Chapter 12: Chapter 11 - Both Alike Indignity

The familiar feeling of being dragged along the ground like some sort of plough, tilling the wet slop and mud and stagnant rainwater, then 078's wedge-shaped jaws scraped the hard wood and splinters pierce the rim of metal plates and plastic skin. The air here was dry but… so… so skin tinglingly warm.

They felt themselves being hefted onto some kind of wooden platform, like an operating table, they open one of their four optics and the feed, a blurry mess, just the glint of eyes in the dark before it cuts to black, before reigniting, again a blurry mess off and on in a cycle of waking and sleeping. They look down, one optic open, so tired, so… hot. So warm. They see, then, they stop seeing.

The back of their left hand, their front-left hand, it doesn’t have a number on it, the right one did, the right hand is missing, there’s nothing there. There’s nothing on the back of the right hand to remind 078 that their name is 078. Their optics shut off again.

A grey hand with 121 written on it in glowing ultraviolet. One thumb, three fingers, and a second thumb. The black machine mistakes that thumb for a fourth finger. A black hand grabs the forearm which the hand is attached to. Using all its strength to crush the fragile flesh, the flesh does not yield, 078 raises their head up to say “C – C -C -C CCCCC-CC-C” a static whisper.

Their hand falters and falls down, they drop down to the table again. So tired.

“So weak…” 121 says.

“Will they be alright?”

“They have human skin, look at that, black as human.”

“It must be ashes.”

A back of a hand touches 078’s chest. “Like a furnace.”

“That means hot?”

“Extremely.”

The voices all around. Human voices. Humans everywhere. 078 stands up. A force knocks them down, four arms pinning their three down against the table before the hands and the plastic skin leap away. “They’re burning!”

“What do we do??” Now a long thin object like a cannon or the barrel of a rifle held down 078, their digestion matrix, their belly, heaved against the rod, aching.

“Water. Lots of water. Now.”

“How do we get water?”

“We can dig for it. Start digging, now.” 814.

“Hey, man-skin, black guy, three arms, you hear me?”

“c-c-c-uhc—c-cc-huh.” They nodded their head.

“You feeling okay?” 078 nodded again. The surprise was genuine. “Really?”

“c-c-c- Yeah-c-c-c- no-c- pain.”

“They must be in shock, I don’t know. Looky?”

“I think their CPU must have stopped feeling pain to cope or… something.”

078 opened their optics again, and pushed again against the barrel of the rifle, betrayed by a frail body, they saw steam rising off the ground around them. Weird. What are they doing to me.

There were no humans around. Just other infantrymen, in the corner was some kind of gun or device shaped like a fat cylinder, spewing burning gas in a short but forceful blue gush, illuminating the room.

“k-k—k” 078 channelled some droplet of coolant into their voicebox, “Get away they’re coming. They’re gonna kill us all.” A machine with 605 on their head and hand grabbed 078 by the hands, which suddenly couldn’t grip or flex, they touched the stump of the right arm, “hmm, it’s secured nicely, someone’s plugged this hole, it’s healing,” they grabbed and they dragged the wounded into the darkness, the cool pleasant darkness, another machine grabbed 078 by the toes and they swung the warrior, tossed them against the black, invisible floor, into a pit, into 10 centimetres of water which sizzled into steam. It was SO cold. A rush of frigid water against plastic skin embrittled, shrivelling, every motor chuddering in the cold, finally cold enough to register pain. Agony. Agony.

078 thrashed in the steaming water for hours, or maybe minutes, until the sun rose, while the other soldiers watched intently, chattering between themselves when they thought themselves quiet enough, about the horrible wounds of “manskin” and whether “manskin” would survive, something 078 didn’t realise referred to themselves until it was too late to correct them. Until they had used the word so often it would be embarrassing to make the correction.

“My name is Zero Seven Eight.” The machine said. Placid on their back, staring up at the clouds.

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“What?” Said 814. “Where did you get that from?”

“The number on my hand.”

“There is no-”

“My right hand.” The pangs of embarrassment came again. “Before it got blown off.”

“What does zero seven eight mean?” That was 605, motioning for more to come, they carefully skidded down the hastily dug pit, the welling water had churned at the walls in the night.

“I don’t think it means anything, it’s just my number? Like yours?”

“Mine?” 605 gave 078 a hand, taken eagerly.

“Six – Oh – Five. On your head and hand – right hand.” They looked at their right hand’s palm. “The back.” Flipping their hand they gave no acknowledgement, but looked at their cord-hair collecting mud, they groaned, tying the four tendrils into a knot. They as well as 212 grabbed the downed soldier, while being pulled themselves by 814 and 714.

“What?”

“It’s right on your hand and it’s right on the flat top of your head?”

“No?” They looked at 814, pleadingly, who themselves claimed they“Can’t see it.”

“What. It’s ultraviolet. You guys don’t see ultraviolet?”

“You’re in shock, just relax.”“So what do you call eachother?”

“That’s Looky.” They pointed at 323 who pointed back at 605.

“We don’t have names for everyone. So I guess you can be Six-oh-five.”

“I can cope with that. So, Manskin, or, oh-seven-eight, you’re gonna stay here while we look for more.”

078 didn’t argue, just accepted their fate. They were sat down on the ground next to a house’s door, 605 handed them a femur, a human femur, “Eat.” They pointed to 814, “What’s their number?”

“Eight Fourteen.”

“Fourteen?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay with Manskin, make sure they eat.” They nodded.

And with that 814 horked up a kind of pipe from out of their throat, which they slid down into the rifle they’d pinned 078 with, earlier, they pressed the long gun against the ground and pulled a trigger, “click.”

“Still needs more batteries.”

078 looked up at the rifleman, “Better to have a bludgeoning tool than not.”

“Haha, I guess.” As the other soldiers left, these two marinated in silence.

“Where did you drop?” Asked the four-armed, grey skinned, fully intact soldier. 078 pointed into the grey and brown desert with their only right hand.

“Shit…”

“Me and a load of others. I think I’m the only one who made it.”

“Wow. I’m. So sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay haha…”

The silence only grew more awkward.

“So.” Manskin looked up. “Where did you drop.” They chewed on their femur.

“We got knocked off course, me and the gang, got dropped here in the hills. Had to burn up the humans here, which is a shame.”

“They would’ve made good eating.”

“Yeah. Haha.”

To 078’s horror, 814 appeared content in the silence.

078 led down, closed their optics.

“You need to get out of here.”

“This again.”

“A village of missing humans. You know what that looks like. Any second now.” They pointed a black claw to the road covered in trees. “They’re going to come to see what’s happened here.”

814 was listening intently now, “Up the hill, we’d see and hear it a mile off if it weren’t for the trees.”

“Unless one of us hides in the trees, watching down the road. Catches a signal for us.”

“If they’re coming for us, why don’t we leave now.” 078 enjoyed this too much, they stood up, again, leaning shoddily on a wall, fans whirring.

“We go now, who knows, humans catch us, follow us. We wait for them, to come to us, we take them out, gives us at least a few hours before the missing scouts are taken note of.” Their headfins pointed upwards. “And, of course, we get to eat.”

When the departed machines returned. 814 was digging through jewellery and a chainsaw, dismembering and devouring, while 078 stood at the wooden table that still bore an imprint of their burning body.

“Everyone.”

“You should be in bed,” 605 queried.

The walking charcoal rolled their eyes. “Have you found any success on your travels?” No answer. “Well how would you like to eat human.”