Epiphany-Antipasto

20XX

We reached out with a blackened, skeletal hand, futilely . The guard had made up his mind, and dropped the can of gasoline across a puddle of gas, already blazing with scorching heat. He hoisted his gallow form up using the empty window frame, and walked away down the hallway.

Towards the exit? Was he going to leave us to burn, or was he seeking worse tools of destruction?  I couldn’t decide;  my mind was scrambled  by my current situation. My partner however, was determined to persevere.  I could feel it. Both our necks  were broken by the man’s tire iron. My metal spine was dislocated and dug into what little flesh my partner still had, while the remaining veins and arteries were smushed into a brown slurry, the cracked tissue yielding to the blunt trauma.  My eyes were surrounded by a murky darkness, receding in and pushing out. The damage to our body was immeasurable . In front of us, the fire burned with the ferocity and intensity of a heartbeat. The pounding and thumping of my partner’s chest, (his heart beating to the point I worried it would explode onto my inner machinery)  muffled the sounds of destruction and collapse around me. The cacophony drove us forward.

We were about  to finish crossing the stream of fire when my other half’s palpitation ceased abruptly. The “badump-badump-badump” was replaced by an ear-piercing hiss  from somewhere within the hole where my partner’s rib cage once resided. The thought of what might happen if that hiss was left unchecked made me shift my weight, and rest my left hand on the ground, the hand that was mostly bone and burnt flesh.

Using my good arm, I felt around inside my chest, tearing apart useless, burnt fabric shell where I could. My hand felt a small tube inside-roughly near where his kidney used to. I squeezed it, and tore it away from the body.

 My hand withdrew with a small pipe, oozing oil like an artery. My relief was interrupted by my charred hand, which shattered from the pressure I put on it. I fell forward into the flames, but in doing so I caught a glimpse of my enemy, who stood off in the distance.
He was back, standing with what looked like a taser in his hand. Something metal.

Come closer.

We won’t bite.

I stayed on the floor, feeling the fire lap at our face. Not moving. Playing dead. Pretending is a crucial part of avoiding suspicion  when you’ve done the things I have done. When you need to convince them it was all a mechanical mistake, a flaw in the system. That “Ol’ Bonnie” was incapable of committing such horrible deeds; much less being aware of it.

A bullet passed through my head, piercing the crisp outer shell and  It entered through whatever was left of his frontal lobe, and stopped when it struck a piece of springsuit vertebrae.
Our ears rang from the gunshot as various liquids spewed forth from the hole and dripped down my head; some of them unidentifiable. Of note was the oil, which gushed like a fountain. Some of it reached the flames.

Footsteps.

The chemicals reacted in an explosion of gore and machinery.

Footsteps.

Static flooded my vision. I was met with the sight of a leather heel, caked with blood and grime.  Despite his age, the man’s stomp was powerful enough to break through both of our heads. Colors danced before my eyes, before the lights were turned out, plunging me into darkness. A familiar darkness, from a long time ago.

Before he woke me up, and after they shut me down.

I lived in darkness for a long time.
There was nothing to see or hear. Only pitch black nothingness. Only oblivion.

But I could feel some things, vaguely. I could feel my arm itch and burn. My head ached, particularly near the center. Something stirred and churned inside me, a feeling of nausea creeping up what I thought was my form. After a while, the itching spread and my whole body felt like it was on fire. But with the absence of the sound of crackling, or the guard’s mocking words, I felt a sort of tranquility. A solitude.

It was only me and the darkness now, in this little world of my own. So, I used the time to reflect on some memories.


Chapter 2
He was a sadist. He enjoyed killing them; make no mistake. But then again, so did I.  I was only ever a tool for Mr. William, of course. It wasn’t until our belated reunion that our partnership became anything more than symbiotic. But until then, I was a vessel. A puppet with strings. I obeyed his every movement, with little protest.