me, a powerful searchlight, now switched off, on its underbelly. My right sword-arm is rammed deep into the dirigible's prow. I pull it out tentatively.

The tiny blimp immediately rises into the air and circles my head. I stare at the patched envelope, the metal plates of the underbelly. This is my master's work, I am sure. It was fortunate I did not damage the creation.

The ship stops in front of me again. A tiny whirring sound starts up as a section of the blimp's siding lowers into a miniature ramp, dumping a parcel at my feet.

With that, the ship suddenly lurches into the air and sails off into the horizon, switching on its searchlight, I note, only once it is a safe distance from me. I smile briefly as the now all-too-familiar chak-chak-chak fades into the background.

My master must already be creating new beings to populate its Elysium. I can envision larger versions of the blimp messenger patrolling the grounds of the factory, perhaps larger, burly mannequins and walkers to carry materials for creations to their God...

There is a rustling sound at my feet. I look down and see the parcel left me by the blimp messenger, papers blowing feebly in a dusty wind.

Oh. Right. I knew that was there.

I scoop up the packet of papers with an oof – the parcel is abnormally heavy. There is a paper with a typewritten paragraph on top, and beneath that...A large paper circle within a metal disk, connected by a bundle of wires to a paper box...

I turn the disk over. It looks like my master's work, but...what on earth is it? I grab the typewritten page.

My creation:

If you ever need aid on this quest, or must inform me of something vital, use the device I have given this messenger. Press on the paper box and the screen should display a real-time connection to my factory. The battery will recharge in the sun – it will fail, however, if used excessively.

Anticipating Elysium,

God

P.S. Avoid direct exposure to my messenger's eyes. Your eyes are sensitive and may suffer some feedback loops.

I wad the paper up and toss it into a partially melted trash can, then weigh the disk in my hands. It will certainly be useful on my journey to come...but how does my master expect me to carry this?! I stagger under it weight for a few steps before tripping over some obstruction and fly sprawling. The disk clatters off into the street.

I run to it and turn it over in my hands. Thankfully there are no tears in the paper...

Hanging from the outside metal rim of the disk, dislodged from the fall, is a thick leather shoulder strap.

"That would help," I mutter, putting the thing on.

• • •

The paper box fits nicely on top of the disk, somehow staying on even as I walk. If I avert my eyes, I might not even not notice it...

Except the blasted thing is freaking heavy. I stop for a minute to set the disk on the ground, then totter off down the street again under the inordinate load.

A dusty dry wind blows down the street and into my eyes. I pant and drop the disk again, resting on top of it.

Yep. Sounds about right. I will just fight off hordes of demons with a fucking ten-pound weight under my arm.

I sigh, pick the infernal disk up, and stagger off down the street again.

• • •

Many hours later and dawn is beginning to crown the lowest buildings of ruined Conubation. Exhausted, I drag myself into an old drainage pipe and power down, balanced awkwardly on my paper disk.

I see my master far, far above me in the sky, wreathed by a neon halo and clouds of broken-doll angels. Below me are the fires and cogs of hell, eight terrifying demons whirling and lunging below me. Join us, they chant. Join us.

A hallowed metal arm reaches down and catches my wrist – my master, ready to pull me from the demons into its Heaven. But the demons below me lunge one final time. One snags my foot with a bizarre staff and pulls, screeching with triumph.

My master pulls harder, but the demons match it. I cry out in pain as I am stretched between the two. And then my master looms down.

It holds out a flat claw, and I see red, knobbled skin in the reflection. Horns and claws and yellowed, evil eyes stare back at me.

With a start, I realize it is myself and scream and scream. My master releases me, and I fall, still screaming, into the embrace of the demons and the hideous torments of hell.

The red flames and spikes blur and merge into a comforting crimson light. I float suspended in its silence, waiting for something I cannot comprehend. There is a flash of uncertainty. This is not right. I should not be here. A chill runs down my spine as the red fades slowly to a deep, ominous black.

And green light sizzles out of the darkness, wrapping tendrils around me and dragging me away from the red, towards some hideous construction of silver and brown, green light flowing into my eyes and mouth, eating away at my brain –

An enormous flash of green and all is gone.

• • •

I wake to the morning light and a repetitive clak-clak-clak in a cold sweat.

I grope about my surroundings frantically. I am in some kind of hollow tube, with a paper disk nestled at my feet.

For a second I cannot remember who I am. I am- I am-

That is right. I am the unnamed servant of my master God, the Great Machine, created and sent out into the world to slay his demons. The metal disk is my link to it. I will find the demons and lead them to it and the world will be at peace.

Clak.

A songbird must be climbing my waterspout, I think sluggishly.

Clak.

A songbird?...That does not seem correct..and yet...I cannot compute properly. My systems are not all yet awake. I turn back over in the waterspout and close my eye shutters.

Clak.

That is when an image of metal walkers and fire and bombs with a strange green gas burns its way into the front of my mind.

There are no songbirds. They were all killed during the War of the Machines.

Clak. Cautiously I slide out of the waterspout and look up.

A bird skull fills my view. I gasp and stumble backwards. The bird skull flips up, revealing a strange face with white leather for skin. Goggle-like shuttered things for eyes. A pack of weapons on the thing's back.

The creature and I stare at each other in utter shock for a moment. Then slowly, cautiously, it extends a hand.

"Hello?" it says.