Chewing his lip, he looked across the road toward where he’d seen the Queen. The angle was different, but he thought if he backtracked from where he’d eaten asphalt, he could at least give himself a better idea.
Pressing down to the wall, he followed an imaginary line with his eyes from the overturned car to the buildings. They were a series of what seemed to be industrial spaces—offices and warehouses for rent. The windows were all busted out, several of the buildings had crumbled in on themselves and were spilling into the street, but one was still intact.
And strangely, it had junk scattered across the roof.
When he looked closer, he could see that the junk wasn’t just scattered; it was set up—like walls.
“Gabriel,” he hissed, reaching out blindly to grab his arm. “Do you see that building?”
“I see a lot of buildings,” he answered dryly, pressing against Blake so he could try to follow his line of sight. “The one with the accountant sign?”
“Above that,” Blake pinched Gabriel’s chin and shifted his head. “I think that’s where the Queen is.”
It took Gabriel a moment, his eyes narrowing. “They built a barricade around her.”
Victoria joined them. “Makes sense. And explains why no one has seen her.”
The soldiers fell into discussing the best way to get to the Queen. “The Monkey Cats may be cannon fodder, but they’re being controlled by something intelligent. They’re going to have that entire building rigged up. No way we’ll be able to just walk up.”
Victoria nodded. “Best bet is the building next door. We can jump on the Queen’s fire escape from there. Not the stealthiest, but it gives us a clear line of sight.”
Blake tuned out, his attention drawn to the side of their building. Dropping back on his belly, he slithered across the gravel again. Popping up, he looked down onto a side street and nearly screamed.
A Handler was lying against the far brick wall; its guns trained straight up at Blake. He froze, only to realize that the guns weren’t moving. Nothing was moving.
It looked…slumped over? As much as a mech suit could look slumped. One of its arms was missing, cabling and wires sprouting from the stump. It must have another injury, because Blake didn’t think a missing arm was a lethal blow for an Off Former.
He leaned over the wall a little more, narrowing his eyes. Hairline cracks spread across its torso from neck to hip joint. That must have been the killing blow. It’s not like they bled out, but it was still unnerving to see one looking so whole yet immobile. Was it dead?
Movement at the corner of his eye had him crouching again. Two Monkey Cats rounded the corner, heads low and ears twitching as they took in the Off Former. They didn’t make any noise, but their tails shivered, as if in anticipation.
The Off Former twitched, its remaining fingers scraping against the pavement. Legs whined and whirred, shifting the big body a few feet, almost like it was trying to escape.
Like it didn’t want to die.
Blake gasped, clapping a hand over his mouth.Holy shit.He’d always thought the Off Formers were like the Monkey Cats, mindless drones. But this Handler was trying to get away from the enemy, futilely trying to get its broken body to do something, to save itself.
One of the Monkey Cats stalked forward and dropped a heavy clawed foot on the Handler’s leg. Metal crunched as its claws dug in, pinning the limb in place. One of the shoulder-mounted guns stuttered before drooping, useless.
A small whirring and clicking came from the Handler, pitching higher as the second Monkey Cat closed in.
It pounced, its forelegs on the Handler’s shoulders. The Handlers pitched whines—it’s screams—rose and then cut off when the Monkey Cat opened its bifurcated jaw and clamped down on the Handler’s neck and shook.
The Handler’s triangular head came off cleanly. Still clutching the head between its jaws, the Monkey Cat used its claws to pry into the armor, digging into the cracks on the torso. With sickening ease, it peeled the armor away like a nectarine. The armor hit the concrete with a clang as the Monkey Cat discarded it.
Blake’s fingers dug into his cheeks as he watched the Monkey Cat expose the Off Former’s innards. Beneath the sleek plating was a series of wires that claws made quick work of, small pops and sparks harmlessly landing on the Monkey Cat’s shifting plates. It disemboweled the Handler, digging down until it came to a pea pod-shaped object the size of Blake’s forearm.
It was radioactive yellow and pulsing slightly. Thickened veins and ridges ran along the surface, with paler, thinner membranes stretched between.
Spitting out the Handler’s head, the Monkey Cat nosed into the chest cavity, its jaw split into four points, delicately wrapping around the yellow object and pulling it free with asnick.Steamand a honey-like goo spilled from the opening, dribbling down the Handler’s body and hitting the pavement with a hiss. The cement melted under the goo.
The Monkey Cat’s long ear twitched, hairs bristling. It lifted the thing in its jaw carefully, stepping back from the body and moving down the alley, tail swaying. The second followed closely.
Blake didn’t move. He couldn’t. His brain had glitched, and he couldn’t seem to process what he’d just seen.
Surely, he’d seen Monkey Cats kill Off Formers before, but not like that. Not outside of pitched battle, where killing one just saw two more take its place. That had been war. This felt more like murder. The Handler had screamed. It had tried to escape. It was alive.
They’d thought there was some kind of organism in the armor, something that couldn’t tolerate Earth’s atmosphere. Phin said it turned to goo. But to see it as a living being made Blake’s throat clog.
