Chapter 70: Ashes of the Rails

Fragments of sound broke through the white noise.

​First came the pain. Then, voices.

​I tried to open my eyes. Everything was a blur. A trembling grid overlaid the gray walls, rusted train cars, and human silhouettes.

​"...I'm telling you, it's scrap!" The voice was raspy, coming from right next to me. "Knock out the lens, melt down the rest."

​"Don't touch him!" It was Ephraim. The old man's voice trembled, breaking into a screech. "He's cursed! Lay a hand on him and your hands will rot off!"

​I was lying on something cold and hard. Concrete, most likely. Turning my head, I saw them. We were in a massive hall of an old station. Fires burned inside barrels. People sat around them, roasting rats on sticks.

​Three men stood over me. One of them had his boot planted on Zeno’s chest. The robot lay motionless, his chassis covered in dents.

​"Cursed, you say?" he smirked, holding a crude, makeshift crossbow. "I'm not buying that garbage, old man. Metal is metal."

​He crouched down, pulling a serrated knife from his belt.

​"System... critical failure... defense protocol... unavailable..."

​I tried to move. My body wouldn't obey. My muscles felt like lead, as if all the blood had been drained out of me. But I had to do something. If they cut Zeno open, we’d lose everything.

​Forcing myself through the pain, I leaned on my healthy arm, trying to sit up. Distance to target—3.2 meters. Threat—armed object. Success probability of attack—0%.

​"Hey," I called out.

​He slowly turned his head to me.

​"Finally awake, are you?" he spat. "Lay still. We’ll finish with him first, then decide what to do with you."

​Microcrack along the metallic limb of the crossbow. Metal fatigue at the bowstring anchor point.

​"Don't shoot," I said quietly.

​He burst out laughing. The others joined in.

​"You think you can tell me what to do?"

​He leveled the crossbow, aiming squarely at my face. His finger tightened on the trigger. Ephraim squeezed his eyes shut.

​"The limb," I whispered. "There's a crack on the left side. Pull the trigger and it'll snap. Shrapnel will take you right in the neck."

​He frowned.

​"You're delusional, kid. This is leaf-spring steel, it doesn't break!"

​The calculation in my head had already finished: Tension—60 kg. Structural integrity—2%. Failure in 3... 2...

​He pulled the trigger.

​The crossbow limb snapped under the recoil, shattering into splinters. He shrieked and dropped the weapon, clutching his cheek. The laughter cut dead. Everyone's gaze darted between the shattered weapon on the floor... and me.

​He slowly lowered his hand, staring at the blood on his fingers. Then he looked at me.

​"You..."

​Ephraim seized the moment, crawling over to help me prop myself against the wall.

​"Sorcerer!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Kill him!"

​"Shut up!" he barked, wiping the blood from his cheek with his sleeve. "Nobody touches him."

​He stepped closer.

​"You saw it would break," he said.

​"I knew," I exhaled.

​He exchanged looks with his men.

​"Lock them up," he ordered. "All three of them. I've thought of a new use for them."

​Two burly thugs hauled me up by my arms. Ephraim hobbled alongside, holding Zeno’s head while two others carried his torso. We were thrown into a side corridor, into an old ticket booth turned cell. Instead of a door, a grate made of rebar had been welded across the opening. Straw and garbage littered the floor.

​"Zeno?" I called out into the dark.

​He lay in the corner, his lens flickering.

​"Functionality... 7%. External power source required."

​"The logic of these locals... defies all analysis. Why didn't they just kill us?" I said.

​"Curiosity," Ephraim answered, sitting down beside me and throwing his cloak over my shoulders.

​"I don't think it's just 'curiosity.' Although... Whatever, we need to get out of here either way."

​"And how are we going to do that?" Ephraim nodded toward the thick bars. "You're barely breathing. Zeno is a pile of junk."

​"I don't know... I don't see a solution yet."

​At that moment, a voice echoed from the darkness of the adjacent 'cell'—another partitioned-off corner. A female voice.

​"Well, I do."

​We all jumped. Ephraim grabbed the knife they had somehow missed during the search.

​A figure stepped up to the bars dividing our cells. In the dim reflection of a distant fire, I could make out goggles resting on her forehead and a face smeared with engine oil. A girl. Looked about twenty. She wore a baggy technician's jumpsuit.

​"Nice trick with the crossbow," she said, gripping the bars. "I noticed that defect a week ago. I was waiting for it to take off half of Mole's face. Pity it didn't."

​So that's what his name is. Not that it matters.

​"Who are you?" I asked, trying to focus my eyes.

​"I'm Tira. And I know how to pick these locks. But I have a condition."

​"What condition?" Ephraim asked.

​She smirked.

​"You take me with you."

​"Why?" he asked.

​"I'd rather die in a tunnel than in some brothel a week from now," she replied.

​"Deal," I said.

​Tira nodded and vanished into the darkness of her cell. I heard her rummaging through metal. Meanwhile, Ephraim let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the wall.