Wrecking Ball (1)

Holding the sword with both hands, Jonathan lunged for his opponent. Everything would be solved here and now.

All he had to do was concentrate on the enemy in front of him.

Once he had killed him, no, slaughtered him, he could get out of this... out of this mental prison. He would get back to the people he had to get back to. He would protect them.

After that...

He would follow the path of life. Because the past was ruins behind him. But he wasn't going to let the world drown his future too.

There were still so many things he wanted to do.

So many places to see.

So many, many experiences and emotions he had yet to go through. He was old in spirit, but he hadn't lived for very long.

So... he had to survive.

Everyone had to survive.

And the only obstacle was that piece of shit.

Jonathan wasn't going to let it be an obstacle to his future. To everyone's future. He would die right here, right now.

As they were about to collide, suddenly Mark brandished one of his robotic arms, reaching out faster than he was capable of

(in the real world)

outside.

But the same went for Jonathan.

He vaguely remembered that he hadn't been able to dodge the attack, that he'd been thrown like a toy against a wall, and that had nearly finished him off.

Now it didn't grab him.

Jonathan dodged it, bending backwards. So, instead of grabbing him, the mechanical arm went over him. Near his neck.

A little lower, that is, if it had been even a second slower, the blow would have shattered his chin.

And that would only have been the beginning.

Jonathan imagined his face being smashed, rendered unrecognizable. A mess of shredded skin, exposed flesh, as well as the bone underneath, and blood. Of course. Lots of blood.

Still doubled over like that, he took the opportunity to swing the sword. Knowing he couldn't afford to waste a single second.

His target was, of course, the internal mechanisms of the arm that allowed him to extend and withdraw it like that. Like a big whip.

The weak spot.

Boy, was it. Boy, was it effective.

The arm, broken in two, flew off. Had it done it before? Yes, he had attacked before, but it had not done more than a small cut. Now, however, it was so easy. One blow had solved everything.

"Son of a bitch!" Max shouted, his face twisted in pain.

He extended his other arm toward Jonathan's neck.

No, toward his chest. If it had been so easy for him to cut off Max's other arm, then the same would apply in reverse. That is, if the attack hit him....

The arm would go through his chest, all the way to his heart.

Speaking of which, it was beating a mile a minute.

Jonathan stood up and jumped up.

He hadn't mustered much strength in his legs. He had jumped as soon as he could, with the sole purpose of dodging the attack.

Even so, his leap lifted him about ten meters off the ground in an instant.

He scrambled in the air, thinking he was running, that he would break something.

He didn't.

Jonathan's feet landed on a platform. Had it been there all this time and he simply hadn't noticed? NO. He thought no.

He shook his head.

There wasn't just a single platform.

All of a sudden? Yes, all of a sudden.

Three others surrounded him. Four pillars, in all.

This wasn't real, but a mental space. So what exactly was this battle? What were they doing as they exchanged blows?

And what was the environment? What could happen?

Jonathan didn't have time to think about it, though the answers to those questions hid something of use.

Max was coming for him. That monster who had discarded his humanity.

He couldn't afford to be defeated by such a monster. Falling to the law, to people who were simply doing their job, or "pursuing justice," that was acceptable.

But not to a scumbag like him.

Because then, what had he fought for all these years?

He had been defeated by those monsters, just like it had happened to his older sister. His sister had been fighting alone for so long that she hadn't been able to fight anymore.

And he, seeing his end, had also fled. Leaving everything behind.

But today they had to stay alive. Maybe they were happy. In any case, they had won.

But Jonathan had promised himself that he would never again allow monsters like that to defeat him, to dominate his life. He had promised himself that he was better than that.

And he was. He fucking was.

"I'll prove it to you."

They collided.

■

"He won't wake up," Mary mumbled, between her teeth. Shit....

It was nothing new.

Yes, that was the problem. The situation hadn't changed at all since they had gathered around him, checking that he was alive.

How could it have changed?

After that they had done nothing. Just stood idly by, hoping for the best.

Leaving everything in Jonathan's hands.

She couldn't beat herself up about it, since the truth was they couldn't do anything. But their inability made the waiting unbearable.

Maybe they hadn't been so long just watching Jonathan lying on the ground, writhing and struggling against an unseen enemy.

Maybe.

But to her heart it seemed like an eternity. Every second.

So Mary had felt the need to say something useless and nothing new like what she had said. Simply to open her mouth. For someone to say something, anything.

Had it done any good? She could say no.

She didn't feel any better at all.

"At least those robots haven't woken up either," Roxy replied.

For that, at least, they could be thankful. If they woke up, they'd have to run for it. Carrying Jonathan, who wouldn't stop fighting, of course. They weren't going to leave him behind.

They weren't going to leave any of their own behind.

Of course. And that was commendable... but they wouldn't get very far, in that case. They would catch up and tear them apart.

Mary grimaced.

The hazy image of that terrible end loomed in her mind.

"Hey," Jamie said, suddenly. Without looking away from Jonathan, of course.

The first thing that crossed her mind was that the girl had realized something. For example... that Jonathan had stopped breathing. Her heart, as a result, rose in her throat.

But it was nothing like that.

She didn't know what it was about, but it was nothing like that.

Jonathan was fine. He remained unconscious, but alive, which was plenty. It wasn't something that they could count on.

So what did Jamie have in mind?

"Yes?" Roxy and she said it in unison, by chance.

"Whatever's happening to him started when this son of a bitch.... "Jamie spat, her face contorted with rage "put his hands on him. So..."

Jamie didn't finish the sentence, maybe because she didn't know how to say it. But she didn't have to. Or at least Mary thought she didn't.

Thought he knew what she was thinking.

"I think I understand what you mean. But he's already dead." Half of his body was gone, shattered by the incredible power of the Pistol. He couldn't be any deader, could he?

But of course. That's what Jonathan had thought as he approached.

Before receiving a surprise attack.

"Let's try it anyway," Jamie said.

No harm in trying, Mary thought, hoping that it really was true. That they weren't interfering with something that was best left alone, until it resolved itself.

■

He and Max collided again, exchanging dozens of blows in a matter of seconds. Moving at a speed that wasn't human at all, because the movement they were making wasn't physical.

Just like their bodies, here and now.

Sure there was some consistency, but not one he could see. Jonathan had managed to sever an arm with a single blow.

Now, even after exchanging so many blows with his opponent, the latter still retained the second arm. With a few cuts, sure, but more or less intact.

Jonathan gritted his teeth, frustrated with the way the situation was progressing. And also frustrated with his own ignorance. Surely the enemy had plenty of experience fighting in this space.

He had every possible advantage. Whereas he had to learn as he went along.

But he would win. He was sure he would win.

Because Max wasn't even human, and he had a feeling that his own life didn't matter much to him.

But Jonathan had a reason to win.

Things went awry.

Unfortunately, in the end Max managed to get his robotic hand around his neck. Squeezing. Trying to strangle him, kill him through loss of oxygen, or crush his larynx. Whichever came first.

"It's over," Max said, gloating in his apparent victory.

Jonathan gritted his teeth harder and harder. They chattered. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets. It was pure fury, inside and out.

Max held him up a few inches, so that his feet didn't touch the ground. Lifting him like a toy.

But not even with that strength could he break his spirit or make him bend to his will.

"I will kill you!" Jonathan screamed from the back of his throat, putting all his soul into it, and soon his screams were wordless. Nothing more than a way to vent his rage.

Screams that could freeze the blood in anyone's veins.

■

Between the three of them they pulled Jonathan away from the body of the leader of the robot army. They couldn't drag him out of this city with him struggling all the time, but they were able to pull him away. Though even for that he gave them trouble.

Anyway, he was out of the way enough.

Jamie took a deep breath.

She clicked her boots together, standing up straight. With the staff in front of her, held in both hands.

She knew very well the range of her attacks. Jonathan was well out of the way. She wouldn't risk doing anything if she thought for even a second there was a chance he' d be caught in the blast.

Of course.

That was pretty basic. What made her doubtful was whether this was really okay. If it wouldn't make things worse.

Jamie couldn't know, since none of them had any idea what that thing had done to their leader. But something had to be done, right?

Maybe it wouldn't do any good, but she couldn't imagine it would make things worse.

Jamie used her weapon, her prized staff.

The resulting explosion vaporized the remains of the enemy's body. Not a trace remained. She'd been worried that the explosion would wake the robots, but looking back nothing had happened. At least not yet.

Now...

Heart pounding, she turned her head to look at Jonathan.

Now all that remained was to see if it had worked or not.

■

The bastard kept strangling him.

No matter how hard Jonathan struggled, he couldn't get free. And with each passing moment, of course, he was losing strength along with his oxygen.

Am I really... going to die here? Like this?

What a ridiculous death.

If so, why had he fought to get this far in the first place? He could have... given up sooner... if it was all going to end the same...

He could have... given up?

No. No!

I'm not like that.

I'm not like you, sis...!

He didn't finish the thought.

He could not finish the thought.

For, without him having to do anything, the enemy in front of his eyes was pushed away from him. Dragged backwards, far away, as if he were a toy moved by invisible wires.

Jonathan would think it was a stupid trick of his enemy. That Max was trying to play with his food, so to speak.

He would think so except for the fact that the terror in his eyes was all too real.

As were his attempts, pathetic and futile, to stop what was happening. Whatever was happening. They both had no idea, and that was just as disturbing to Jonathan , though it didn't affect him. For the moment.

At last he saw what had happened.

A mist appeared around Max. No, it had been there since it had caught him, but he had only become able to perceive it just now. Then the mist took the form of....

A ghostly apparition. It was his older sister, of course.

As if he had called out to her with his thoughts.

"Let go of me! "Max shouted, still struggling against his fate. But he wouldn't be heard.

She couldn't hear him. Not him, not anyone.

Because, after all, she had been dead for many years. She wasn't real.

"How did you do this? How did you do it?" Max screamed at him, demanding answers, but Jonathan couldn't give them to him even if he wanted to. He had no idea.

The ghost of his sister, clutching Max tightly, rose into the air. Up to the ceiling.

Then, with great speed...

It slammed him to the ground. And repeated the same action over and over again, as if using him as a hammer. Again and again.

Jonathan grimaced.

In a moment, he looked away. But he couldn't escape the crunching, so realistic, of muscle and bone.

He couldn't escape the realization when Max's bloodcurdling screams suddenly stopped, and the smell of blood was so thick in his nostrils that he felt like he was drowning in a vat of blood.

When it was all over, he looked at it again.

There was nothing left there.

Nothing except his sister stained from head to toe with someone else's blood.

She was so beautiful, Jonathan thought, because the ghost before his eyes was not the cold, bruised, decrepit corpse lying in the bathtub, the memory that had replaced the true image.

He saw her as she was, as she should have been able to remain.

A normal girl.

Beautiful, inside and out. If she hadn't had the bad luck to be born to parents like that, if the world hadn't brutalized her spirit from the first moment, then she...She....

It was his imagination, nothing but his imagination, nothing real. But still Jonathan couldn't take it anymore. The boy burst into tears.

The ghost of his sister stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan said.

She reached out a hand toward him. But before she could reach his face, it disappeared. Along with everything else, decisively. Even his consciousness.

■

"What is that noise...?" Mary's words died in her throat.

Turning toward the direction of the sound as if by instinct, she saw the only thing it really could have been. Maybe she had known it all along, deep down, she just wanted to deny it while she could.

As long as she could turned out to be a few seconds.

Because Mary couldn't anymore, watching the robots force their way out of doors and windows. Breaking any obstacle in their path.

"They are on the move again!"

■

Jonathan's eyes snapped open.