Façades

[Proto Man]

His clock app was broken.

As if he needed yet another reminder of how miserable the last few days had been, Proto Man was unable to tell the time. While he was sure that there were probably people who didn’t need a digital display to know how late it was, he wasn’t one of them. It also didn’t help that the Pale Moors were perpetually overcast, and it was a guessing game to figure out where the sun actually was before it drifted beneath the horizon.

Somewhere a few paces in front of him, Whirda walked in silence. With the Tarrasque ‘gone’ (Proto Man didn’t believe it was dead… there was no giant decaying corpse), the twosome had left behind a scene of desolation that would eventually blend in all too well with the rest of the mass graves that dotted the Pale Moors. They hadn’t spoken since the woman emerged last from whatever it was that they had all been sent to following the collapse of the Tarrasque. He didn’t ask any questions—he didn’t care enough.

And when she didn’t have anything to say either, they made their way back toward Darkshire in silence, with both of them limping and favoring their bruised, battered bodies as they journeyed back toward whatever safety the grim town would offer to them.

Much as they had before diverting their attention to the Tarrasque, neither of them requested that they stop for rest. For Proto Man, his systems were wrecked, but that didn’t mean he would stop functioning anytime soon. He didn’t know what kept Whirda’s flesh and bones moving, and he didn’t feel like having another conversation about whatever coursed through her veins.

So they walked, with the only sound the dull thud of Proto Man’s metal boots against the barren soil.

By the time that his body had repaired enough to start rebooting some of his more advanced functions, it was already dark overhead, and it was getting difficult to see more than a few dozen feet in front of their faces. “I think we should stop…” Whirda muttered with a voice like a ghost in the wind as she glanced over a bloody shoulder at her robotic associate. “The last thing we need is to be set upon by another monster or pack of drow.”

You can just kill those too, can’t you? Instead of speaking his mind, the preteen machine nodded his head and squinted through the darkness. Although he had to rely on his most sight overlay, he was still able to spot a small copse at the top of a hill near twenty or thirty feet from their position. “The trees and elevation should provide us with some cover and a vantage point.”

“Good eyes,” Whirda replied as she started toward the tree-covered hill.

Once the pair were entrenched inside the copse, they fell back into silence. Turning his attention from Whirda, Proto Man glanced down at his hands and saw that he was missing a few more parts than he had originally noticed. One of his fingers had lost a digit, and two other fingers had been scorched down to the metal endoskeleton during his last scuffle with the Spartan. While none of the grossly damaged fingers were responsive, the damage was mostly cosmetic. After all, he wasn’t going to be folding origami anytime soon—he’d rather his systems repair themselves enough to reboot the non-essential system apps that allowed him to function less like a mindless robot and more like an integrated member of whatever the hell you considered the Omniverse (‘society’ didn’t seem like a fitting term… the place was too miserable to feel like one).

With a sigh, Proto Man stared out into the darkness and waited the night away as his body slowly tried to repair itself.

[PepsiWhirda]

It seemed like years since she'd slept.

There was no fatigue. The pain in her back had settled to a dull ache as the contagion grew flesh and restitched muscle and sinew. She wasn't hungry, or thirsty, or so concerned for her safety that manning a watch felt like a necessity. In the wake of their battle against the tarrasque, it seemed everything in the moors had collectively gone into hiding, as if they understood the gravity of what lurked beyond the horizon. They hadn't so much as glimpsed movement across the vast plains during a day of walking. In the night, there was no sound.

Blues fell asleep soon after midnight, but still Whirda couldn't sleep. It could be chalked up to the adrenaline of victory. In the span of a day she had beheaded a colossal primordial beast, defeated dozens of drow, and taken up arms beside Blues, her tireless companion, to bring a handful of enemy Primes to their knees. To anyone else, that would justify her restlessness; to Whirda, it felt as though her very humanity was slipping through her fingers.

She cradled the reward for her hard-fought triumph in her arms, sitting on the cold ground with the trunk of a mottled aspen against her back. The buckler looked to have been crafted from one of the tarrasque's impossibly dense scales, the edges smoothed to a circle, with straps underneath to be worn on the forearm, allowing her to keep her hand free. The image had formed in her head the moment she placed her hands on the swirling orb of omnilium, as if simply by imagining the prize she wanted, it had sprung into being. The mysteries of the Omniverse never ceased to amaze her.

The moon scudded inexorably through the low clouds like a doomed man led to execution. Whirda listened to the low hum of Blues's armor as it repaired the damage wrought by tarrasque and Prime alike. They had set a course for Darkshire the day prior, at the preteen machine's insistence. Whirda wondered if the trek would prove as futile as last time, when the very town she crusaded for, whose children she had rescued from the shade, had turned her away like just another creature of darkness wandering the wastes. She wondered where else she could go. Who would accept the woman with the shade's contagion running through her veins?

When the sun climbed over the distant mountains and poked its rays through the dusty haze, Whirda nudged Blues with one foot. "Let's go," she said. Her voice sounded foreign after six hours of silence, hanging in the air for an awkward beat before dissipating.

Blues rose almost instantly, leading her to question if he had truly been sleeping at all. "Should make it to Darkshire by nightfall," he said, looking across the empty plain.

"And then?" Whirda asked, arcing one eyebrow.

"Back on the trail," Blues shrugged. "Like you said, Scylla's still out there."

Whirda nodded, but couldn't muster a reply. She knew it was her duty, but the idea of setting off on yet another bloody campaign across the moors turned her stomach. It felt more and more hopeless to slam her mortal frailty against the bulwark of the evils present in this world. She would be crushed to dust before it gave an inch.

"You okay?" Blues asked, frowning. The kid seemed immune to pessimism, always ready for the fight ahead. By Whirda's estimation, it was what made him mighty.

"Fine," she lied, turning her back on the preteen machine. She strapped her new buckler to her wrist, hefted Dobson's still-full pack of supplies over her shoulder, and started walking. "Let's just get this over with."

[Proto Man]

The wait had done wonders for Proto Man. Most of his systems were functioning within their normal parameters, and now that his wireless adapter was working again, he was able to access the Dataverse. As Whirda had skulked in the darkness, the preteen machine had been busy trying to rescue a princess from the clutches of a giant ape with a soft spot for throwing barrels. After a few days of having people try to kill him, it was a nice to be able to sit in the dark and enjoy one of the simpler things. Playing the game on his internal display reminded him of when Roll and he had tried finishing one of the rpg games they’d summoned from their world.

Much like that experience with his sister had ended; Proto Man by himself was just as unlucky with his attempts to save the girl. As the sun rose, the android had recommended they set out toward Darkshire, and although she didn’t seem up for the travel, Whrida went along with him.

Another nearly full day of silence followed as the two started to pass familiar landmarks. Every now and again, Proto Man would glance back to make sure that the woman was doing all right. He had to remind himself that she was still flesh and bones, even if her heart left a little to be desired.

When they saw the familiar sight of Darkshire’s city gate, Proto Man started to walk a little faster. He knew that Whirda wasn’t matching his pace, but he didn’t expect her to. She had done so much to help the city after arriving in the Omniverse, and Darkshire’s garrison had driven her from its walls with little hesitation. As they drew closer to the city, the android’s enhanced vision detected that the garrison atop its walls was becoming more active. He saw the usually inert skeletal guards turned in their direction and ready their weapons.

“Who goes there?” Someone shouted from atop the walls.

“I am Blues, and this is Whirda,” Proto Man shouted as he stared up at the armored man. The quality of his clothes and the insignia he wore indicated that he was the garrison’s equivalent of a junior officer.

“That woman cannot enter the city,” the soldier replied. “We have strict orders to prevent any infected individuals from mingling with the general population. You must understand.”

When Proto Man’s hand cannon started to hum to life, the officer and his human compatriots exchanged nervous glances. Before he said anything, the android dug into the pouch at his side and pulled out the chunk of monster and tossed it toward the gate. The piece he had was mundane, unlike the one that Whirda wore as a small shield. “We killed the Tarrasque, and she and I helped break up what could have easily been the makings of an army of evil, underground elves. Your options are simple… you can go retrieve Dobson Skendor immediately, or I will obliterate this gate and break the legs of anyone who tries to prevent this plague-addled hero from entering this city. You should pick your next words wisely, because I have been known to get a little trigger happy.”

As the men atop the walls scrambled to sort out the situation, Proto Man glanced over his shoulder and saw a rare smile on Whirda’s usually melancholy features. When he returned his attention to the town’s entrance, he saw that there were fewer men up on the walls.

“They’re going to retrieve Commander Skendor immediately. He should be here in a few minutes.”

[Proto Man]

Two months later...

The gates of Darkshire loomed on the horizon.

By now, it was only Proto Man and Mireya who remained. The Prototype Robot Master’s siblings had all returned to Coruscant a half day prior. While everyone was a lot more banged up and bruised on the way back, the larger group made the journey much more bearable. Despite their hardships, they all found a way to celebrate, knowing that they had finally stopped a great evil from spreading across any more parts of the Omniverse. Now all that remained was to ensure that the people of Darkshire were able to breath a little easier at night, even if the Moors were still host to thousands of hideous monsters.

“Who goes there?” A voice cried from the gatehouse.

“I am Proto Man, and this is Mireya Vasquez of the Tangled Green. We come bearing news from the Black Gate.” The preteen machine shouted.

A long silence came from the gatehouse, causing the red robot to smirk. How long had it been since they had heard someone mention that sinister structure?

With a series of groans, the heavy gate retracted up into the stone. As it did, a group of armed soldiers flooded out to greet--or was it to confront?--the pair. From the middle, a man with short hair and customized armor strode out to address the pair. “The name’s Dmitri. I’m one of the people in charge of the guardsmen here. I don’t believe I’ve met either of you,” he spoke as he reached a hand out.

“I’m Blues,” Proto Man said as he reached out and shook the man’s gloved hand. After Mireya introduced herself, the preteen machine asked the obvious question. “Where’s Dobson? Isn’t he in charge of the guard?”

Dmitri nodded his head. “He is, but he’s currently dealing with some issues at Town Hall, so you’ll have to wait to speak with him. In the meantime, I’m taking up some of his duties.”

It was then that Proto Man remembered the situation in Darkshire before his departure to deal with the Archdemon. There had been whispers of turmoil originating from the Town Hall, and from the look of things, the situation remained unresolved. “We bring good news,” the machine said, hoping that perhaps he could offer a silver lining.

“The runner mentioned the Black Gate… have you been out to there?” The two Blight-slayers nodded their heads. “What do you have to report?”

“We went out there and banished the prime responsible for spreading the Blight, the disease that turns people and animals into darkspawn.” As she spoke, Mireya reached out and handed Dmitri a leather sack. The man accepted the bag and pulled it open before retrieving its contents. The first thing he found was a shard of the black material that made up the arches for the Black Gate. The pair had taken several pieces to serve as proof of their journey. Along with the stone shard, they had taken several assorted pieces of armor and weapons from the darkspawn that Mireya and the Generation 1 Robot Masters had defeated. Everything they had taken bore the emblem of Scylla, which was intended as proof that they had found her stronghold.

“We have no corpse to bring back to show you, so we hope that this is enough to prove that our word is true,” Mireya explained as Dmitri examined the artifacts and handed them off to some of his retainers.

“You seem like decent people,” Dmitri replied as he crossed his arms over his chest. “If what you say is true, you’ve done a great thing for this town. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to offer either of you… the situation here in Darkshire is very fragile. We’ve lost some of our best champions in the last few months.”

The fact that the man said nothing of what was happening behind closed doors did not make Proto Man feel any better. Part of the robot regretted the words even as they left his mouth, but he knew it was the right thing to say. “Can we do anything to help?” Next to the preteen machine, he heard Mireya groan beneath her breath, but if she disagreed, she said nothing. A few days ago, they had mentioned heading to the Tangled Green, but Proto Man wasn’t one to look away from a place in need of help.

“Yes,” Dmitri replied as a smile spread across his stubble-covered visage. “We need extra hands on the walls. We’ve had a few more attacks in the last couple of weeks, and the additional firepower would really help us out as we try to sort through the staffing issues.”

As he noticed Mireya opening her mouth in the corner of his eye, Proto Man took a step forward and reached his hand toward the man. “We accept. We can’t stay too long here, but we have some time.”

The guardsman smirked and shook hands with preteen machine. “Report to Tower Six. It’s near the northern side of town. You’ll find Sergeant Thrash there, and he’ll have instructions for you, okay?”

“Great!” Proto Man replied as he grabbed hold of Mireya’s wrist and half-dragged her through the city gate of Darkshire.

Once they were within earshot of the group of armored militiamen, Mireya gave Proto Man a gentle smack on the back of his helmeted skull. “Why’d you volunteer to spend more time here? This place is miserable.”

The robot rolled his eyes behind his visor. “The only reason we are here in the first place is to help people. What is a few more days of our time?”


Mireya laughed and shook her head. “Sound like famous last words, if you ask me. In that time, this place could go up in flames.”

Proto Man flexed an arm, even though the limb was sore and in need of maintenance. “Then we’ll put it out,” he muttered as they made their way toward the guard tower.

[Proto Man]

“What? Dmitri sent you?” The man was the exact opposite of the rugged yet approachable man who had greeted Proto Man and Mireya at the door. He was gruff, grossly unkempt, and generally seemed to have little idea what was going on around him. “I’m Sergeant Thrash, and this is Tower Six. I take it you’re here to help hold down the area? It’s been awhile since I’ve had to break in any new recruits.”

Mireya snorted. “I assure you that I don’t need to be broken in,” the half-night elf said in her unique accent. “I’m sure I can sit around and point a bow at things for an entire afternoon if need be.”

“Heh,” Thrash muttered as he examined the lithe hybrid. “Just go change into the garrison gear… they ought to be able to throw some suits together that will fit the two of you.” The man shook his head as he walked away. Although he thought he was outside of earshot, both the child and the woman were good enough to pick up his last remarks. “Sending me a woman and a damn kid… this town has gone to hell.”

“What have you gotten us into, Kid?” Mireya muttered with a snide grin on her face as they made their way into the cramped confines of the tower. Up ahead, a wooden sign indicated the path they’d need to take to make it to the quartermaster’s office. The pair made their way in silence through the claustrophobic network of corridors until they reached the plain wooden door that led into a dank room that served as the man’s ‘office.’

“Howdy,” a sweaty man said, his eyes haggard as he glanced up from a crate filled with random pieces of mangled platemail. “You’re not here for gear, are you?” He groaned after seeing the looks in their eyes.

“We are…” Mireya muttered, trying very little to hide her disdain.

“Uh,” the quartermaster sighed as he reached in and pulled out a shattered piece of platemail. From the marks on it, it looked like its last owner had been torn apart by giant wolves of some sort. “Here,” he said as he handed the piece over to Proto Man. “You just need to find enough pieces that have that decal on them… that’s the garrison recruit insignia.”

So this is what happened to the last batch? Proto Man scowled as he examined the logo and committed it to memory. Once he had, he handed it back to the quartermaster. “I’ll summon some armor for the two of us. That way, you can focus on the work that obviously needs your attention the most.”

“A prime, eh?” The quartermaster inquired. “We’ve had a few of you in the last year… it makes me start to really think that this place may be starting to turn around.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Proto Man said with a smile as Mireya and he made their way out of the cramped sorting room.

Twenty minutes later, the pair made their way over to where the man in charge of the garrison was sorting through some paperwork. Both Mireya and Proto Man were decked out in shiny new platemail armor that sported the requisite emblems for the garrison. Beyond that, neither of their suits seemed even remotely close to the standard. The preteen machine’s lacked most of the nuanced joints and plates to compensate for his already large lower legs and hands, and his helmet looked more like that of a medieval knight than the skull cap style worn by the militia. Mireya’s outfit lacked nearly all the heavy plate and was designed to guard only the essentials without tying up the woman’s lithe frame with weighty armor. Most of her body was still garbed in her handmade leather armor, and if anything, it seemed as if she’s just tacked on some metal bits for show.

“Those aren’t regulation.”

“You said all we needed was the emblem,” Proto Man shot back as the pair pointed to their respective insignias. After glancing at their equipment once more, the quartermaster furrowed his brow. “I didn’t think you’d be primes,” he muttered as he sat up in his chair and started to look over the pair in more detail. “I figured they were just at the point of sending me whatever rabble they could round up in the alleys…”

“No worries,” Proto Man replied, glossing over the fact that his companion was a secondary. As far as the robot was concerned, that was no one’s business, and if it got them a few advantages, he was okay with that. He owed it to Mireya to keep her alive from this point forward. She had been at his side throughout some terrible ordeals, and even though she was flesh and blood, she was a member of his family of steel. “Where do we go?”

Sergeant Thrash mulled over the question for a few minutes before deciding on a response. “Head up to the top floor. You’ll find Corporal Jacks up there, and he’ll be the guy who gives you your specific assignments. He has one of the rougher sections of the wall… he’s lost a pair of guys and three skeletons over the last week due to raids. For whatever reason, the monsters out there are being adventurous with the town walls.”

“Nothing too serious, right?” Proto Man asked.

“Ehh,” the sergeant muttered as he tried to think of the right, politically-correct response to that question. “Let’s just say that the current situation is very taxing on our available resources.”

If Proto Man had a ‘bullshit’ detection app, it would have been sending up a dozen red flags. Since it wasn’t his place to call people out on their words, he simply nodded his head and walked with Mireya to their next destination. With any luck, they could pass this time without disaster and leave Darkshire to sort through its own affairs.

[Proto Man]

Day 3, Morning

I’m not quite sure what Blues was expecting when he signed us up to serve a fortnight in this cramped tower. He’s shared the ‘stories’ of his ‘youth,’ but even then, I feel like the accommodations here are stunning even for someone who technically resides in the ghetto of an industrialized city.

The first day we were here was uninteresting, but I did have the pleasure of meeting some of the ‘finer’ members of Darkshire’s garrison. It seems as if Tower Six is where they send people to die, because absolutely none of these men (or the pair of women) would survive even a day in normal society without winding up behind bars. Within three hours, I had fourteen people attempt to romance me, and after the seventeenth, I broke someone’s jaw. I believe that very public display of brutality tempered their interest, because no one has bothered me since.

Aside from Blues, the only one in here who is bearable is a woman named Abigail. She’s the only here who doesn’t look or act like she would stab me in an alley for drug money. In fact, the more I talk to her the more she seems to be a pretty normal person, albeit someone who has endured a lot of stress in her ‘Omniverse life.’ From her story, she woke up near Silent Hill a few years ago. Before her curiosity could get the best of her, she got a transmission from someone called ‘the Viper.’ It was a warning message for anyone on the channel and in range to stay away from the fog.

With a bit of luck, she found her way to civilization, and after spending a year wandering around the verses trying to find some answers, she returned to Darkshire. She confided in me that she’s not a ‘melee’ person, but as a secondary, she felt uncomfortable trying to seek out a prime to get her ‘modern’ (as she called them) weapons. As a result, she said she has spent most of her time trying to figure out how to fight with a sword and shield or a polearm. After that, she decided to stick around to try and keep her new surrogate home a safer place until she could figure out why she had been summoned to the Omniverse.

If she isn’t lying, that probably makes her the most selfless person I’ve met in the Darkshire militia…

The second day here, Blues and I got to share duty ‘up top.’ That means we spent most of the afternoon staring out into the fields that surround Darkshire. The two other people that made up our rotation complained the entire time that the view from the otherside of town was much better. I’m not sure I believe them. Either way you cut it, you’re still in the Pale Moors. As far as I’m concerned, nothing in this place could be ‘better’ than the view someone would have as they walk through the Gate into a neighboring verse.

Blues tells me that I’m being ‘cynical,’ but it’s not my fault that the phrase ‘depressing heap of shit’ isn’t programmed into his vocabulary. Don’t get me wrong… Darkshire was probably once a very nice place to live. I may have spent most of my life in the woods, but I can still tell that the wood and materials used to build this place were extremely high quality. Even the halfway houses were built from mahogany, birch, and cedar wood, which were relatively expensive materials. Of course, years of disrepair had rendered them scarred and dilapidated, but it’s obvious that there used to be a shine to this place before the dust and grime took over.

Duty that day went without incident, which I heard is a rarity, but I suppose I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth?

We’re on the third day, and I find myself once again sitting awake in the barracks while everyone sleeps. Even Blues is ‘in standby’ tonight. Usually, he only goes inactive for an hour or so, but he told me earlier today that he would need to have some more downtime in an effort to get all of his systems back to ‘maximum functionality.’ Sometimes I forget that he’s made of steel and fire beneath that skin, because he’s so convincing as an actual kid when he isn’t destroying monsters and avenging the fallen.

With any luck, the time we spend here will travel quickly, and we’ll be able to remove ourselves from the Pale Moors. I keep hearing whispers about what is going on in the bureaucratic circles, and it leads me to believe that there are some very dark things happening beneath the surface. If anything, our time here should give me the opportunities I need to try and piece together this puzzle. I’ll try and outline my thoughts a little later. For now, I think I’ll go back to sleep… there’s only so much sitting an elf can do.

***

Mireya awoke to the sound of drums.

Understanding that she wasn’t hearing the usual wakeup call, the woman bolted into an upright position and reached for her spear. She didn’t have the weapon on her during duties ‘up top,’ but she always slept with it beneath her ‘mattress.’ By the time she had slipped on her gear and gotten to her feet, the humans in the barracks had mostly started to stir from their sleep and moan and groan.

At the end of her row of bunks, she crossed passed Proto Man, who was sitting up and glancing around. The preteen machine wore a frown on his youthful visage as he hopped off the bed, his right arm replacing itself with his hand cannon as he glanced up at his companion. “That beat denotes that we’re under attack,” he stated blandly, as if he were reading from a manual rather than informing her that their cramped little tower was under siege.

“Well I guess we should do our job,” Mireya replied as she started toward the doorway that led up to the outside. Behind her, Proto Man trailed her by a few steps, and a longer glance revealed that some of the more athletic members of their barracks had readied themselves. At the helm of that group was Abigail, who scowled as she clutched a sword in her hand.

“Groups of two as we go up the stairs!” The blonde woman shouted at the others as they rushed to catch up with Proto Man and Mireya.

[Proto Man]

Mireya and Proto Man burst through the doorway that led from the stairwell to the platform at the top of the city walls. The sky was black, but the lack of a moon told them that dawn would be approaching sooner rather than later.

In front of them, a group of soldiers were already dead, their bodies partially mutilated by the squadron of skeletons standing like gargoyles at the edge of the wall. The pair of primes had spotted the dead creatures on previous days. They were the ‘skeletal guard’ that served as an increasingly integral part of the Darkshire garrison/militia. Only instead of defending the city, they had murdered the morning shift and now stood watch near a trio of wobbling ladders.

“Take them down!” Mireya shouted as she rushed forward with her spear. The half-night elf dropped beneath the swing of a heavy axe and thrust her weapon forward, punching up into the skeleton’s skull. The impact tore the undead creature’s head away from its vertebra, and its body went limp and fell backwards off the wall. A heavy blast of energy knocked away the closest skeleton as it tried to slash open her back with its sword.

Moving forward, Mireya grabbed hold of the top of the ladder, but before she could throw her weight behind knocking it back, a curved blade slashed at her face. The half-night elf recoiled sharply and tried to kick at the ladder. She was tackled to the ground by an unarmed skeleton as the drow started to reach the top of their ladders and step onto the platform.

Back near the door, Proto Man continued to release bursts of energy, and from behind him, the other members of the garrison started to flood out onto the platform. The robot quickly had to slow down his rate of fire as the cramped area started to become crowded with bodies, both human and non-human. As more drow scrambled onto the battlements, the members of Tower Six’s garrison rushed to prevent them. In the process, the entire platform became a mass of bodies and swords that made it impossible for Proto Man to maneuver in view of anything important.

...Tarter sauce.

Mireya grunted as she climbed up onto the battlement and hopped to avoid a scimitar aimed at her shins. Once she was back on her feet, she thrust her spear into the skull of the attacking drow. The dark elf went limp as her spear punched through into the back of its brain, and with a grunt, Mireya directed its corpse over the wall and to the ground below. The body toppled over, knocking a pair of drow off one of the ladders as it plunged down.

Hopping across the parapet to her right, Mireya jabbed down and smashed through the shin of one of the remaining skeletons. The reanimated corpse thrashed back at her, but the length of her weapon prevented it from finding its mark before the bone snapped. Falling forward, the skeleton clawed at everything around it before it was pulled to the ground and trampled by the slowly moving wall of men and women in platemail.

As dramatic as the assault by the drow felt, it was over before it truly had a chance to commence. With the skeletons having been shattered, and the garrison rushing in the wake of the preteen prime and his half-night elf ally, the dark elves had been unable to get the foothold they needed to spill out into the walls of the town and wreak havoc upon its militia. Within a few minutes of arriving at the top of the tower, the surviving members of its garrison had pushed to the ladders and sent them falling backwards, sending many more of the dark-skinned warriors to their deaths.

“What the hell were those?” One of the men shouted from the edge of the battlements. His eyes found Mireya, who was still surveying the pile of corpses and broken ladders that rest at the base of the town’s wall. She spotted roughly two dozen surviving drow slinking off away from the city. IIt was moments like this when she wish she had her bow, because she had no idea how to use the strange handheld bows that the skeletal garrison troops carried.

A look over her shoulder showed that about a quarter of their barracks lie dead on the stone. The site of so many dead soldiers made her fear what could have happened if they had been any slower to arrive atop of the tower.

“Please excuse me,” Proto Man grunted as he tried to politely shove his way through the crowd toward the other end. It took him more than a few forceful redirections of armored men, but he finally made it to the other side and glanced up to see his half-elven companion staring down at him. “How many drow?”

The woman scowled. “Twenty four survivors, but it looks like we took down about that many, along with all of these… malfunctioning skeletons? This is the bigger surprise,” she said as she pointed a spear at one of the inert skeletons lying on the stone. “Aren’t they supposed to be programmed or whatever to protect this place? They seemed to be doing the opposite of their job.”

“Something must have taken control of them,” one of the men from the barracks offered as a possible response to their current quandary.

“Or,” Abigail muttered, causing everyone to glance over at the blonde woman. “Maybe the person who controls them decided to change the side he’s fighting for?” That response triggered a sea of protests from everyone gathered atop the tower with the exception of Proto Man and Mireya, who shared a quick glance before the half-night elf picked up a shield and banged it with a sword to calm down the crowd.

“Whatever the cause is, I think we all need to report this immediately. It’s possible that our enemies are planning more attacks before the sun rises, and we need to make sure that each and every tower garrison is prepared in the event of more drow.”

“Here here!” Most of the crowd shouted as they started to file back into the walls in a surprisingly orderly fashion. It seemed like the carnage of the battle and the sight of so many of their dead friends had sobered most of them enough to not argue with orders from a peer.

[Proto Man]

With the attack a few hours behind them, Proto Man and Mireya found themselves in a makeshift office. While not inside the town’s walls, the structure was adjacent to them, and from the look of things, it was supposed to serve as an administrative area to coordinate orders and information between various sectors of the walls. From the lack of staff and the general appearance of chaos and disorganization, it looked like nothing had been done in a few weeks.

“I can tell you’re judging the place,” Dmitri muttered as he led the two into a private room. “If you can imagine, these little nerve centers were much more effective when they were first launched. Dobson came up with the idea to have entire portions of the walls operated from buildings like this to try and make things more efficient. They ran smoothly before the funding was cut off, and to make matters worse, they wound up requisitioning some of the best officers to have them go and die atop the walls fending off darkspawn and monsters.”

“That’s terrible,” Mireya muttered as she glanced around the room. It didn’t look like this was where Dmitri worked, which led her to believe they were just in some dead man’s work space. “Why did you pull us into here? Shouldn’t we have an audience with Dobson or the Mayor at this point? What happened this morning is some serious business.”

“I know,” Dmitri interjected, his shoulders slightly sagged as he leafed through some papers on the desk. The other two were left to wonder if their makeshift commander had known this room’s prior occupant. Before either could ask that question, the soldier looked back up at them and shook his head. “I need you two to swear that you will not relay this information beyond anyone in your garrison. We have all the other towers in this sector on high alert, and we’re saying that you spotted some behemoths roaming too close to the town walls.”

“Wait a minute…” Mireya interrupted, her expression souring as she realized what was happening. “You’re covering this up?”

“Not out of malice… you must believe me when I say that,” the man replied. “The town is on the verge of either collapsing onto itself. If word that hostile invaders tried to infiltrate and killed a quarter of a tower’s garrison in the process escapes to the public there will be panic on the streets. In the event of riots, this town will cease to exist. We don’t have the manpower to simultaneously garrison all the walls and suppress anyone.”

Proto Man, if he had a stomach, would have felt it twist up at the notion of the morning’s events being whitewashed. “What about the skeletons? They were helping the drow… surely you can’t overlook that, right?”

“We won’t,” Dmitri replied.

“Do you know how that could happen?” Mireya asked.

“No.”

“So you have zero leads? Who creates those things in the first place? That should be the first person you pull in for questioning!”

“I’m sorry, but that information is classified.”

“How many of those skeletons do you have walking around the towers? Do you realize what would happen if more than just four or five of them decide to start killing the people they’re designed to protect? You’re afraid of riots, but if those creatures go rogue, you’re going to have a massive bloodbath on your hands,” Mireya shouted, her skin taking on a reddish hue as she struggled to contain herself.

“That’s another reason why this story can’t become public knowledge. Do you realize what would happen if these people thought all those walking corpses could be compromised? This would be a ghost town or worse in a matter of days. Darkshire would cease to exist.”

Mireya snorted, and although she said nothing, her thoughts on that matter were obvious.

“Darkshire must stand,” Dmitri shouted, prompting the woman to wipe the grin from her face. “We’re the only ones between these monsters and the rest of the Omniverse!”

“Yea, you did a great job stopping the Blight from spreading into my verse, didn’t you?” Mireya rasped, and with that, the two fell silent for a few moments.

When someone spoke again, it was Proto Man, who tried his hardest to remain a voice of reason in a stressful situation. “What about the rest of Tower Six? What will happen to the soldiers who serve there?”

“Most of them will remain, as they have sworn to keep this to themselves. Those who couldn’t be convinced or did not seem trustworthy enough have been relocated to service in a branch of the militia where we can keep a close eye on them.”

The preteen machine nodded, although he didn’t quite understand the hidden meaning to the officer’s response. “Should we report back? Surely you should retain our services for a little while longer. The drow are not the type to simply vanish into the night forever… they will be back.”

Dmitri nodded. “I appreciate your willingness to stick around a while longer. The two of you might have to pull a few more shifts, but we still need the help.”

“Eventually you’re going to have to give us more information about what’s going on,” Mireya interjected before the man could dismiss them. “We have a right to know, we’ve worked with both Dobson and Boone in the past.”

“Maybe,” Dmitri muttered. “You’re dismissed… please report back to Tower Six.”

Although she was still fuming, Mireya let herself be guided out of the small office by the preteen machine. Once they were clear of the little room and the few workers that remained in the rest of the building, Proto Man looked up at her and frowned.

“This town is on the verge of collapse… it’s almost like it’s trying to will itself to die.”

“If something doesn’t happen soon, this whole place is going to either burn down, be massacred, or be abandoned,” the woman shot back as they left the structure and made their way toward their assigned tower once more. “I know you want to stick around, but we need to leave, Blues. We can’t be here for when this boils over. We’ve done enough for these people by stopping the Blight… you even went far enough to help beat that giant monster and bang up a few drow raiding parties. We need to let them sort themselves out without our help.”

Proto Man frowned heavily as they passed through the entranceway and started to ascend the staircase toward the barracks. “I know you’re right, but I still feel like we should stay here until they say they don’t need us.”

“I just hope we can stay alive until then,” the half-night elf muttered.

[Proto Man]

Day Eleven.

As I am well aware that no one will read this pending my death, I can safely say that I hope someone burns this town to the ground.

When Blues and I returned to the barracks after our discussion with Dmitri, do you know how many members of our garrison remained? Five.

And that numbers included myself and my favorite metal kid.

The only soldiers left were Abigail, a scrawny man with a mohawk named ‘Lex,’ and a man with no tongue! No tongue! I found the irony astounding, although it seemed to go right over Blues’ head, bless his little circuits. I was very happy when he didn’t realize what Dmitri was saying when he had the rest of our garrison ‘reassigned.’ I figured there was something less than virtuous about that remark, and the night we returned, I had a long discussion with Abigail on the matter.

If what the blonde says is true (and as I mentioned, she has given me no reason to believe she is dishonest), the rest of our garrison was placed into ‘Special Ops Brigades.’ The purpose of these brigades is labeled ‘exploration’ and ‘hinterland expansion.’ You can tell from how many damn quotation marks I have to use that the whole thing is a bullshit excuse to send off a bunch of politically incorrect or criminal soldiers to their deaths. While I didn’t really bond with any of the soldiers in this terrible little room, that doesn’t mean I’m going to be happy with the knowledge that they’re going to be sent to their deaths simply for doing their damn jobs.

Blues remains ignorant of this truth, and I intend to make sure it stays that way. He already carries too much on those scrawny little shoulders, so this is a burden I can prevent him from having to carry.

Want to know another fun fact?

They never replaced the forty or so people who used to sleep in this room. The five of us have to do the work of fifty soldiers. Sleeping for only an hour or so is okay for Blues and me, but the other three have already started to look like skeletons from lack of sleep and the fact that rations were also cut. It’s almost as if they expect us to stand here like statues for all eternity.

Fortunately for Abigail, Lex, and Midge (the mute guy), Blues summons food at night and leaves it on top of the chests at the foot of their beds. He never takes credit for it, but I was feigning sleep one night while he was laying out breakfast for our fellow soldiers. For someone who has had three of his siblings die in his arms, I’m amazed that he manages to not become sullen, taciturn, or worse. I’ve seen hard times turn even the best of people into monsters. The people in my community back in Camelot were like angels before the harvests came up short and the animals started to migrate. After that, they sought to blame everyone and everything they could. I don’t miss a single one of those conniving, hateful bastards, and I hope that entire verse falls into a pit. And you know what? This place can join it too.

I’ve never been to Coruscant, but I’m sure most of it could likewise be burned to the ground, with the exception of the bottom parts. I believe Blues when he says that the majority of people down there are genuine and worth saving (at least the ones who aren’t criminals or addicted to drugs and tech implants).

I need to thank Blues one of these days. I feel like I probably have some anger issues. As much as I try and help him avoid some of the worst parts of humanity, I’m certain our meeting helped me in more than a few ways. If he hadn’t pulled me out of that slump, I’d probably be in a much darker place than I am right now. A mentally dark place… because there is nothing worse than the Pale Moors.

With any luck, they won’t need us soon, and Blues and I can head back to the Tangled Green. I’m not sure where our path will take us after that point, but I’d rather deal with the jungle than the despair that permeates everything in this place…

Oh.

Before I forget… I learned something about what is happening in Darkshire.

Abigail apparently has some connections with some soldiers stationed near the Town Hall building. If they are to be believed, it seems like the mayor is attempting to replace both the town council and the leaders of the town’s militia. This would explain why Dobson’s nowhere to be seen, but I still can’t figure out why. There are rumors that someone of importance was found murdered, but like many things in this town, the story has been withheld from the public.

If anything, I wish Dobson the best of luck dealing with bureaucrats. The upper class in Camelot’s ‘duchies’ represented a special breed of filth, and I can’t imagine that Darkshire is any differently. While I’d never tell Blues this, I wasn’t a fan of the mayor when we met him. There was just something about him that was off...

I’m not complicated enough for the mysteries that pervade every facet of Darkshire’s society. Give me a bow and a spear, and I’ll catch you a nice meal. Give me a good hide, and I can get you some quality leather armor in a few days. I’m not built for politics or backroom deals, and despite his desire to do everything he can to make life better for people, that’s not a world Blues would thrive in either.

This isn’t a place for a half-elf exile and her idealistic robot companion.

I only hope we can get out of here before we are pulled down with the rest of this place.

[Proto Man]

“I appreciate everything you continue to do for Darkshire,” Dmitri muttered as he produced two small wooden boxes. “These are just tokens to show how grateful the town is for the services you have rendered.”

The pair of friends accepted the little containers and opened them up to find they contained little pins with the emblem of the town on them. Proto Man smiled at the little trinket, while Mireya merely grunted and snapped the tiny box shut. The android elbowed the woman in the hip—a gentle reminder for her to not get too out of line. For whatever reason, she had quickly soured over the last ten days. Proto Man didn’t like to see her in this state. She seemed perpetually frustrated or angry with things he couldn’t see or figure out, and the last thing he wanted was for her to make a rash decision that could wind up getting her hurt or worse.

“Thank you, Commander,” Proto Man replied as he gently closed the little box and slipped it into the little pouch they contained his other possessions. “Do you need anything more from the two of us?”

Dmitri shook his head, although the machine could tell like the man wasn’t being genuine. The officer’s posture and body language weren’t as relaxed as usual, and his heart rate seemed slightly elevated. “The two of you are free to go. I’ve even went so far as to set up a small escort to take you to the gate.”

“Eager to get rid of us?” Mireya snorted, causing the man to bristle beneath his armor.

“Of course not,” he replied with a strain in his voice. “I just want to ensure that the two of you are safe as you head outside the walls.”

Proto Man didn’t know what to really believe, but he wasn’t the type of robot to turn down someone’s kindness. “Thank you,” he spoke before Mireya had the chance to do so. “We’re ready to go.”

“Excellent,” Dmitri muttered. “You’ll find three men on horseback waiting for you at the main gate… I hope to see you both again when my workload isn’t so burdensome.”

Once again, Mireya snorted as she turned and left the room. Proto Man merely thanked the officer a final time before heading to join his companion. When he reached her, he scowled up at her as they walked through the building. “The man hasn’t done anything to insult you, has he? That was pretty cruel of you back there.”

The half-night elf frowned as they exited the dilapidated structure. “I just don’t trust these people anymore, Blues, and I don’t think they trust us. I’m thinking these little baubles here and all the other stuff is just a fancy way for them to sweep us away so we can’t yap to the wrong person.”

“But we’ve done nothing but help them,” Proto Man shot back, although he knew the woman probably wasn’t far off from the truth. “We could still help them…”

“Let them sort out their own affairs, Blues,” Mireya replied, her calmed tone a marked departure from how she had addressed Dmitri. “There are other people in the Omniverse who need help and who want it. You’re always so quick to thank them for their hospitality, but it should be they who thank you…”

“I wouldn’t want to be arrogant or an egotist,” Proto Man mumbled as the pair rounded the corner and found themselves at the main gate. With soldiers now in earshot, they ended their conversation, and after exchanging pleasantries with the three horsemen, they were ushered out of Darkshire. As they galloped away, Proto Man glanced over his shoulder one final time at the grimy, dilapidated town. Would it still be there the next time he entered the Pale Moors?

[Proto Man]

A lifetime ago, she had been a sergeant in a paramilitary organization.

In some sort of ultimate irony, Abigail Reckner once again found herself donning the insignia of a noncommissioned officer. Her little barracks had gone through a handful of ups and downs over the last few weeks. After successfully dealing with a clandestine assault on the city’s walls, she’d seen most of the other soldiers stripped from the room and reassigned to ‘other details.’ She knew the truth, but like many things going on in town, she kept it to herself.

After Blues and Mireya left Darkshire, they barracks had been repopulated by a fresh batch of green recruits. Once the new kids were settled into their beds, Abigail had been summoned to an audience with Dmitri and a few other officers she didn’t recognize. In any other situation, she would have loved the new responsibilities and challenges, but this was Darkshire, not South City. Being a sergeant in the Darkshire militia meant she would now be responsible for dealing with very little resources, support, or fresh bodies to help her keep the men and women underneath her safe from harm.

Abigail wasn’t dumb—she’d spent enough nights in pubs and taverns to know that the stalemate in Town Hall appeared to be a manufactured controversy. The people of Darkshire were rough and tough—many of them were some of the strongest individuals she’d met in the Omniverse—but there was only so much a population could bend before it snapped in half. A few more months of dwindling resources and quality recruits would render the Darkshire militia incapable of functioning any longer.

Most citizens of the town knew very little of what went on in the walls. They knew that people in there died to keep them safe, and they thought that the skeletons up on the walls had their back. What would they think if they understood the truth?