A thunderous blast. Flying rock. And a healthy cackle of joy.

  Light pours into the long forgotten tunnel network, catching on the cloud of dust it gives a nice glow of coppery hues.

  "Ha-ha. Hell yes!" a shout of fem southern drawl cascades over the crumbling of rocks. Then a massive shadow punches through the cloud of dust. "You getting this back at HQ?" the brazen woman calls loudly.

  I'm afraid HQ might be out of range at this point.

  Eyes roll, but it does nothing to hamper her mood. "Sucks to be them then. Missing all this glorious, heart-pounding, adrenaline pumping-" Gears turn and joint clack as she raises the mech suit's arms up and out wide, "Jack-fucking-shit." she ends with a flourish.

  Her voice echoes through the yet unknown darkness beyond. No reply. No movement on her sensors.

  "Hey pallie, you sure that Model 3 went this way?"

  Affirmative. It was clearly tracked along this escape route. The last confirmed signal put it 0.3km beyond the cave-in you just so expertly removed for us.

  She turns back to look down the sewer way that she had spent four hours clearing of Antithesis. "And you swear that we can't just over look that as a bug in the system?"

  Unfortunately not. All traces of the Antithesis must be destroyed or we risk a new hive sprouting.

  The over-sized construction frame turned combat juggernaut walks into the new tunnel system. boots as thick as tree trunks crunch the railway beneath its weight. She flicks on a light on the shoulder and sweeps her chain gun left, then right. Nothing. Just a long stretch of abyss. But at least it smells better.

  "Alright. But start tracking our position to make a map. I don't think anyone even knows these subway tunnels are down here. I don't want to get lost and I sure as hell want to be able to call for help. So tell me when we get connection back."

  Certainly, Madam.

  "Obnoxious Brit." she snarls under her breath.

  Very undignified madam. I can still hear you.

  —

  Time clatters by with nothing but the distance counter ticking up and up. Small cracks leading to the surface drool pathetic shafts of light into the tunnel system.

  She’s starting to regret thinking this smelled better. The air is gutwrenchingly stale. Mold and mildew abound. But no hide nor hair that would indicate a Model 3… until-

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Her HUD flashes and she doesn’t hesitate.

  *Kra-Kooow

  The arm canon of the mech coughs. Light bursts to either side and then travels down the tunnel at break neck speeds. Another crack of the cannon- then another. Only the sound of metal tearing makes it way back to her.

  “Did we fucking hit it?” she curses, trying to get a clearer line of sight.

  Negative. I believe it was turning the corner when we caught sight of it. Best hurry.

  “Yeah, no shit” Joints screech, the suit’s core breathes to life like a boiler to kick into high gear. She charges forward trying to make up for the one chance she might have just missed.

  Her light bobs in a huge arc as she charges to the end of the corridor. It’s a wonder that she saw it in time to stop the mass of metal and fury.

  “HO- Fuck!” she throws up both hands to catch the impact. Metal, again, shears and crumples.

  Hmph. Bad spot of luck that. Good catch.

  “Smart ass” she hisses, pushing back from the pile of rubble she just folded. Proper light and attention reveals it to be a train car. Or, the remnants of one. Three awful holes are punched through the cabin and likely travel into the next, and so on.

  Well. Seems it wasn’t a corner. It must have caught a train to make its expedient get away. How quaint.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me!” she barks. “Some all-knowing AI you are.”

  Now, now. Insults are so unbecoming of you dear. She can hear the damn thing clear its throat in her mind. As for why- That is a matter of the sensor suite’s limitation. I can only see as much as you can see. So, if you would be so kind as to allocate some of your points into something that’s not an obnoxious caliber of destruction, you could become more efficient overall.

  “And I told your frilly little ass that I want to save for the full Class II overhaul. I ain’t got time or patience for this piecemeal bullshit. Ol’ Bertha is doing just fine…” her voice trails off, giving up on an argument is a uncommon occurrence to be sure, “How far ya think this this thing goes?” she asks. Threading the flashlight through the countless doorways between cars makes it look like a repeating liminal space. As if a fun-house mirror got lost in some dystopian horror.

  I feel as though reiterating my previous statement will not warrant a better response. But, suffice to say, I do not know. There is however, a very You way to find out.

  The cannon chamber opens and swaps to a different box magazine.

  An incendiary round would be akin to your idea of a flare I believe.

  The safety clicks on and she stows the controls from the Mech’s hand.

  Pardon?

  Both gauntlets latch onto the side of the dilapidated car and she starts to pull. “Somethin' ain’t right about this. I can feel it in my gut.”

  Hmm… statistical data does not suggest… Oh, very well. I accept your new found concern for your surroundings.

  It takes a few curse filled minutes, but the train is pulled, crushed, or cut away enough for her suit to make it through. All the while, something chilling grips her spine. “Do you smell… smoke? Like, a chimney, way off in the distance?”

  Madam, I will not relent the sensor predicament again. So, no, I cannot smell. But that hemisphere of your brain does seem to be quite active.

  Her journey of half a dozen hours comes to a swift, anti-climactic, halt. Not a hundred yards from her position is a dead end. A complete cave in. “Damn-“

  The sound of a rusty hinge steals the moment. Flashlight and cannon snap to her right. An old service walkway leads to an open door with the ghost of a warning triangle painted on it.

  “I think I know where our Model 3 went to hide.”

  Most Certainly.

  The mech would never hope to fit its foot through that door. “Mister Gybbs.” She snarks.

  Gybralton. The AI corrects.

  She swings the cannon up and over to rest across the mech’s shoulders. “Looks like a mighty fine use of points stands between us and the Antithesis threat. IF you would be so kind.”

  New Purchase: Mark I breaching charge x5

  Do mind the safety zone.