Christia's scuffed All Stars were anything but quiet against the leaden floors of Sevastopol, but she refused to slow down.
Elevator, hard right, luggage processing. Down the staircase, then left. Elevator, hard right, Luggage processing...
Her chest burned, struggling to draw breath as she sprinted full-speed through the curved, desolate corridor; and as the elevator came into view, it's worn metal doors open and ready to embrace her, so did the silhouette of a synthetic.
Christia nearly flew forward as her rubber soles caught the ground and ended her momentum.
It was nearly fifty feet away, back to her, directly in front of the elevator. A sentinel.
She held up the revolver and inched back around the bend, testing the floor carefully with each backward step. Debris everywhere, if she were to blow her cover...
"You always know a Working Joe," The machine gurgled in the pseudo-human voice she'd grown to hate.
Back, further, carefully...
Then her left foot caught the shoelace of the other; Christia fell on her back, the impact knocking the gun from her hands. She whimpered, scrambling for her weapon and pressing up against the wall.
Footsteps.
The synthetic droned, "Something amiss here?"
She couldn't use the gun. That creature would come barreling towards her in a matter of seconds, and she'd have nowhere to run.
Christia stood up gingerly, pain shooting through her agonized muscles, and steeled herself. It rounded the corner, pausing when it's red eyes found her. The girl raised her gun, expression fierce behind strands of drenched, curly hair.
"You really shouldn't be here," The synthetic intoned almost menacingly, but made no move towards her. "Come with me, please."
"Stay the fuck back! I'm ordering you to stand down. N-now!" Christia ordered, voice shaking.
"You really shouldn't be here," It repeated, starting for her; she cocked the gun and began to fall back.
"I'm ordering you to stop!"
"Let me help you." The robot lunged, his all-too-powerful hand catching the collar of her suit and hoisting her into the air effortlessly. Completely mad with fear, Christia went to strike it's rubber face with the gun. It grabbed her fist midway.
"You're becoming hysterical," It thrummed insistently, giving her wrist a painful throttle; the revolver fell to the floor.
"No! Let me go! Stop!" She cried, legs kicking madly in the air. The synthetic's cool, lifeless fingers wrapped around her slender neck and squeezed.
"Now, now..."
Christia was quickly losing the ability to fight back. A haze filled the corridor, the synthetic's ridiculous face blurred. Every hope of breath gone.
Her auroral green eyes closed, and she thought of the creature.
Magnificent. What a shame...
Abruptly, the synthetic let her go; Christia fell to the floor, landing on her ankle horribly wrong. The pain was all that kept her conscious. Coughing violently, she looked up and saw a disheveled Fitz beating her attacker with a wrench, bringing the tool down on it's head again and again. White fluid sprayed from the torn rubber, and sparks erupted dramatically as it's neck snapped, exposing coiled tubes and wires. One final blow, one final twitch; the Joe collapsed to the ground, oddly contorted and stiff. Eyes dark.
Christia rubbed her throat, still coughing, and stood up slowly. Her left ankle nearly gave out, but she steadied herself, staring down at the destroyed machine, still afraid.
"It's gone." Christia looked at Fitz, his amber eyes bright and piqued. He nodded assuringly. "It's dead."
"Thank you, I-"
"You can thank me later..." Fitz raised his eyebrows.
"Christia Way," She replied quietly, reaching for the gun. Fitz grabbed her arm.
"Well, Christia, I need to know that you're not going to pull that thing on me again," He whispered, tone serious and stoney.
The girl looked up at Fitz, trying very hard to trust him.
She wouldn't be able to survive alone. She needed help.
"I won't. But you can't blame me for being cautious." Fitz gave her a sad smile and released her arm. Christia picked up the revolver.
"We need to get out of here. I think it's gone for now but-"
"What about Woods?" Fitz looked at her a moment, running a hand through his hair.
"That thing killed him. Pulled him into the vents."
Christia chuckled nervously, tears welling up, and headed towards the elevator, stepping over the mechanical corpse. Fitz followed.
"There's a motel on the third level. My group is waiting for me there, we can take the elevator." Christia slowed.
"No, I have to get to transit," She softly insisted, stepping into the elevator.
"Why?"
"My parents are in the Systech Spire, I...have to find them. Maybe you could help me."
"Be practical. You don't have to pretend like you know what you're doing and you can't just-"
"I've been alone for days, alright? I know what I'm doing, and I refuse to stay in this tower. That...creature..." She trailed off, her anger fading into cool sadness. Fitz sighed.
"I'll take you to the transit station, but I won't go to the Spire. My group's been good to me. I can't abandon them like that."
Strange, that her parent had left her so easily, yet this man refused to part with people he probably hadn't given any thought before the chaos.
Christia nodded, rubbing her teary eyes.
"Okay, to the transit station then."
Fitz pressed the button and she couldn't help but smile.
A little bit of help could go a long way. She was going to find them.
The elevator lurched, then began it's descent, and Christia's smile faltered.
What if it followed?