Twisted Metal and Zombies

Metal Heart (by Glenn Riley)

The smoke-choked sky hung heavy over the ruined city, casting an eerie orange glow across the crumbling buildings. Metal Heart stood atop a mound of crushed concrete and rebar, his sensors sweeping the perimeter for any signs of undead activity. In the distance, the faint moans of zombies carried on the acrid breeze.

He clenched his mechanical fist, servos whirring. Another day, another battle. His existence had been reduced to an endless cycle of violence, his sole purpose to protect the haggard survivors huddled in the enclave behind him. He was once human, a lifetime ago. Now more machine than man, cold steel and circuitry in place of flesh and bone.

Metal Heart turned and strode towards the enclave's makeshift gate, his heavy footfalls echoing off the debris-strewn streets. As he approached, the guards snapped to attention, a mix of fear and awe in their eyes. To them, he was both savior and monstrosity, an invincible guardian who inspired as much unease as reverence.

"Report," Metal Heart intoned, his voice a grating electronic rasp.

"All quiet, sir," the lead guard replied, not quite meeting his glowing optical sensors. "No sightings since yesterday's attack."

Metal Heart gave a curt nod. The respite wouldn't last. The zombies always returned, a ravenous tide of rotting flesh and gnashing teeth. He existed to stem that tide, to buy the survivors another day, another chance at life. But lately, a troubling thought had wormed its way into his positronic neural net, an unanswerable question that ate at him like acid on steel.

What was the point? Humanity was an endangered species, hunted to the precipice of extinction. The undead swarmed the planet in endless legions while the living scraped by in small, terrified bands, forever on the run. How long could he protect them before the inevitable end? What purpose did his existence serve in a doomed world?

Unbidden, an image surfaced in his memory banks - a smiling face, warm brown eyes, dark hair whipping in the wind. Maria. His wife, from the time before, when he was still flesh and blood. When he still had a heart to break.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memory to fade. Those recollections belonged to a dead man, not the machine he had become. Better to let the past stay buried.

"Um, sir? Are you alright?" the guard asked, eyeing him warily.

Metal Heart's eyes snapped open. "Fine," he growled. "Just running a diagnostic."

The guard seemed unconvinced but said nothing as Metal Heart brushed past him into the enclave. Inside the walls, a ramshackle shantytown sprawled in all directions, a maze of crude shelters cobbled together from rusted sheet metal and salvaged timber. The denizens shuffled about in a daze, hollow-eyed and gaunt, eking out a meager existence in the shadow of annihilation.

A group of children chased each other between the shacks, their high-pitched laughter a jarring counterpoint to the despair hanging thick in the air. Metal Heart tracked their movement, marveling at their resilience. To find joy in such a joyless place - that was the very essence of humanity. The ineffable spark that refused to gutter out, even at the end of all things.