√4
√4. That's me, the girl winding the generator.
√8 is the android with the binocular head, huddling in the corner. √3 is the hulking machine with the turret platform, checking the support beams. √7 is the bundle of wires, gears and pylons on wheels, burning through the door with the welding torch arm.
We're all that's left. √5 is dead. √6 stayed behind to try and save √9 from the overloading reactor; who knows if they got out of range before the explosion. And √2 and √1...well, if everything goes well, they'd be dead soon enough.
√8 is the android with the binocular head, huddling in the corner. √3 is the hulking machine with the turret platform, checking the support beams. √7 is the bundle of wires, gears and pylons on wheels, burning through the door with the welding torch arm.
We're all that's left. √5 is dead. √6 stayed behind to try and save √9 from the overloading reactor; who knows if they got out of range before the explosion. And √2 and √1...well, if everything goes well, they'd be dead soon enough.
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Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Our unit works -- well, used to work -- for the Alliance. We were called the Roots of Base 10. 3 humans, 6 mechs: the first unit with humans in the Special Ops Division. We were created to deal with threats that affected both humankind and mechkind alike, ranging from terrorists to meteorites to invasive flora. We were also an experiment, a test to see if humans could learn to value mechs the same way that they valued their own. For me, √1, and √9, humanity's fate rested on every action that we made.
> 2 years
> 2
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
A loud creaking shook the small cavern. √3 grabbed the support beams and looked towards the rest of the group, his optics flashing an emergency signal. The roof wouldn't hold for much longer. √7 muttered something in lingua binarius -- the standard language for mechs -- and deployed another welding torch.