End of the Beginning

They dragged him off; with their cruel, foreign, grips. They pushed. They shoved. A clanking resounded; a hatch opened.

Down through the chute he tumbled, banging against the metal walls; screeching sparks flew. Deeper and deeper he fell. The chute angled out- BANG!

He flew out, crashed into a scrap pile, skittered over it for several meters, then rolled off of it into the puddles below.

Even only centimeters thick, the viscous substances held fast to their effects. His actuators pulsed uncontrollably. His limbs spasmed. His circuits zipped, zapped. He scrabbled around him, hands pushing, pulling through the scrap. Bit by bit, part by part, he crawled out of the puddle. Water, oil, and whatever other liquids that may be, dripped from the crevices of his body. Tiny electric zaps arched sporadically across and within him.

Spotting a rag on the pile, he grabbed it and wiped himself as best he could before climbing to the top of the pile, that hill of broken, discarded cyborgs. From his lofty height, he looked out across the chamber of those deemed unnecessary. Arms, legs, heads, stuck out from the rolling field of rejects.

The crunching slam of the compactor could have been heard in the distance, yet with busted audio receptors, there was only one way in… and one way out.

For quite a time he scrabbled at the walls, attempting to re-enter the chute. From piling up bodies to using an improvised boomer-hook, he tried to reach the high-up chute. But with failure after failure and his power draining, he had run out of options. In a last ditch effort, he attempted a pole vault.

He soared through the air, angled, pushed himself for the chute… his curve apexed… his fingers stuck out… latched on… he got it- then slipped from the oily surface. He crashed back down into the pile and rolled back into the pool of liquids.

What could be damaged couldn’t be damaged any worse; he lay unmoving in the puddle. His mind spun as his processors entered power save mode. The liquids flowed around him, gently swirling. Their curving path ebbed at his mind, drawing him down the drain… a drain!

With the aid of a lever, he made out the shape of a grate and cracked it open. With the gunk-filled slots removed entirely, the puddle suddenly swirled down, sucking him in.

He scrambled through the gray-black ooze; slightly chilled by the underground air and muck. Chunks of brown kicked up as he plunged his feet forth through the muck. Speckled sheets of green lined the tubular wall-ceilings, dripping their stagnant drops down onto him. All was coated with that translucent oily sheen. The only thing to welcome him in these sewers was the wretched graywater, though he was not in the slightest perturbed.

The depository “entrance” gradually grew further away as he twisted down the system. The system, the floors, the walls, reverberated; footsteps pounded from above, echoing below. The walls shrank around him as he looked for a way out of the labyrinth. Finally, he reached an exit grate, whereupon he was forced to de-then-reattach his arms to squeeze through the cracks. He climbed up the ladder on the other side, then emerged from a manhole, into an alleyway.

The sky shone gray above, complementing the shadowy surface world. A quick glance revealed that the alley was empty, yet the chanting march of cyborgs rang clear. Quickly, he grabbed a cloth from a nearby trash heap. He hobbled around the alley corner and glanced down the conjoining alley towards the street. The cyborg legions marched by, file after file, blaster after blaster.

He stumbled back at the sight of them. Back into the first alley he stumble-retreated, slammed into something, toppled back over it. A cold chill burned beneath him. Instinctually, he rolled off the object, snagging on a black sheet, dragging it with him in the process.

He rose to his feet. It was the tube. The man stared at him, through his closed eyelids. The sorrow of the bald compelled him; undeserving of his fate.

He threw the cloak back over it, hiding the man’s pitiful face, and began to drag it through the alley. Where to? He did not know. All he knew was that he must run. Run for his life, or what was left of it; and for this man, this man that he took.

Through the alleys they went, albeit slow due to the limp in his leg. A left, a right, he kept moving with his load, corner after corner. Rounding another one, he paused, peered around the edge. The pounding footsteps now thundered; a cyborg legion marched the street in front of him and his alley, mere feet from his face. He turned to go back, but tripped on his disguising cloak, crashing into a pile of rubble. He scrambled to his feet.

“Who . . . goes there . . . ?” The cyborgs had heard him. He saw their shadows approach the alley edge, so he ran.

He ran back to the cart, grabbed it, pulled it, turned a corner- BAM! A man on a bike crashed into him. The two stared at each other momentarily. There was no time to waste, yet he knew with his bum leg he would not make it far if he continued to pull such a load. A nostalgia of trust glinted from within the man’s eyes. With one last look at the cart, and with a swish of his cape, he retreated, leaving the man with the man.

He ran through the alleys, avoiding the streets, fleeing from his perilous pursuers. Blasters armed; they hunted him down. He rounded a corner, smacking into a cyborg. It grabbed his cloak; he ripped free from its grip, tatters from the garment flew. A duck, a weave, a punch to the gut. The unexpected limp-movement favored him; a few false computations by the perfected model, and its blaster was his.

He continued to flee.

Red and blue lights flashed behind him – a machine transporting more machines. A flicker streamed past his head. Another, by his waist. More.

Hobble-rolling, he ducked behind a can, stuck out his blaster. Pew-pew-peeeeew. Boooooooooom! An explosion boomed in the distance as he shot; he felt the ground shake beneath him. Glancing out, he watched as the cyborgs writhed on the floor – they had mistakenly exited their vehicle. He glanced down; oil oozed – abdomen.

Clutching his side, he hobbled into the vehicle, sped off and glimpsed back as a legion of cyborgs flooded into the alley.

A distant crash. Trapped? A corner rounded. No; a Man fled; the alley narrowed. Squeezed. Jumped out, followed.

Voices no more – his alone; can’t hear. Help. Please. Save.

No assistance shall he provide. That is life. And this?

He lost the man. Scrambling around the alleys, he searched. Lost in the labyrinth. Met a scene of carnage; the man; more men. Holy; he hobbled after them.

Legion behind; leaving behind.

Escape-nearing; blasting, shoved-saved.

He looked down. His legs? Gone. The man turned back; his on him; traitor. Memories unshackled.

The vessel, his vision; blurred, as the cyborgs encircled him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

White pillars of quartz encircled him. Judgement? For one such as him? A pearl, cast by- before the swine, what was he deserving of? Need not their incrimination, nor their empathy.

A holy man stood behind him; of the past; of the future; Apathy. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Turned around.

Bathing in the light of darkness. He will decide. He will be judged. He will be abandoned.

Don. Don; the black cloak of death; the reaper’s gun. Dawn.

Never learnt from the mistakes of the past – of the future. A new beginning.