The Industrialist

Nathan. Southern wall Access, Steelpoint Sector

***

He had been sniffing. The scent was strong. His target’s face was unrecognizable but his scent profiled bitter memories.

’Fiery Flame perfume,’ Nathan thought, unsure why he knew the scent. Perhaps, when he was a human.

He melted himself through the scrapyards. His dark green tunic enveloped his entire body. Under it were his thick shirts and pants that could withstand the cold. His face, mantled with blackened skin features with yellow eyes, was obscured by the gas mask he wore.

Opportunely, he brought the gloves, concealing his claws that gleamed against the faint street lights. His Chiroptera, the wings between his phalanges receded under his forearm for his fingers fitting the human gloves.

For days he had been searching, waiting behind the piles of trash. Frustration came to him like tidal waves. Utter frustration, he dug his hand into a metallic scrap pile and took out anything his palm would grasp.

’Hmm. Scrapped robots?’ He said while inspecting the decapitated robotic arm that dangled from his hand. He crushed it with one squeeze.

’No one present,’ Nathan thought. His eyes could deceive him but never his sense of smell.

He removed his gas mask again and inhaled volumes of air, filling his stomach with filtered poison. He coughed. The clean air was killing him, slowly.

Or so he thought.

"I know you are here. Somewhere near," he said to himself.

He persisted in his search even though the weakened disposition. His mission was his punishment. Succeeding it would suffice the Queen’s disappointment.

This was revenge.

’You killed Johnny. Damn you, kid!’ Nathan cursed in his thoughts, kicking unkempt trashes scattered along the concrete.

He followed the scent. It was still fresh. Five or six days fresh. He clambered up on a large scrap pile and perched on top, achieving a vantage point.

He wore his gas mask again as the height was more arid, however, suppressing his sense of smell.

The faint lights of a group of policemen and their robotic counterparts heaved the streets beyond the sprawling scraps. Roving about randomly in groups. The decommissioned of five Police Robots alerted them. For three days he had been hiding.

Momentarily, he felt safe.

Tiredness crept below his muscles and through his limbs. He would accomplish nothing if the police continued their search and him cowered behind the scraps.

Perching on top of the scrap, he glanced back to the wall where he infiltrated. ’There’s no way back,’ He thought as to encourage himself in his pursuit.

His human thoughts never ceased trying to regain control over his consciousness. Even his trained mind, could still falter and succumb to his thoughts’ desires. ’Only a matter of time.’

His thoughts wanted to stop his pursuit. To be human again and leave the hive for good.

’Curse you. You can’t go back. You are strong!’ The thoughts diminished again. If his anger rose, the thoughts faded. Discover hidden tales at NovelBin.Côm

He stood up from where he mounted, his vision accessing further towards the dancing lights and the towering structures. MAFs floating overhead. A stream of acrid memories permeated his thoughts. ’Curse you, Menks!’

’Where are you, boy?’ He thought.

Surprisingly, a looming pain of decimated flesh experienced his left shoulder. That burning energy of devastating plasma was familiar to him.

Somewhat he was pushed by something visible in the air without warning.

’Laser?’ He thought as he inspected his open wound surrounded with charred skin. He trained his vision in between the scrap piles encompassing him. Dark combatants moved inconspicuously fast, melting themselves behind the shadows cast by the piles.

His blood flowed out towards his arm but ceased as he clenched his wound with his right hand.

Another round shattered his thigh again which disarrayed his stance and tumbled down, rolling along the scraps.

He felt the searing pain more intensified than before. Could it be because he was weakened by the filtered air? Or maybe the laser came from a stronger weapon that even his body could barely withstand it.

Standing up, he struggled painfully. He removed his gas mask to recuperate his labored breathing and activate his heightened sense of smell.

’Snipers?’

Black-clad operatives, way different from police uniforms, headed their way to him. Discernable footfalls of boots against concrete snappily looming from various sources. They were not robots, although their bodice and coveralls were seemingly metallic.

’Humans,’ He could smell them.

He could smell human perspiration and even blood flowing underneath their skins.

’Horrendous smell,’ he thought.

They fired again but missed their mark as he ducked down and hid behind piles. He smelled them, cornering him to every accessible exit.

He was surrounded.

They probably knew his location and decided to position themselves first strategically, trapping him, and killing him on-site with extreme prejudice.

’These are not policemen. These are killers!’

Whizzing from the pain, added by the harmful air, Nathan had to escape. He ran as fast as he could, going deeper into the scrap yard. The lasers came, and devastating plasma energies darted against the air almost catching his backside.

Luckily, a wisp of energy remained to maintain his inhuman speed, nimbly evading the firepower. Succumbing his bleeding thigh, he managed to run fast but not faster than he could remember.

Metallic scraps were decimated as lasers collided against them, creating a blinding spark. Lasers darting from random sources, to his left, to his right, and from his back, all missing their marks.

He was surrounded, he confirmed again.

Every turn he took, the killers were there.

’They were tactical,’ He thought. A different breed from what he encountered during his ambushes.

Without a way to escape, he decided to fight his way out. Veering hurriedly to a sharp turn, three killers lined up along the expanse of the road between a valley of scraps.

The lasers came. An immense pain emerged as the lasers shattered his chest and abdomen. However, he continued his pace, enduring the pain, and running towards the three killers.

He feigned left and right for evasion, lasers missing an inch from his neck and shoulders. He caught one killer by the neck and squeezed until the killer’s limbs went flaccid.

The other two discontinued firing as he achieved proximity. He whipped their guns away from their hands. Deftly, the remaining two killers took out their laser-filled knives emitting a glow against the dark with one click, illuminating little portions of their black armor.

On their chests, a logo appeared – Special Homeland Force. ’A new breed indeed.’

The two reacted hastily, retreating further away as they create a sensible gap. They were highly trained, Nathan assessed.

The two operatives remained composed and no evidence of panic. Even though, they knew the kind of creature he was.

Nathan took out his right glove and exposed his claws. He swung to the nearest operative’s face but the latter managed to lean back perfectly to evade.

Out of nowhere, the laser-filled blade struck his ribcage. He screamed in utter pain as a sharp blade lacerating his internal organs.

Immediately, Nathan clasped the arm that held the knife. Squeezed it and the operative screamed to his inescapable death. Quickly, Nathan clawed the operative to his face again and his body fell with a shattered jaw. As Nathan’s back was exposed, the remaining operative dug his knife.

Nathan quickened his turn with the knife still lodged in his back and delivered four claws to his enemy’s abdomen, through his metallic armor.

Luckily, his strength had not escaped him.

In eight seconds, he killed three. ’Sloppy.’

The other killers came, lasers flying nearly missing, but he had eluded them with his immediate escape.

Adrenalin punching his veins gave him a speed boost. He felt fear for his life for the first time in his Abominated life. Electric stunning grenades detonated behind him, the electric web almost reaching him.

Finally, he escaped them but to the precipice of death.

His escape found him beyond the scrapyards and into the residential cabins. He dislodged the knives that dug into his body. His breathing had increased intervals.

His wounds took significant time to heal.

The nighttime had silenced the streets.

Recovering, he prowled in corners where the street lights failed until such a point that he could find the smell again.

He sniffed again. Fortunately, the scent of the killers was far enough that he could focus on one elusive smell.

’The kid.’

He caught it once more. The Fiery Flame scent perfume had a unique smell. It stood out. Now, the scent was stronger.

Following it, the scent took him to places, further away from the scrap yards and into police warehouses. His dark skin camouflaged him together with the dusk.

There were occasional policemen and their robotic counterparts hovered overhead but he did not confront them, instead, he hid from them, leveraging the shadows.

Lucky for him, the area was dim-lighted, unlike the central cities that he just saw from afar earlier.

Following the scent again, he finally arrived at a corner where a manhole was seen.

Without hesitation, he removed the manhole cover and went inside.

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