The Peacekeeper and the Warrior

In a world like this; where violence is a daily occurrence, it's the little things that keep you going. Getting to sleep in late, cigarette breaks, and even being able to walk outside without there being an EMF attack can make your day. But SLUG pilots don't have time for these luxuries.

"This is Central Command. We have confirmation of EMF activity. Code Ares."

Of course it has to be me. The minute I get a chance to relax it's my turn. Despite my reluctance to go I rush to my Gear Chamber and get all of my equipment on in less than three minutes.

"SLUG DES: Peacemaker is in play. The Gears are turning. Please enter the Gear Chamber. Good luck."

Just like every single other SLUG in existence, Peacemaker is named as an in-joke referring to the EMF it was specifically designed to destroy: EMF Ares, the representation of war and brutality. Since the creation of SLUGs it has become far more powerful, as if it is fueled by the carnage that occurs every day. Fortunately I have one major advantage.       

As Peacemaker walks through the city, I see the aftermath of Ares' latest attack on Philadelphia. It's victims were beaten to death, mauled, and were even choked to death from the smoke Ares' emits. Hundreds of lives were lost, all because of one of the monstrosities known as EMFs. The creature took advantage of my shock and disgust and lunged itself at Peacemaker from behind, causing it to collapse.
   
This, combined with the fact that it has taken a form that is the same size of Peacemaker, suggests some kind of intelligence. But unlike the other EMFS, Ares' lacks any intelligence. It is nothing more than a mad dog who's actions are dictated by it's instinct to destroy. And that is my greatest advantage over it. Which is only more evident by it's appearance, that of a wild animal made up of smoke and stitched leather with horns attached seemingly at random.

Thanks to Ares' slow reaction time, I managed to get up quickly and got in a few attacks before it had the chance to process what was happening. Unfortunately this didn't last long and Ares finally started to fight back. Every blow was devastating, and caused major damage to Peacemaker.
If I was to succeed I need to end this fight as soon as possible.   

I quickly improvised and grabbed a nearby metal pole and kept on smashing Are's until it finally stop attacking. It was a crude method sure, but at the very least it prevented Ares' from destroying my SLUG. With Ares distracted, I quickly got Peacemaker to it's feet. I had one last chance and I wasn't about to waste it.

I beat Ares into submission, hitting it over and over again until it was in such pain it fell to the ground and was incapable of fighting back. Eventually it gathered enough strength to kick me a few feet away and opened a portal to it's "domain."

"Oh no you don't you bastard!" I screamed as I ordered Peacemaker to grab it's tail. "You're not getting away so easily!" 

"Agent Grim, get out of your Gear Chamber now! You are one minute away from exceeding the one hour limit within the Gear Chamber!"

"I can't stop now, not when I'm so close to killing this son of a bitch that it's running away like a scared child!"

"We weren't asking you Agent Grim ..."

Despite my protesting at the time I know that I was doing was idiotic. Central Command filled my Gear Chamber with nitrous oxide until I was knocked out and then proceeded to drag me out of the chamber and back into my room.      

Grief and Flowers

"This is Central Command. We have confirmation of EMF activity. Code Tantalus."

A sigh escapes my lips, but not one of regret. Springs squeal in protest as I rise from the bed where I was seated. Looking back, it’s cramped. Only when lying down fully can anyone fit there, or a corpse

(his)

that’s gone through rigor mortis. Am I pessimistic? No. I’m realistic. Besides, I’m used to these confined conditions.

How long have I been asleep for? If not asleep, tossing and turning, knowing my turn was soon to come again. The monsters never stay away for long.

Whether I was asleep for five minutes or hours, I only have one single hour. I have no way of telling when the next chance will come, so I’d better make it count.

Over to the Chamber. I can hear the Gears whirring and buzzing. They tell us it’s dead, but whatever it was, and is, seems very much alive.

(am I bitter about that?)

Herbicide’s sleek hull greets me, the oval resting on titanic legs with large feet for stability. 
As I step up to where my place is to be, the hull of my chamber hisses open, revealing a chair and a myriad of wires.

I sit, pull the straps tight, lock them into place. I’ll need them.

The door seals behind me and ahead of me another opens. An airlock, but for keeping things out, not in.

I fiddle until each part is in its place – the headset, the eyepiece, the gears and steering equipment. With a clank, the SLUG moves out. I remain, watching, waiting. Senses are at my command, I can smell, see, even touch what the Herbicide touches.

Immediately I’m met with the stink of rotting fruit and flowers. Hitting the filter controls, I am rewarded with a whoosh and the rush of fresh clean air.

It’s a lonely journey, tramping

(alone)

over the fields. Poppies. Oh, the irony. What a kick Tantalus must get out of it, if something like that has feelings at all. That’s one of my favourite things about the job. I can feel I am doing the right thing, despite the fact that I commit murder. They are not people, they are not human – however much they appear to be. They do not think like we do, or feel as we do. They are the deceivers, and I feel no guilt from slaughtering them.

(He felt)

There is a figure up ahead. I would recognise the face anywhere, those empty pits of eyes and that grin, that terrible smile.

He recognises me too. If it’s possible, his smile grew even wider.

I know this will have little effect, yet still I hit the button. A projectile, a small rocket, is launched from somewhere in the sides. It lands with a boom and a cloud. When the smoke clears, and I can see the wrecked torn soil of the field, I am not surprised to see it standing there still, grinning its grin, unharmed

(he was harmed, why isn’t this hurt, unfair, bitter)

and unfazed.

(just like my Navy days, why won’t they die why don’t they die)

Now I know there truly is no God, no Higher Being that’s looking out for us, not even Demiurge would taunt us like this. Murder for murder’s sake is very human, and this being revels in the carnage it causes, and the depression it leaves in its wake.

They say it was the only one of its kind to be given a body by humans. That I can understand now all too well.

The bulb flashes. An alarm sounds. I have had half my time, staring at this monstrosity. Only half an hour to enact my revenge, to do my duty for ‘King and Country’.

It knows me, and tries all the more to elicit the feelings from me that it feeds on. It’s an emotional manifestation, right? Emotions made real. Fear, grief, that’s what it wants from me.

I will give it hate.

Herbicide, named as it is, has a weapon.

At the push of a button, I sit back and watch as gas is released. It seeps from tanks through vents, and all the plants it touch die, drooping and blackening. Almost a watered down form of Agent Orange. That’s why we use these tanks, mechs, SLUGs, call them what you want. To protect us from them, and to protect us from what we use against them.

(if he’d had one maybe he’d be with you still)

Just for an instant, the smile droops with the flowers. The edges of the grin fade. If the flowers show his power, then weedkiller is the answer. Of course it’s not enough to kill it or even harm it, but it serves as an annoyance and a warning:

Do not touch us.

Swiftly, my thoughts return to the day when I found him.

My friend of ten years, and violets lying nearby.

(and now he is avenged)

The buzzer goes. Ten minute warning. Satisfied with what I have done today, I turn around and head in. Until our next encounter. 

Alleyway Rave

It was the end of the lunch service when the light went yellow. I was relieved to see it, I wasn’t up to eating even the mild broth they had on hand for all of us half-dead types. My medicine tends to make me queasy every now and then, so as much as I would have liked to eat the fried chicken that smelled so good, that was more than my poor stomach could handle. I stared at the light instead of my mostly full bowl, almost smiling when it turned red.

“This is Central Command. We have confirmation of EMF activity. Code Shilombish”

My turn. I grabbed my cane and stood, knowing that I wasn’t expected to clear my table when I had to get to the Gear Chamber. I’m expected to hurry, and I do so, limping as quickly as possible down the hallway to the doorway that, at present, only I am allowed to go through. The light above the door flashes red, and I only take a glance before looking back down at the door, not wanting to risk a headache when I have work to do. I don’t have long to wait, they’re rushing. Must be something urgent.

“SLUG DES: Mayhem is in play. The Gears are turning. Please enter the Chamber. Good luck.”

I step inside, smiling a little as the door closes behind me and I get hooked up to the various wires and sensors that allow me to control the giant machine on the other end. I have a lot of practice now, so it only takes a few minutes. I pause just long enough to murmur a short prayer before slipping the visor on, and suddenly I’m hundreds of miles away inside a giant metal suit.

As always, I laugh a little while I flex my limbs and get my bearings. I spent the first twenty five years of my life trying desperately to get myself into some kind of order. I’ve always been one of those people for whom things just always go awry. Not always wrong, you understand, I’ve had sudden good events about as often as bad ones. But my life has always been dominated by luck, even though I enrolled in a military high school and went straight into the Navy, perpetually trying to force some order into my life. I loved my job, and I loved my more orderly life, despite all of the chaos that seemed to naturally follow me wherever I went. But then the pain started, and I had to retire at 26. The chaos had finally destroyed my life, or so I thought. But that natural chaos was what gave me back my work, in this strange new form. Only someone truly gifted at causing mayhem could pilot her. Mayhem is a fantastic piece of machinery, but when I’m piloting her she feels like my own skin. No pain, no stiffness, a perfectly responsive body like the one I used to have.

Taking a look around, I could see a mass of shadows disappearing to the left, about ten blocks down. Whatever city this was would have it’s work cut out for it cleaning this up. Shilombish like to organize things, and the ‘organized’ city blocks were surreal and on occasion, downright gruesome. The area was mostly clear of people-the few who were left were all running back towards the perimeter, so that was one less thing for me to worry about.

Cities tend to breed shadows, it seems. All those big tall buildings packed so close together make it nearly impossible for the sunlight to reach the ground, not to mention all the shady awnings and reflective metal conspiring to further protect city dwellers from the sunshine. It’s a perfect breeding ground for the shadowy bastards. With a twitch of a finger I primed my randomized strobe lights, and (always with a bit of regret) I made sure to knock over street signs and bus shelters as I passed-a bit of chaos to goad them out into the open. Sure enough, as I rounded the corner, it seemed as though I was stepping into a cloudy night. I kicked over their carefully sorted pile of pebbles and turned on the flashers. They didn’t stand a chance. Half of them attempted to flee into a nearby sewer grate, half of them lunged for me, trying to reorganize my suit, fix the pebbles, fight back helplessly, but they couldn’t get through the metal armor of the suit, and the lights took them out handily. I tossed a flashbang into the sewer just to be sure none of them made it down, and was rewarded with the shrieking of one last shadow meeting it’s end.

A good day’s work, I thought as my fifteen minute warning blared jarringly through the Gear Chamber. Mayhem can’t actually get down into the sewer, so I dropped command a note to send some ground scouts down there to double check, then disconnected with a sigh. All at once, all my aches and pains came rushing back, and I hobbled out of the chamber.

Pins and Needles

//One of the pilots, who wanted to stay anonymous, gave me this report to broadcast.//

The light is yellow. I close my eyes. Behind my eyelids, the light turns red.

"This is Central Command. We have confirmation of EMF activity. Code Vetr."

I sit up from my bed. Code Vetr means that I'm up. It's my turn.

I hop out of bed and pull on my pants, the right leg already rolled up to the thigh. Then I put the liner over my stump and then the prosthetic. It goes right under the knee. It still feels weird walking with it, but I'm used to it. It's carbon-fiber and custom made. It's a better prosthetic then I would have been able to afford had I not worked here. I will give them that -- the pay is good.

As I walk down the hallway towards my Gear Chamber, I can feel my missing leg. I can feel it as if it's still there. It's tingling with pins and needles, as if it just fell asleep and wasn't cut off a year ago. Sometimes I can feel it burning, the skin peeling. Sometimes it itches and I reach down to scratch it, but I realize there's nothing there.

I would rather I feel nothing than feel those sensations.

The light above the Gear Chamber is red. I wait outside it until the intercom crackles and Central Command announces, "SLUG DES Icebreaker is in play. The Gears are turning. Please enter the Gear Chamber. Good luck."

The light turns green. The Chamber door opens and I enter. Inside is a chair with over a dozen cables branching out from the back. There are gloves and things that attached to my legs and something to put in front of my eyes so I can see through Icebreaker.

I sit and go about connecting all the different devices. It takes a little less than five minutes, but the clock is ticking and I've got less than a hour to take care of Vetr. It's my fourth time out in Icebreaker, not counting training sessions, and I've yet to actually hurt the fucker.

I strap a device to my right thigh and suddenly I can feel my missing leg even better. It's there, I know it, I just can't see or touch it. I don't know how the Gear Chamber does it, I don't know how anything in the Chamber works -- and I'm not alone, most of the pilots have no idea how it works -- but somehow it gives me back my leg. Not physically, but mentally, it's still there and it works perfectly.

My legs are how I can control the Icebreaker's legs. My arms and hands control its arms and hands. I thought it would be like playing a video game, but it's so much more.

The gloves curl around my hands like they're alive and the HUD appears above it. There we are. The Icebreaker is on site and ready to fight.

The location is a lake. I don't recognize the surroundings, but then again, I wouldn't: everything is covered in a layer of snow, the lake itself frozen over. This would be unusual since it's July, but I know what we're dealing with. I know what it does.

I can see children ice skating across the lake. The HUD immediately zooms in and I can see their black eyes. They are taunting me, telling me to go out into the lake to get them. I stay at the edge of the lake. I don't know how thin the ice is -- just the weight of one SLUG could crack it.

But the cold children don't realize that I don't have to come near them to fight. I press a button and a grenade shoots from my hand, then another. Two grenades, tossed out onto the frozen lake. The children stare at them passively. I press another button and the grenades explode. The lake cracks and the children spill into the water below. I drop an electric charge in there. It won't kill them, just piss them off.

I wait until they rushing out from the lake, their mouths open wide, their teeth like sharks. That's when I activate the blades, rotating blades on the edges of each arm. They rush the SLUG and I twist it around, catching each of them where their neck meets their head. One, two, snicker, snack.

After ten minutes, I'm left with a pile of bodies and a pile of heads. I look at one of them. Children. I've been killing children.

Snap out of it. Whatever they were, it was twisted and twisted until it wasn't human anymore.

I walk around the lake, trying to catch a glimpse, to see if Vetr is out here somewhere. The boys in R&D have tried outfitting some different weapons on Icebreaker and I want to test them out, but it looks like Vetr is nowhere in sight. He let loose his black-eyed children and then left.

I want to stay some more. I want to use both my legs for as long as I can, but the ten minute light is flashing. I disconnect from Icebreaker and remove all the cables. I can feel my leg and then I can't. It's back to being pins and needles.

I leave the Gear Chamber. There is a dull throb behind my eyes. I know the side-effects of the Gear Chamber, I know what it can do to you. But right now, I just want that feeling again. The feeling of being whole.

Squeezing Souls

I'm strolling down one of the long hallways we got here, right? All concrete and gunmetal and serious business… Anyway, I'm enjoying myself; got my earbuds in, grooving to some Peppers'. Some people stop and stare, probably because these wonderful military guys and gals aren't so used to seeing anyone this cheerful. At least, not in this place. The fact that I like to wear colours instead of drab probably draws some attention too, but never mind that.

The point is, suddenly, the yellow lights along the walls suddenly turn red. Klaxons start blaring. An intercom squawks before a tinny voice starts echoing out into the hall.

"This is Central Command. We have confirmation of EMF activity. Code Demiurge."

All the soldier boys and girls suddenly become grim, stiffening and running off to do things that need doing. The few that stay behind still can't stop looking at me; some even glare angrily. I can't really help the fact that I'm grinning, though! Command is playing my song, after all.

I meander on down to the Gear Chamber, pausing the song that I'll get back to once we're done here. I'm still humming the lyrics, though, even after I pull the earbuds out. I get halfway through the chorus before my chest and throat seize up, damn cough wracking my lungs. I put my hands to my mouth, and they come away bloody, once the fit has passed. The light above the Chamber door turns green, and Command informs me that "SLUG DES: Heretic is in play. The Gears are turning. Please enter the Chamber. Good luck."

I hook up all the doodads, gizmos, and gadgets before putting on the gloves and pulling the visor down. I'm still smiling, too; most pilots don't really find this process enjoyable, but I love it. It's like the opening band that amps the crowd up before the main act comes onstage, y'know?

This whole thing is like one big concert for me. Most others here think I'm weird because of that; maybe I am weird because of that, but I think I get this way because I have something no-one else here does.

The little lumps and bumps and bulges I can feel in my lungs every time I have a fit? I'm smiling because of them. The best day of my life was the day when the doctor brought me into his office and told me that the cancer in my lungs was going to kill me without treatment (which, I didn't have money for then, and which I sure as hell am not going to pay for now). That was the day that I knew I was going to die.

That was the day that I knew I was going to die, and there was not a thing that any of those Evil Mother Fuckers could do about it. After being tormented by Them for my entire life, from 17 onwards, I was no longer afraid. 

That's probably why I was picked to pilot Heretic; could anyone with any ambiguity about death face down the shit that my chosen Fucker brings to the table? The cop hiding from the walking, bullet-ridden corpses of Twin Triangle-tattooed hoodlums behind the cruiser probably wasn't so certain about how he was going to die. His panic-stricken face greets me as Heretic's visual feed powers up. Guess he isn't too comforted by my presence, though (not many people in near-death situations react passively to giant robots, I've found). I check my HUD briefly; Heretic's mounted gun is topped up with incendiaries, but R&D's new toy is still charging. No problem; Huggers don't require that much firepower.

Some pilots prefer to let their targeting computers have all the fun, but I advance and use my arms to guide the shots. I'm still humming that song, it's pretty damn catchy. Getting into a rhythm, now. Oop, looks like the cop is fleeing. Recon'll have to pick him up later, I guess. I switch my controls up, and rip down the doors to the dilapidated church. I'm not afraid of anything, but I'll admit flexing Heretic's servos makes me feel more in control of the situation.

I'm actually singing when I stride on up to the altar. Six people are huddled at the very edge of the dais, looks alternating between fearful, resigned, and desperate as they look at the pile of razors before them. Above the altar, soot-stained nun vestments touch the pages of a bible as the sister in them hovers directly above the podium. She seems to flicker, flashing in and out of sight. There is a huge chunk of wood sticking out of her midsection, damp showing through the black robes. The polished wooden rosary around her neck bears two triangles on its' end. Her smile is serene, and there are only deep, fathomless pits of blackness in her eye sockets, studded with tiny points of light. They say that those are all the souls trapped within It; they say that they shine because they are screaming. They say that everyone ends up as a little star in Its' eternity when they die.

I say that shit sounds a lot like what Its' followers preach when they're trying to get you to drink the Kool-Aid. 

I think that It can only get you if you choose It; I don't care if it appears to you as your dead uncle or Siddartha.

I know that of all the Fuckers that were on my case, I hate Demiurge the most. Every time I put pills in my hand, or a blade to my wrists, I could only think of where I'd end up, since It was always watching… Always urging me to follow through. It made me too afraid to end my misery, paralyzed me, prevented me from doing anything to get out of the hell my life used to be.

I guess Demiurge can feel hate. It looks at me. That smile broadens.

My HUD pings. I smile, flick a finger to indicate control switch, and hold my right arm out. I clench my fist slowly; a long blade the colour of dull slate springs from Heretic's arm. Occam's Razor vibrates, and the air around it seems to shimmer, shudder, and blur together as it screams in protest. You can't see it, sure, but air exists. Air is something, tangible and real. Anything real can't stand the even faintest touch of Nothing.

Demiurge loses that Nirvana smile. 

"I'm gonna show you some of my good ti-ime…" I sing, stepping forward and sweeping the Razor in a reality-searing arc in front of me.

Demiurge flickers violently, then fades away entirely. That's okay, I love seeing Fuckers high-tail it. Not as good as hitting them, but, hey. Small victories.

I step out of the church just as the twenty-minute warning sounds in the Gear Chamber. I'm kind of disappointed that I didn't get a real show… I power down Heretic, and step out of the Chamber, straight into the arms of the waiting medical team.

As I sit in medbay, getting the routine check-up, I can't help but think; Demiurge didn't like the Razor. Didn't like Nothing, didn't want oblivion. My chest starts to seize up again, and as I'm coughing up more little bits of me, I can't help but smile at the realization that Demiurge left me alone since I've got my own little piece of oblivion too. Right here, inside my lungs.

I'll get Demiurge next engagement. And then, I'm definitely gonna show It some of my good time.

//Central Command Online//

This is Central Command. SLUG Units At Standby. Operations Nominal.

//This is a test of the Central Command broadcast. Each broadcast will be transmitted to a secure server and from there uploaded to a low-risk logsite.//

This is Central Command. We have EMF activity along the California coastline. Recon squad will provide further updates. SLUG Units At Ready.

//SLUGs are Sentient Lightweight Unmanned Ground Units. Robots. We give them names and designations. We designed them to fight our battles by proxy. But we didn't make them, not really.//

This is Central Command. We have confirmation of EMF activity. Code Kheper.

//People know some of this story, but a lot of it is classified. I don't know who is reading these reports, but whoever they are, they are much higher up than I am. I just make the announcements, give the assignments. I'm not one of the pilots or one of the engineers, those people who brought up the pieces from the rubble and put the SLUG Units together. The ones who took the body of a dead god and made tin soldiers from it.//

SLUG DES: Kill It With Fire Is In Play. The Gears are turning. Please enter the Gear Chamber. Good luck.

//God help us all.//