Gears (NaNoWriMo 2017) (#1 Below the Machines)

Chapter 4

I acted quickly — too fast to be human — like the day that the Lieutenant-General had shot me. At the last possible moment, I rolled over, and the blade pieced into the mattress below.

Adrenaline spiked my heart rate, but the warning, (heart and temperatures increasing) flashed in my vision again. And once again, the liquid ice flooded my veins, hardening my will and increasing my chances of coordination.

Grabbing the hand that clenched the handle of the knife imbedded in the mattress, I used my metal arm and bent the wrist back with all my strength, eliciting a muffled yelp of pain, (and even though it was high, it was obviously male,) then wrenched the knife out of his hands. Snatching it into my own, I stretched upwards, sitting up until my hand reached his shoulder and shoved him around to let his back face me. Then pulling myself up onto my knees (which was at even height with his throat), I raised my newly gained knife to his neck, hovering of just a second before deciding whether or not to finish the killing blow.

I wanted survival.

"Wait!" He yelled, just as I made up my mind. My hand paused inches away from slitting his throat.

"Wait," He said again, trying to give himself time to slow down the hyperventilation that was a product of his actions in the first place. "It was a test. It was a test."

"Hm?" I asked, as best as I could by humming the lilt of how someone would say the word 'who'.

"Lieutenant-General Flores." He replied. "He sent me. The man wanted to test you. He sends a random soldier to attempt to murder your type every time. If I kill you, then I'm promoted. If I don't, then that is a sign of weakness, and I'm executed by the firing squad." He babbled, obviously spewing all of the information out as a last-ditch attempt for me to spare his life. "All the others did their task, and so I thought I could too. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. Please let me go."

If I let him go, he would die anyway. By giving him the chance to escape, he could try to kill me again as soon as he found the opportunity to move. I tightened my hand on the handle. But then another thought appeared in my mind. My hand gripped even harder, my mind running through all of the possibilities. It hurt my head to be ripped apart like this. One side of me knew that I should kill this man. But then.. if I showed mercy — if he really did manage to escape his death... it was a life. It was a human life. Life was precious. It was why I continued to walk today... right?

But it was a risk. A risk that was all too deadly. All too risky.

And I couldn't take risks. Risks would endanger my survival.

I made my decision. So blood spilled out from where the blade sliced into skin.

⚙ ⚙ ⚙

The morning arrived all too quickly. After the kill, I had froze over. Blood painted the bedsheets around me crimson, the excess liquid that didn't get absorbed into fabric still slowly dripping off the side, into a puddle that had gathered on the floor. All I saw was the red. Shock made me a statue, my muscles as rigid as ice. All I could feel was the thick blood pouring over my hands, filling my vision, drowning me. All I could smell, taste, was the sharp tang of copper. All I could hear was the last gurgles of my victim as I let him slouch to the floor, watching the life leave his body.

I sat there the whole night; wide, wide awake. I didn't move, I didn't even dare breath until my chest constricted with the need for air. I had killed a being. I was a murderer.

In the morning, (I didn't even know when that was, due to the fact that there were no windows,) my maid came in without knocking, opening the door and turning of the ceiling lights, as she was probably informed that I couldn't speak. I didn't even know how many hours had passed until that point. When she saw the death, her eyes widened, and she dropped the tray in her hand. A glass of water shattered to the floor, and so did a ceramic plate filled with soup.