12 Miles Below

I remained curled up in that gloom for a long time, wrecked with emotion.

The relic armors stayed silent too. I’d have thought they’d be screaming at me right about now telling me numbers and damage reports. Then I realized why the silence: I wasn’t wearing my helmet. The thing ended up far away from me, abandoned by some wall. When had I thrown it away?

Mechanically, I stood and made my way to Journey’s discarded helmet. The blank faceplate stared back up at me as I held it. Ornate gold decorated the visor, reminding the world of it’s true origin. Despite the color, the metal had dulled and only small bits of reflection came across it. I turned it around and lifted it down on my head. The orange HUD returned to life, the entire cavern lit back up in my view.

Journey stayed silent as I walked back. Only once I had recovered the longsword from the spider’s corpse, Cathida's dropped blackbox, and stowed all the weapons back into where they were meant to be did Journey chime.

As if it had waited for some requisite set of time for mourning. Integrity reports, power outputs, requirements for repair. It had enough tact to remain voiceless, leaving the notifications silently to the side. All noise to me, floating through the heads up display, unnoticed.

I made my way back to his body. Still propped up on that bloody wall. Motionless.

Father’s helmet isn’t where it should be. Something whispered in my mind while my numb hands reached out besides the body to grab the discarded metal.

I lowered it back where it belonged. That dying smile. Lit with a last triumph. The plated helmet slipped over it, hissing shut to the world. He looked like himself once again.

“Suit integrity critical. Repairs required.” Winterscar urged impassively in my helmet, this time not bothering to display it on my notifications feed.

I know what that scrapshit armor wanted. I know what it was asking permission to eat.

“Shut up. Just… shut up.” I whispered back, taking time returning Father’s knife back into its sheath.

Thank the gods the armor listened. Or maybe it didn’t care a bit, only executing my demand as an order. The armor had served Winterscars for generations, following every order given. What’s one more order to it?

Father would have wanted me to keep going. Let the armor repair itself with whatever materials it could get, no matter how macabre. Gods above, he would have demanded it even, yelling all the way.

Winterscar belonged to someone else now. She would need it fixed.

"I said it would all be okay.” I said to nobody in particular. “Not the first time I’ve been wrong, Father. Gods, I’ve been wrong every step of the way down here. I’ll make sure you come back home. I won’t get that part wrong.”

He didn't answer back. The dead don’t speak.

Journey's armored gauntlets reached under the unmoving sibling. There was no surprise at how weightless it all felt when I lifted up. These armors were heavy on their own and yet it felt like carrying air when I stood up.

“Suit integrity critical. Repairs required.” Winterscar once more chimed in my ear, insistent. I was about to yell at it when Journey’s HUD lit up and outlined the dead spider.

I started laughing. “Gods. My head is addled. I’d thought you were trying to eat his… his,” but I couldn’t finish that sentence. Instead I walked numbly to the dead creature.

It took only a few cuts and some directions from Journey to find where the creature’s heart was. Two power cells kept the creature moving, one of which was sliced in half by the sword cut I’d done. The other was still mostly full. I stripped it out, and brought it to Winterscar.

The black cloud expanded, drinking from the opened power cell container. Expanding out in a small bridge of black to the dead spider’s body. I saw it dissolve. Broken down into component pieces, absorbed by Winterscar. The power cell was emptied. The rips and broken metal were pieced back together.

It didn’t touch any of the blood, leaving all of it to freeze on the armor plates. I could see the armor reform itself over Father’s wounds. Soon, Winterscar had a perfect circle of metal covering the stomach, while the rest was dyed as red as our sigil.

I lifted it up again once the repairs were done and walked away. Father’s helmet slumped on my breastplate, my march home making it shift slightly from side to side.

Journey picked up the slack, pointing out directions. No idea how it calculated where to go, and I didn't care either. It was another half hour before anything shook me out of my daze.

"Search party to Winterscar." The comms queried. That brought my feet to a stop, standing in the middle of some random path. I don’t even remember how I got here. There was nobody but me now to answer.

"I copy."

"Keith?” Lord Atius’s voice questioned, “Why isn't Tenisent answering?"

"He can't anymore."

"What? No, it's too early for symptoms to sho-"

"No you don’t get it.” I ground out, cutting over him. “He can't answer anymore. Ever."

Silence on the comms.

Ironreach broke first. "Scrapshit. He's lyin- That asshole couldn’t have kicked the bu-It can't be tr- It just… Tenisent dead?"

“Do you believe his son would lie? Have some tact for once in your life.” Ankah's Father, the shadowsong prime, cut in.

Lord Atius spoke next, almost regally, a note of finality in that voice cutting through the chatter.

"I was... dreading this would happen. I'll miss him dearly."

"Great. You’ve moved on already." I spat out.

"Keith!" My sister hissed out into the comms nervously. "This is Lord Atius, please, beh-."

"It's fine." The lord replied with a measured pace, cutting over my sister. "I'm Deathless, little Winterscar. I've lived a very long time. I’ve seen hundreds of my friends die. Some in their beds surrounded by family, others in battle, and some alone on the floor of their own home with a pistol in hand. I've learned to mourn in a different way than you do, but I mourn all the same. You will simply have to take my word for it."

There was silence on the comms for a moment before he continued. “Scanners show you’re only a half click from us. Hold position, we will come to you. Search party out.” The comms clicked shut before I could say anything else.

A wall found my back and I sank down beside it. Winterscar was cradled in my arms. Everything was just too raw.

"How long has it been, Journey, since he died?"

"Forty two minutes, twenty seven seconds."

Sniffling, I let go of his armor, leaned it on the side of the walls and curled up on myself.

My mind floated and I knew where it would inevitably go. Skirting around the events, climbing up the chain of what caused what. The spider had killed him. The spider was able to kill him because he'd been down here. He'd only been down here because of me. And I'd only been down here, because of my greed.

I'd killed him.

I pulled that lever, and killed him. The full realization poured into my heart. I crumpled on my knees, hand reaching out to rip off my helmet, but was too slow. Vomit splattered all over the inner visor, splashing back over my face, almost drowning me. The smell of bile overpowered any other scent as it climbed up my nose.

Journey reacted immediately, the black cloud pouring out on the edge of my vision, cleaning up the mess I'd made as I hacked and coughed through the episode. "Warning. Abnormal spike of adrenaline detected. User may be suffering from a panic attack. Please remain calm and take deep breaths."

I stayed on my knees and started laughing, bubbles forming in the pressed up vomit. Deep breaths? Journey continued to try to console me in it's own unique way, throwing advice after advice that I'd have read from some generic manual on well-being. By now the vomit had been cleaned up and the smell was gone. It had done a thorough job of it, cleaning my cheeks and even swarming through the interior of my nose to hunt down every last bit of it, as well as the visor.

"I'm not... I'm not having a panic attack.... You know why I'm down here Journey?"

"Winterscar logs were synchronized. Would you like a recap?"

"No. Winterscar doesn't know the real reason."

The armor remained silent as I confessed. "See, there was an emergency manual backup generator lever we passed by up there. At the site. I pulled it, Journey. I fucking pulled it. Everything that's happened, all because of that one choice I'd made for shitty reasons. I knew that it would turn the site back on and I pulled it anyhow. Because I couldn't be content with just winning. And look where it got me."

Ye’d have learned a hundred times by now - nobody ever deals with the devil and comes out of it hale.

Now I'd seen all the devils and it came with a price. Only, someone else paid it for me. I shouldn't be the one walking out of all this.

Ironic that a month ago I wouldn't have cared if he'd died. A day ago I still hated the man down to my core. Yesterday's me might have bought myself a drink and raised a toast had I heard the news. What the hell had happened since then? Some sort of Stockholm syndrome?

Absent all my childhood and a terrible teacher when he’d come back. Serious issues controlling his anger. Violence would be a tool to use anytime he couldn't explain something properly, which was often.

He’d looked down on my engineering passion his entire life, even destroying anything I made if he found it. I'd been counting down the days until I could be truly independent from him, scheming it even.

Now... now I didn't know what to feel. Does one good deed clear him of a lifetime of scrapshit ones? Or had all those scrapshit decisions all been done because he'd been afraid all this time. Afraid of what happens to Kidra and I when he's no longer here.

His last smile floated into memory and I knew then, that I didn't have it in me to hate him anymore. I couldn't muster even an ember.

I got back up on my feet, pushing against my knees. He tried to be better. I needed to do the same.

"Warning. Enemy threat detected." Journey pinged in my ear. An image of a screamer floated above my HUD, with an arrow pointing at a cluster of dots approaching my own.

"They don't ever stop, do they Journey?" I chuckled back. This whole world isn't going to stop just because I needed a break to do soul-searching. The underground was ruled by machines, I was a trespasser to be hunted down.

"Previous history shows machines always investigate sites of lost battles."

"I don’t suppose I could just lay low and hide?"

"Negative. This unit has been pinged. High probability enemy units were dispatched specifically to hunt current user down."

Father's body weighed nothing to Journey, even if his memory did to me. In a second, he was back in my hands. There wasn't any more time to cry and mope and think about difficult things. I shook myself free of thought, focusing. Clinking sounds of heavy footsteps sounded behind me, running with their strange gait. Coming around the same bend Journey had guided me through. It was do or die again.

“Keith to search party,” I toggle the comms, starting on the long race against time. My feet moved across the metal road, Journey assisting with each leap.

“Search party copies. Status?”

“A group of screamers spotted me. Can’t stay at the rendezvous location, I’ve got to move.”

“Understood. We’ll double our pace and try to catch up with you. Try to run in our direction if possible. Good luck, search party out.”

Journey was fast. Distance flew under me as I put the armor to the full test. Still, there was training required to unlock the full speed from the armor, arms needed to be moved in specific ways, legs bent at the right angles. Running naturally without that training, maybe seventy to eighty percent of the armor’s true top speed could be reached. And then factor the extra weight of an entire additional armor. Arms couldn’t move either because I was committed to carrying Father. It’s possible my speed was only half of what Journey could be capable of.

“Journey, are they catching up?”

“Affirmative.” The armor said, killing any hope of outrunning them.

“Think we can make it to the search party’s coordinates before they catch us?”

“Unable to calculate. Too much terrain is unmapped.”

“They’ve for sure spotted us?”

“Affirmative. If the suit’s sensor suite can detect them, they can also detect the suit.”

“Can you take over movement and get some more speed?”

Journey paused for a moment. “Movement requirements too precise to isolate only to leg partition. This option requires full body control. Trauma might result from prolonged override. Additional weight and motion limitations from Winterscar combat suit will reduce effectiveness.”

Fear spiked through me at the thought of being encased again. Buried alive. Scrapshit. Did I have any drugs that could help me out with this? Anti-pain drugs sure, but nothing that would block a reaction like that. Have to put that plan down as a last resort. “How many are there?”

“Motion sensors detect seven entities following behind.”

It’s always seven with those monsters. At least it’s predictable. While I feel more confident in taking out one, or even two, seven would probably shred me to pieces. Can’t hide, can’t run, can’t fight.

But I wasn’t out of options. I know I could fight them one on one, if that could be arranged. Funnelling them would be a possible victory condition. The rifle could take them down too, if I use distance as my buffer instead of a funnel. Shoot, run, shoot, run. Repeat until they’re all down. Effectively, I would be dealing with them one at a time with that strategy. That would mean dropping Father to free up my hands. Gods, that might even end up being a distraction against them. My rifle had been reloaded, and my pistol as well. I was as ready as I could be for this.

There was another ticking victory condition. Once the cavalry shows up, the crisis is over. If enough time is bought with whatever scheme I come up with, then I win. Atius was Deathless, while I’ve never seen them in a fight, their reputation painted a clear picture. He would absolutely wipe the floor single handedly.

If I can’t fight them one on one, then the next best option is to force the field so that nobody gets to fight at all. Let’s say a strong natural barrier to separate us, something that can’t be reopened. Like the gold lit doorways.

Hadn’t seen one in a while, but if they did appear, there’d be no hesitation from me. Hell, I could make do with a thick sheet of metal in a pinch. The strength of a relic armor to hold it against a tight entrance could buy me the time I needed.

Using distance and my rifle is a gamble, if I mess up there won’t be any way to recover. Finding a blockage has a much better chance of success if something goes wrong and I’d be chipping away at the timer too. Let’s go with that one, more ways to recover from a bad situation.

All that was needed was a single building that had a single doorway and something to seal it with. Given that I was sprinting through dozens of buildings between me, it wasn’t long before a good candidate showed up. The domed specimen had no windows and seemed to be big enough to have multiple rooms. That’d give me a possible retreat, though it might be a double edged sword. I risked it.

A quick switch of direction and I was at the old metal door. Storming inside, the surroundings gave me confidence. A lucky first pick, finally. Piping on the roofs, a second door at the rear, and metal tables. Tools I could work with.

Father’s body was dropped and my knife was put to use cutting up some piping. Hopefully this would be able to bar the door long enough. It slipped through the door’s handle, locking it into place.

A quick slice through a table’s legs, and now I had a flat plane of metal to add as an additional barrier. That was added to the pileup at the door. Time ran out halfway through cutting out a second table.

The door instantly groaned as white armored hands shot through the cracks, pushing and pulling. They tried to pry the door open and even managed to bend the piping slightly by the time my rifle locked into aim. The pipe and table combo held them at bay.

Bullets lit out in three shot bursts, diving through the widening crack. Weapon fire continued to rain through, pairs of mechanical hands snapping away with sounds of ceramic armor cracking. They howled and shrieked all the louder. I could hear them climb over the building, searching for another way in while the others continued on the door.

My rifle clicked empty. Death was coming to get me, held away by a few inches of metal. If I let fear paralyze me again, it would succeed this time.

Urs, watch over me.

Focusing on one task at a time, drowning out everything else, I snapped into action.

Eject the magazine.

Grab another.

Feed the rifle.

Reset.

Aim.

Fire.

They’d heavily bent the piping during those few seconds, the gap widening enough to stick a head through it now. More arms shot through the opening, trying to remove the blockage. Cathida’s old rifle scythed through the mob. I saw skulls break in pieces and bodies flop to the ground.

There were at least four left when the rifle clicked empty. That had been my last magazine. Scrapshit. Thin armored arms still pried the door open with deceptive strength. The metal groaned as it bent, inch by inch. They’d get inside soon.

I had no explosives, one scavenger pistol with ten shots loaded, two knives, one sword and approximately ten seconds to cobble a plan together.