Murder Drones: Death-Sides

Chapter 6: The Low Eyes Party

I looked at my savior, expecting to see Uzi, Doll, or even Lizzy. But from the looks of it, it was none of the above – instead, I was face-to-face with a grizzled-looking Drone with a scar on his visor where his left eye was. A tattered black cowboy hat adorned with small knife blades on chains that hung from the rim rested on his head. His silver hair was styled in a middle part, with symmetrical, straight bangs covering the sides of his face. A gray bandana masked his mouth, and a black and purple poncho with a tan, long-sleeved undershirt covered his torso. He completed the look with denim jeans and boots that were primarily black, though they both had golden cherry blossom-like designs emblazoned on the sides.

For a moment, I was grateful to this man who saved my life, but then the thought crossed my mind: Am I next? The man gazed upon me with his vivid, emerald eyes, which were so cold that my surroundings seemed like nothing more than a light breeze in comparison. It took all my willpower not to flinch as we both stared each other down, seemingly trying to anticipate the other's next move.

Without warning, V burst out of a nearby building, smashing through a nearby window and tumbling toward us. She groaned before rolling over to see the pair of us, caught by surprise at the sight of the new company. "Oh, hey there, Gen," she said cheerfully, wincing slightly since she had some pretty bad cuts on her chest, sides, leg, and face. "Who's the new friend you've made?"

"I'm... not quite sure who he is," I said. Seeing how the mysterious man had turned his icy look toward V, I pointed out her allegiance: "Don't worry. She's with the good guys."

"OH, VEEEE-EEEE!" J yelled out with a distorted, sing-song voice. She was now walking through the shards of broken glass. Her frame was covered in scrapes and cuts, and a great deal of her tail was absent. "You... and I... are not done... yet..." she heaved with a tired yet psychopathic voice as she stepped on a piece of shattered glass, crushing it under her weight. "You think... you can just... walk away from... JC Jenson® and–" She stopped short. Her eyes had discovered N's motionless body and the mysterious man's oil-covered blade. "Wha... how...?" she said breathlessly.

The man adjusted his position, threateningly pointing his sword – still dripping with N's oil – toward J. "For years, you have evaded my wrath, 'Murder Drone,'" the voice spoke. The man's voice sent chills down my spine; his voice was a text-to-speech software I recognized: the SAM (Software Automatic Mouth) speech synthesis program, albeit one that was deeper and a bit slower in speech. "Now... I will teach you the true meaning of fear."

"Like YOU would know!" J retorted, swinging at the man with an overhead strike. In response, the man unsheathed a short sword from his hip and, holding the katana in his right hand and the short sword in his left, knocked the blade to the right with his katana and came with an overhead strike of his own with both of his blades; his short sword left a deep gash in J's chest, but that was nothing compared to the fact that his katana severed J's left arm completely. Frantic and fearful, J came back for another slash, but the man, having remained in the same position he had achieved with his first slash, struck with an upward slash that knocked off J's other arm and left another gaping wound in J's chest. Virtually unable to fight anymore, J fell to the ground and... started to cry.

"Is she faking it?" I said, taken aback. Earlier this morning, she proudly spoke of her devotion to JC Jenson®. Now, she had collapsed to the ground, missing two limbs and a tail. To top it all off, she was reduced to sobbing like a newborn while coughing up copious amounts of bodily fluid.

"Nope," said V. "I don't think she cried like that when the Broken Nail Incident happened. She's probably in the most pain she's ever suffered in her entire life."

As J wailed more and more, the man wiped his short sword clean and sheathed it in a hamon [sheath] on his left hip, though he kept his sword drawn. He walked over to J, who had taken to trying to hobble away with what little strength she had left. When the man finally caught up to her, she spread her razor-sharp wings in an attempt to impale the mysterious man; anticipating this, however, he dodged out of the way in the nick of time and, grabbing her wings with what I now noticed was a pair of prosthetic arms (if you can believe it), ripped them clean from her body. Such a display of power had a ferocity that even I couldn't fathom.