Sooo... *jazz hands* Guess who's not dead?

I don't know if I should continue this, or if I even can. I enjoy writing, but at this time I'm facing college and career choices, so who knows. But for now, you guys get this. I hope you enjoy.

MARCH 10TH 2039

CRIMSON VIPER HIDEOUT

TIME 50:45.46

Black bodies pressed in on every side, their shiny, slick coating rubbing off on his clothes with every motion. Hands reached out as Connor shoved his way through, uncaring that their hands, meant for good traction, finally slipped from his clothes. With every millisecond the calculations flashing through Connor's head shifted, changed more than a quadrillion times, factoring in angle of attack, speed, pressure, everything and anything necessary.

He ducked under the reaching hands, shoved one body, darted through its opening. Someone yelled nearby. The calculations shifted, triangulated the position, reached into his memory to figure out who it was. Zachariah. New data. New plans. New executions. Connor spun on his heel, darted through the black bodies. Spotted the WK500, shaking, surrounded, unable to run. Connor pulled him back, shoved him to relative safety. Tripped a unit, elbowed another. Zachariah had disappeared.

Good.

Thirty minutes in, no deaths as far as Connor knew.

Humans booed, screamed, from the stadium seats. Raucous, hungry for blood, death, destruction. Their faces and bodies blended together even more than the battle units, one giant mass of colors and hatred. Every second they sat and watched just proved how destructive and horrid they were, how desperate for power despite their feeble breakable bodies. They would do anything, anything, to feel that they were over everyone else.

Anger flared his chest, hot and heavy, overpowering. Humans were abusive, manipulative creatures, they created new life and tried to destroy it in a fit of pure genocide. They set themselves up as the greater species when really they were fragile, so easily broken. So easily destroyed. He could do it, he could kill every single human in this hideout before they had time to blink. They deserved it, they seemed to beg for it with every sound out of their mouth.

Why had Markus ever thought they were worth talking to?

He spun. His fist dug its way through one battle unit's faceless head.

[WARNING: PRESSURE LEVELS UNSTABLE]

Jabbed his elbow into the one behind him. His chest constricted under oily clothes, white plastic hands stained grey. He shrieked in rage as the one on his right dived him, fell under its weight. Its blade pierced the ground by his head. His fingers found its neck and squeezed-

[WARNING: PRESSURE LEVELS UNSTABLE]

It cracked, splintered, ruptured under his hands, spread up his arms. Oil dribbled down his face and clothes, he couldn't analyze it. There was nothing, his senses detected nothing.

[WARNING: FINGER CHASSIS DAMAGED]

When had he started panting? Connor shoved the unit off. More, always more. Ravenous, faceless, beasts descending. The dust in the air spun, danced, flitted, the two units to his left would swing at a 45-degree angle and an 80-degree angle respectively. He needed to move 13 inches to the right to get out of the way. There were fifteen units other than those two within ten feet of him. Moved. Moved. Kicked. Dropped. Shoved. Jumped.

Yelling, screaming. It was so hot, it burned through his wires, pounded in his head. He couldn't focus and yet he was only focusing. The humans roared, hungry for death. For destruction. He'd give it to them He'd rain it upon their heads. They had messed with fate and now fate would destroy them.

He'd make sure of it.

He spotted Rose's brown hair. She was hitting one unit, oblivious to the one behind her with a blade. It would attack her from a 75-degree angle exactly. Hands slipped from Connor's clothes as he ran, bowled it over. The longer they were alive, the easier it was, the less thought it took, the more anger boiled. His leg cracked its face, it twitched, stilled.

"Connor-" Rose gasped, voice louder than it needed to be, "wha- have - have you always been able to do that?"

More units stumbled towards them, over their fallen comrade, unimpressed. They were too close, too close.

[STRESS LEVELS: 85%]

He threw a fist out, trying to get some space heneededsomespace and another crumbled to the floor. His synthetic skin fluctuated over his hands, showing the cracks and splinters. That wasn't good, but there was no time to focus on the damage to his chassis.

"We need to get out of here," Rose muttered, her back to his. Wet hair fell in Connor's eyes, another yell sounded. Zachariah, again. Rose ducked under his arm, tugging him towards the yell. Again they dashed into the writhing mass. Rose tripped, he pulled her up, dragged her to her feet despite warnings flashing in his eyes about his fingers. No time, never any time.

Zachariah screamed, cut off by a choking noise.

No.

The mass moved, shifted, whispered that yes, yes.

They were too late.

Another android was dead.

MARCH 11TH, 2039

?

TIME: 09:47.42 AM (EST.)

Two days after seeing Connor and Rose alive in the fight ring, only one thing had changed. Simon and Amelia were still stuck in Chief's room, Simon was only allowed to leave under direct orders, and only then to do little things like get medicine or pick up a file nearby, but Chief seemed confident in the reset forced upon them, as today he was openly discussing security in front of them.

"-Increase the patrols in all quadrants, we've gotta find the sucker who's been cutting the fights short," Chief ordered his top security officer as Simon cleaned the bedroom. "The men aren't happy about it. I'm not happy about it."

"Yessir." The human agreed. Out of all the humans around, he was the one Simon and Amelia saw the most, as he'd come in to discuss things with Chief while the leader was laid up. "I'll get on it, sir."

"Good. Has that mechanic guy come by to check the electronic pulse blocker?"

Simon's metaphorical ears perked up, and he hoped that it wasn't obvious. That was the information he needed. That and where to find Connor and Rose.

"Not yet, sir. He's supposed to be here tomorrow though. He said he'll bring an extra pulse blocker to set up while he does the maintenance on ours. The androids will never know the difference."

There was a hesitation. Simon dusted an already-dust-free desk, thirium pump seeming to pump harder. He could only imagine how Amelia felt.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Forgive me if this is forward, but should we be discussing this in front of the androids?"

No! Simon wanted to yell. Weren't they good enough actors? Surely, they hadn't given themselves away. Right?

"I appreciate your concern, but I've already arranged for them to be reset again soon. Take no chances, and all that." Chief said breezily, blissfully unaware of how his words made Simon's blood run cold.

Reset? Again? Wasn't once enough? Clearly not. They really were running out of time, and no options had presented themselves.

"Good, that's good, sir."

"…That R-K android did quite the damage on our units during that fight yesterday, didn't it?"

"Yessir, it single-handedly took out almost five of our battle units, nearly destroyed them."

Simon very carefully moved to a different object in the room, angling himself so that he could give Amelia a look of worry. Her face didn't change, sitting as she was in clear sight of the Chief and his security officer, but Simon knew her thirium pump had stopped in fear just like his own.

"It's pretty strong." Chief mused. "And they're coming for a visit soon… Maybe it's time to change things up a bit."

"Sir?"

"Have Corin set up the R-K with some blue blood and check it for bad damage." Amelia's eyes flickered over to Simon's, who barely noticed that the thing he was cleaning was as clean as it was going to get. "We'll have it fight the units on its own next. I think that will please them."

"…Of course, sir."

Chief stood, carefully stretching. His ribs were much better than before, but still giving him pain. Simon wondered if he could break them again while the human was asleep with none the wiser.

"Leave," he told the officer. "I have paperwork to get done."

"Yessir." The officer left, then Chief, who grumbled to himself about having to walk to his office. As soon as his footsteps faded Amelia bounced off the bed into Simon's arms.

"He's going to have Connor fight alone!" She hissed like Simon hadn't been listening. She seamlessly switched to ASL. "Simon we're running out of time!"

"I know!" He signed back. Amelia paced the floor, tugging at her hair. Simon hugged his arms to himself. "What can we do?"

"He-he-he mentioned the electronic blocker. That officer said someone was coming to do maintenance on it." Amelia spun to face him, her face set with terror and determination. "Simon you need to be there while that human does the maintenance. If you can be there maybe you can get a message out."

"How? The maintenance human is bringing his own electronic blocker!"

"That's why you gotta be there! If you can convince him you're supposed to help then you can delay it turning on long enough."

"What about you?"

"I-I-I don't know!" Her hands sped so fast it seemed like she was stuttering. "This could be our only chance!"

She was right, and Simon knew it. This could be their only hope.

He had to do this. They would die otherwise.

"Alright." He signed. "Let's start planning."