Rewriting Seven Years

6. Fallout

Makurow stood exhausted in front of two robots, one complete while the other was being improved on. The new one sat dead next to the old one. Makurow rolled his head over and stared at his sword. It stood up against the wall next to a hammer and makeshift welder.

Clenching on his sword he pointed it to the new robot. It needs a heart... It needs a heart, repeated in his head. He closed his eyes—his hand unsteady. Power filled his body, from his feet to his head. He could feel the tickle in his navel and the pulses in the cords on his head.

As the power moved to his sword, his eyes popped open, and his surroundings changed instantly. A man stood lifeless and defeated in the centre, and a robot lurked behind him, which appeared to look like a simpler version of Makurow's robot. The man raised his head and Makurow locked eyes with him. The man held a pocket watch, which had a picture on the inside cover and the watch was missing a hand. The picture had a woman, a beautiful, young, brunette woman. Without Makurow knowing, Makurow had his sword held out pointing to the man the entire time. The man gently pushed Makurow's sword to the side. Eyes in the back of the room caught Makurow's attention, but they disappear right as he looked directly at them.

A scream so deadly pierced Makurow's ears, followed by ringing. Makurow head felt like a thousand waves had crashed against him. His body collapsed on the floor, every joint locked on him. His body was taking over itself. His body jerked and jittered, unnaturally his body twisted and his neck snapped back. Basking at the scene in front of him. The man unexpectedly lied dead, surrounded by multiples of machines. Each with their own unique design.

Makurow's body rolled himself around. A sting in his back made him arc his chest. He stared up to a large figure standing above him. Not to one of the robots but instead a woman. Makurow didn't recognize her from the picture in the man's pocket watch. Her short hair gave a clear view of her face but her white clothes reflected light into Makurow's eyes. She stood staring at Makurow. Makurow paralyzed, unable to move, tried to call out to her, but Makurow's bottom lips could only quiver. She pulled a metal rod from behind her back and hovered it above his neck.

"No one can save us now," the woman said, quickly glancing at all the machines around her. Clenching the rod, she stabbed it down at Makurow. As it punctured his throat his metal, pieces crunch against the rod.

She removed the rod from his destroyed neck and rolled Makurow over to his side. Makurow witnessed the crowd of robots marching towards him and the woman. The sting in his back was suddenly removed and he was dropped to his back. His vision faded as the woman's shadow ducked out of view and rumbles of mechanical footsteps trampled him.

When his vision returned, his body felt locked in place but there was some give to movement. He had a clear view of his surroundings. The air around him made him more relaxed, something about the air was much different. Somehow cleaner. There seemed to be restraints on his body—one over his body and one on each wrist and ankles. He was bound to a chair, trapped in a capsule.

Like a puppy in a box, Makurow was terrified. Something about the walls around him caused a recognizable fear inside him, to come out. He struggled to get out of the binds. A breath escaped his mouth, Makurow stared at it, as it stood as fog. Something familiar struck Makurow in a fashion. The air! The air entrained his breath, and he never seen it before. A straight line directly in front of him appeared, sucking his floating breath through it. The wall slowly separated in twine and the outside light entered the chamber. The doors screeched open. One of the doors got caught on something from outside and began to bend as it pulled against it. It moved halfway until it started to jitter. Makurow looked past the door. Dust, dirt, and smoke covered the air. Makurow blew the fog away. Pushing himself away from the chair he gave himself a clear view of the floor—the floor a hundred feet below him. He tried to bury his back against his chair. Something so new about being suspended so high while having no control of his own movement did more than frightened him—it terrified him. His throat tightened and his hands became sweaty.