8B2

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

E46 -Past- 1212

My eyes opened.

I stood behind D65, the head of our triangle, F57 on my left. Their eyes opened at the same time mine did and in unison we took a step.

8B2, 7C3, and 981 stood in their pod across from us, their eyes were closed and their chests lifted in rhythmic pattern. The glowing lights blinked as our machines pinged with information.

45.5 MI highway to Ironlock. Vehicle ID #XX456, three armed shooters. 4.7 MI in.

Each one of our machines reacted before our brains, the three of us working in tangent. Before we could move the machinery around us dressed us, our entirely metal arms were covered in false skin. I held myself steady as the machine dressed me in tight fitting workout pants, a gray sweatshirt, and sneakers.
D65's short black curls were pulled back into a tight ponytail and she wore sneakers, light blue jeans, and a yellow tank top. The false skin on her arms was so detailed it had freckles across her shoulder blades that matched the ones on her nose.

F57's long blonde hair was braided back and she wore a gray tee-shirt, tied in a knot over jeans with black running sneakers. Each one of us had two guns positioned between our legs and the fabric, should we need to use it.

The three of us surged forward, less than three seconds had gone by since we received the information. Our machines commanded us forward with urgency as we entered the upper portion of the facility, the garage where equipment was held.

Inside were two motorcycles. I swung my leg around the first, D65 sitting behind me, wrapping her arms around my front. F57 took her own and in less than a minute we were moving through the dark tunnels that webbed beneath Ayria, the capital city.

Our machines ran the location of the truck through our lenses, counting down the miles as we approached it. We drove through bright lights shining overhead, glowing an artificial orange.

6.5 MI.

D65 squeezed me tighter as we rode up a ramp, towards the outskirts of the city where nobody would see us. The ramp opened, the bright blue sky overhead. It was a clear day, no clouds, the wind blowing at 8-12 MPH.

We rode out, my lenses darkening to help me see in the light. Ayria's skyline was behind us, the metal and lights, billboards and screens all glowed brighter than anything else despite the sun.

We were officially on the highway, it was 45.5 MI long until we reached the prison, but the truck's location was reported only 4.7 miles down the road. My brown hair was shaved short, D65 had no problem seeing around it.

4.6 MI.

The tarmac stretched far ahead of us, it was usually empty, not many people had business with the prison at the end of it.

3.2 MI.

We were moving at 85 MPH, the road a blur beneath us.

2.1 MI.

I could see in the distance a truck pulled over, the front of it looked like it had swerved off the road suddenly.

1.1 MI.

I felt my equipment locking, my body preparing to move, lunge, or jump, whatever got us in the situation fast enough to intervene in it, stop it, or de escalate it.

0.5 MI.

We could see more clearly now, our lenses scanning over the wreckage. There was a car parked left, a Veska, late 1207 model. The van ID #XX456, was tilting to the right, the back doors opened.