Bullets pinged off of Boris’s shield. It seemed like the torrent of fire would never let up from them. Every explosive impact shook the bones in his arms until they felt like they might start a fire in his body from the friction alone. Pain wasn’t the right word for it. In all of his time as an Executioner, he felt pain. This was agony.

  “We’re almost there!” Shiela said. Every so often, she could peak around the shield to check their approach. The town of Footfall was closing in, but she didn’t know if Boris would last much longer. Her failsafe was a needle full of zerker, and she jabbed it into him. “Keep going!”

  The cold drug was unfamiliar to Boris. As an Executioner, he had never found drugs necessary. That was left to the dregs in the cells below the Pit. It was meant to give them a fighting chance against him. A rush of energy burst through his veins, and he felt his legs piston faster. A guttural cry ripped from his throat, and he pressed on, not caring if the impacts turned his bones to dust.

  When they finally got to Footfall, Boris was running too fast. He didn’t stop when Shiela and Mateo warned him that he was barreling straight for a building. Three Gordo clan raiders stood between him and the building desperately trying to stop him. One tried to dive out of the way, but the Executioners crashed into all three, squeezing them into pulp before bringing the whole wall down behind them.

  A heap of smoke and dust rose from where they had disappeared. The Gordo clan raiders who were close by ran and began blindly firing into the cloud. When the blinkers clicked empty and the pistol slide kicked back, there was a moment of peace. The raiders reloaded their guns and quickly took aim again, but they weren’t fast enough.

  Something whipped out of the building with blinding speed. It slammed into one of the pipe riflemen and they all saw it for a split second. It looked like a scythe with a chain on the end. Almost as quickly as it came, it disappeared. Mateo the reaper pulled the raider into the smoke and eviscerated him where his comrades couldn’t see. They fired, and again, the scythe flared out. Then Shiela appeared.

  She rolled out the side of the building through a window. Long claws raked the sands as she charged them. One of the pistoleers slapped a fresh magazine into his gun and the slide kicked forward. He immediately began shooting, but the musclebound woman was too quick for his drug infused mind.

  One bullet hit her in the shoulder, ripping a crater into the skin before exiting above her shoulder blade. It was the first ounce of pain she had felt in a long time, and she enjoyed it immensely. Her pace quickened, and she cleaved the raider in two with a single slash.

  By the time Mateo emerged from the smoke, he was just as deadly as the Lioness. He swung his scythe in large arcs, extending his reach with the chain. Unfortunately, he took on much more bullets than his colleague. By the time they cleared the area around the building of raiders, he was bleeding from multiple holes.

  The Executioners all looked at each other. It didn’t seem like it was worth dying for strangers, especially considering that stranger was some junkie wastelander. They were swayed by honor, however. Greenblatt had restored their hope for the future of their clan, had given them back their warlord. If they were to die here, it would be in service to a debt worth every drop of blood.

  “You… you have zerker, Shiela?” Mateo asked. His breathing was quick, and he was turning a shade of pale he wasn’t accustomed to. They were gods in the Pit, but out in the sandy wasteland, they were mere mortals. This was what Ulrich had humbled himself to, and the three of them finally thought of him with some respect. Mateo touched one of his newly created holes and looked at his blood, amazed it was the same color as everyone else’s.

  “Enough to dose all three of us… if it comes to that.”

  “It’s come to that,” Mateo said. “Give me all that you’ve got. If that Krav kid could survive it, then so can I.”

  She almost didn’t want to. The determination she saw on Mateo’s face was so alien to her. But she was beginning to understand. They were fighting for something more than entertainment here. This could change the fate of the wasteland.

  “For me as well,” Boris smiled. He was dragging his shield through the hole in the wall he created. “I think I may be too weak without it.”

  That was it. She couldn’t be the only member of the esteemed Executioners to not follow suit. Maybe the world was just a giant arena. Maybe the Pit wasn’t the only place where they could excel. They were deadly weapons, even this far away from home dammit! She pulled out all of the needles she had, and the first dose was hers.

  001 and 002 were already in Footfall wreaking havoc. At top speeds, the duo could hardly be seen. Greenblatt had turned them into killing machines that acted independently of their creator. They carried their poleaxes and the same laser packs as Krav, though they used theirs with more aptitude and grace.

  One of the twins leapt up a building, stabbing its bladed legs into it twice, then it was on the roof. A detachment of raiders was moving through the town towards the location the Pit Lords had just crashed into. The lobotomite tracked them, gliding from roof to roof with a programmed agility. As soon as one of the raiders had enough sense to look back, they were hit with a laser beam that pierced their chest and killed them instantly.

  Each of the lobotomites was acutely aware of their tank’s storage. By the weight on 001’s back, he had eighty-three percent capacity. Another quick blast left him with seventy-nine percent, and he switched to close range combat.

  001 closed the gap on the detachment. Eight raiders in total remained to contest the lobotomite, and most of them carried the cumbersome pipe rifle. When it became clear they couldn’t shoot in close quarters, they began to use their rifle’s defensively to block out of 001’s attacks. Bladed kicks and the heavy poleaxe broke their defenses with ease, and the raiders were forced to switch to more appropriate weapons.

  Machetes, clubs, and whips were all drawn, and the lobotomite had a harder time adjusting to each weapon. Whips were aimed at the hilt of the poleaxe, trying to tangle it up and prevent the cyborg from blocking the hacking strikes of the machetes. 001 swung the axe out of the way, then back into a clash with the bladed weapons. At one point, it cut a whip midair with its new legs when it came too close to reaching its target.

  “It’s one of those things from Kiva Noon! Those robot zombie fucks!” one raider said.

  Another that looked like a lieutenant, their hair done up with feathers and animal bones, stepped forward. He had one machete, but as he broke ranks, he snatched a second from one of his subordinates. For a moment, he studied the lobotomites movements. They were fluid and candid, almost human in their flawed intricacy. Satisfied, he said, “Get to the attackers that ran into town behind the shield. This one’s mine.”

  Praises were cast on him. 001 registered him as a leader identified as Lieutenant Dolan. The raider wasn’t special in any way the cyborg could recognize. He was just a thin build exposed to the elements and showing signs of intoxication. The man looked like every other raider, but when he charged 001 and their blades crashed, his threat level became apparent.

  “I wish Jackmaw let us practice cutting you guys up! But I think I’ve got you clocked, you robot zombie freak!”

  Lieutenant Dolan was a fast learner when it came to combat, and he excelled at melee blood baths. The lobotomite twisted and kicked, spun and swung. Each time, Dolan blocked with a practiced ease. He was a duelist gathering information and waiting for an opening. The drugs in his system didn’t make him a bloodthirsty psycho like they might have made his kin. Instead, they dulled his mind to a singular purpose: outclass your opponent.

  Blades flashed, and the raider began to mix in his own strikes. Overhead attacks were easily blocked by the poleaxe. Side swings were countered by the legs and quickly reprimanded. He did notice one flaw in the lobotomite’s attack pattern. 001 had a limited ability to attack and defend, and by Dolan’s guess, it wasn’t used to fighting on the bladed legs. They had an awkward posture to them after returning to the ground that had to be corrected.

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  Dolan took that information and formed his own attack pattern. A mix of devastating downward strikes and sideways slashes forced 001 on the defense and he fought to block out of the onslaught. As soon as it stopped the overhead swing, a machete would appear aimed at its torso, and it ran a quick equation to determine how to deal with it, ultimately raising its leg.

  There was no way for 001 to win a fight with a competent opponent like this. Dolan had already figured out its limited specializations, and the raider wasn’t impressed. Strikes came in a flash, and 001’s processes saw a failure rate of over ninety percent with its current strategy. It needed to innovate, needed to tap into that human soul behind its programming and come up with something new. It ran its equations as it desperately tried to defend itself.

  Finally, it came up with an attack. There was an estimated failure rate of eighty percent, but it was better than it had now. It let Dolan go on thinking that he had it cornered, then when he least expected it, 001 stabbed the poleaxe into the ground. Dolan hesitated and watched the lobotomite’s dead eyes for a hint of an attack, but he should have been looking at the bladed legs.

  001 lifted itself off of the floor and spread its legs wide. with an attack coming from both angles, Dolan paused again and tried to quickly figure out what was happening. A quick, scissoring motion went unblocked, and Dolan was disemboweled. Red and pink organs poured from his stomach, but he fought on, dealing a deathblow to 001 with his dying breath.

  While the lobotomite was still in the air, after the bladed legs had passed through Dolan’s belly, the raider made his move. One machete stabbed down into 001 and dragged him to the floor. The blade went through its back, into the tank full of pressurized shale, and then they were both dead.

  Everyone on the battlefield saw the end of their clash. The tank exploded violently, and for a brief moment, the town of Footfall lost its green glow, replaced with a red flash. Nearby buildings were scorched with the heat, and any living tissue in a fifty-foot radius was immediately vaporized. Greenblatt saw it from his place on the battlefield and had to remove his goggles and rub his eyes. He knew that could only mean one thing. One of his beautiful creations was annihilated, never to return to him.

  His second automaton looked at the explosion briefly. Somewhere in its repressed human soul, it reached out for its twin brother with something like a cold sorrow. There was no real sadness in its heart made of gears, but it did understand the loss and longing. It would miss its other half.

  The tank on 002’s back was at forty percent capacity. It had spent its time flying through the town on a sabotage run. It found storages of weaponry, drugs, and deposits of the holy Ammo and sprayed each with a healthy dose of the laser beam. There was something about watching the Gordo clan’s supplies melt away that it enjoyed.

  It had just finished cooking a strung-out raider. The degenerate had used the cover of chaos to indulge in his greedy need for the drugs. The poor, addicted soul hadn’t even registered 002 as the menacing threat it was until it was bathing in a spray of laser beam. 002 didn’t have the same parameters as 001 had, and as such, it didn’t care to save the tank. Its mission was to spend every ounce of shale disrupting the clan’s war effort.

  When it had been satisfied with its destruction, it continued on in search of other supplies. A building it recognized as an old-world clinic by the red cross would be an obvious storehouse. It rushed towards it, staying out of sight, out of the chaos, for as long as it could.

  002 rushed inside and registered a corpse on the floor. An old woman, tattooed and frail. She looked like she had been brutalized. It didn’t recognize the woman as one of their own, but it recognized something approaching from its left, and whatever it was had been coming fast. 002 blocked and prepared to counterattack, but then it saw who had ambushed it. The girl, the one designated Mac.

  As soon as Mac realized what it was, she forgot all about the inner workings of the lobotomites. Their intricacies no longer disgusted her, and she could have kissed every gear and sprocket inside of its dead flesh. The girl wrapped her arms around 002, and it froze. There was no parameter for affection.

  “You’re one of Greenblatt’s freaky things!” she cried. The creation felt much lighter in her grasp, and she noticed the modifications as she lifted it from the floor with ease. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  Lenny appeared from the shadows of the clinic. He had his shoulders raised to his ears as he approached, but then he too recognized the creature. Agua Fria felt like decades ago, but Lenny could remember the kind stranger who had offered Rufus the balm for his eyes.

  “Why does it look so different than before?” he asked, marveling at the newly installed augmentations.

  Mac put 002 down and beamed at the boy. “Black Thumbs are tinkers, duh! Greenblatt’s been pretty busy.” She slid a finger down one of its bladed legs and drew blood with ease. As she sucked the small cut on her digit, her eyes gleamed with joy. “Neat!”

  “Very neat. But what’s it doing here? Rescuing us?”

  “Maybe! Let’s follow it. Lead on… whichever one you are.”

  002 had to rewire its own brain in real time. There were changing conditions to the battlefield that weren’t accounted for, but it thought were important. Allies had appeared, and it was only told to destroy and disrupt. Could it rescue them? Was that something its master would allow?

  Ultimately, it decided to relinquish that decision to its allies. 002 updated its command protocols to include Mac and Lenny, then it stood waiting for an order.

  “Hello! I said lead on!” Mac cried, but the creature didn’t move. She thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “It’s a machine, it can’t lead. Silly me!”

  “Well, what can it do? We need to get these flares to the frontline and then find a way out.”

  An idea sprouted in Mac’s head. The roots of it tangled and twisted in her mind until the idea became a plan. Maybe the arrival of the lobotomite was fortuitous. They didn’t need to get the flares to the frontline, only one of them did. The creation could take Lenny to safety while she began her rampage.

  “You! Um, zero zero something! Take this guy and get him back to Greenblatt!”

  “Wait! What about the flares?”

  “I’ve got them,” she said, and she snatched the half of their concoctions that Lenny was carrying. “You take him to where the other freaky things from Kiva Noon are. He’ll know what to do.”

  When she had stuffed all of the flares into her belt, she gave Lenny a hug and patted him on the back. It felt uncharacteristically warm for a Gordo clansman, but the boy was getting used to her manic kindness. He hugged her back and agreed to the plan.

  “Just don’t die,” he said. “Something tells me Krav will cut my head off if that happens.”

  “You, too. Just stay behind the big guy and you’ll be fine.”

  They exchanged one last look, then they split up. Mac ran up the street toward the gunfire, and Lenny led 002 towards the hidden depot the clan was keeping the lobotomites in.

  The boy had overheard the clan talking about trying to sweeten the deal with the outsiders with Kiva Noon’s main export. Jackmaw, in his infinite stupidity, believed them to be worth their weight in holy Ammo. Lenny could see what he was thinking, even if the warlord didn’t have the vocabulary to put it into words.

  Jackmaw figured that the lobotomites could be reverse engineered and repurposed. He wasn’t well versed in the culture of the outsiders, but all he had ever known were the rules of the wasteland. Here, a mindless servant crafted from the flesh of your enemies was one of the greatest inventions made since the gamma bombs sent them back to the stone age. Perhaps out there, past the glow of the twin suns, there was a place where enslaved automation wasn’t something that awaited anyone after death. Perhaps they had standards. Lenny liked to believe so.

  The two were moving through the streets of Footfall with their eyes pouring over every corner and window. There was a sinking dread that at any moment, a detachment of the clan would find them and blast them to bits. But that wasn’t a worry Lenny should have had.

  When one group finally appeared, they were running towards the pair in formation. The boy stopped and braced himself for a wave of gunfire, but they ran right past him towards the fight. All they saw was the war sage and one of the Kiva noon oddities that had probably escaped containment. There were bigger fish to fry, hadn’t they heard? There was some maniac with a laser cannon burning down everything in sight.

  With his heart ramming inside of his chest, Lenny pressed on. They went into a collapsed building that looked like it was once a residence. A staircase that was exposed by destroyed walls led down into a basement, and that’s where he led the lobotomite.

  The air down here was dank and earthy from years of dust. Gunfire could be heard up top like a distant crack of overlapping thunder. Inside the basement, a large storage container sat in the center of the room. The boy ran to it and began working at the locks. He commanded 002 to help when it became obvious he couldn’t handle it on his own.

  There was a rusty creaking as the door spilled open. Kiva Noon lobotomites were packed like sardines forced together. They shivered and spasmed, desperate for a directive. 002 knew the pain of a directionless life. Greenblatt’s creation looked at all of them, ran a calculation, then bolted out of the room.

  “Hey!” Lenny called from behind. He turned to the lobotomites. Even though they were no longer trapped, they were just standing there with that lost look on their faces. It made Lenny uncomfortable.

  Outside, 002 looked toward the hill where Greenblatt was. He needed a way to get his attention. With its tank weight at less than half capacity, the lobotomite made a decision. It pointed one arm skyward and let out a massive torrent of laser energy.

  Greenblatt watched it from his encampment across the battlefield. The surviving creation demanded his attention. Message received. The warlord put his scope to his eye and looked in that direction. He saw 002 signing something.

  More like me. More like me.

  “What is it?” Ulrich asked. He was squinting and trying to see what Greenblatt was looking at. The thin figure could barely be made out from here.

  “I’m needed on the battlefield. Care to join me?”

  Ulrich smiled. The new weapon Greenblatt made for him was on his arm. It itched as it waited for use. “I was beginning to worry we were just going to watch this whole fight.”