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'I'm tired.'
That same thought rings throughout the entirety of your damaged body. It's been going on for who knows how long, you like to guess it started the moment you decided to keep searching for more fuel.
You know what you were built for. To finish a war that would eventually make its way somewhere else, with you and many other machines to follow. Your choices were similar to them, to scrounge around the depths of Hell for a chance to continue the violence against whoever decides to try and stop you.
It's gotten difficult to find anything, and it's taking a toll on you. The coffin on your back rattles with every step you take on the scorched ground. Inside, a mangled corpse still tries to keep you alive. A father who wanted to see his family again, you remember. That goal was something you never had, yet you wonder what it was like to have such a thing. Someone who's waiting for you, only for them to be so out of reach.
You know it's not long until the body is wrung out dry of its red goodness. Yet, you still try to find anything left behind. Whatever can keep you alive, and whatever you can get your greedy hands on.
Is it considered greedy to fill that need to live? Your creators were the same, the birth of your kind being an obvious outcome of said desires. Maybe to them it would be different, all they would see were machines who wanted to live a life outside of what they were made for. The roles can easily be reversed, but maybe there's similarities to be shared instead. You were never one to share anyway, so you dismiss the thought.
Countless bodies are surrounding your bloodied path, both humans and machines dead and slaughtered from the violence. You quietly look around to search for any possible spoils of war, only to be met with empty coffins and dried blood staining the ground.
Before you can take another step, something grabs at your foot. You can't raise your weapon, turning around to see what's trapping you here. A fellow Gutterman, seemingly worse for wear. Its coffin is open, the fuel seeping out and close to falling altogether. A low creaking noise emitted from the machine, metal shifting about to tug you closer to the empty spot next to it.
It wants company. Of all things, from you nonetheless.
It won't be long until it dies out. The same is said for you and has been for a long time, yet you still trudged on. But nothing has been coming up, and it seems that any other chances are out of your reach. It's frustrating. It's so far away from you now. Perhaps this is what your father felt.
...your father?
You don't register your own body sitting down next to the dying Gutterman. You've never had anyone to go to, let alone a father. He's been long gone and dead with his family in the same boat. It dawns on you that this is all that's left of him, and even that is running out. You've tried to feed a corpse more blood to keep it alive, but now there's no more to give. It feels more lonely now. You sink deeper into the ground as your arms lay limp on your sides, unable to move them back up to grasp at what's left in your coffin. His coffin.
A hand is suddenly on yours. It's wet and metallic, coated with blood and mud. Fingers intertwined with yours as the Gutterman leans its heavy body against your own, a low humming sound of content coming from it.
You're tired. In some other life, you would've killed it off to take more of what you used to have. Anything to keep your father alive. Maybe in another, you would've used him to keep your fellow Gutterman alive for a little longer (as long as you look past your unwillingness to share fuel). Blood spills through your fingers, allowing the energy to give a weak squeeze to the hand holding your own.
Did it have someone to care for? Was it more lucky than you ever were? A family was what you wanted, yet you never knew that until now. Your fuel is depleting, your family is gone and always was. It was just you and the Gutterman, corpses scattered around the two of you. You are all it has now, and it is all you have. It's not greedy to want someone else to live, you think to yourself. You wanted the fuel to last...your father to stay longer, but now the Gutterman is here to fill that space. Something to care for, someone to give to, all here next to you in a barren battlefield.
Your body leans against your new and last companion. Despite the dying out bodies you both had, it still felt warm. It's nice, you quickly decide. Something that you want to hold onto forever. But time is another thing that both of you were losing.
It hurts now. You don't want to say goodbye. You want to get up and keep searching. It needs to stay alive with you, along with your father. But it gave up before you even got here. Comfort was something fleeting for machines like you two, but it was found against all odds. It was something foreign but not unwelcome. Anything to distract you from the nearing end.
Soon. Soon. Soon.
Holding on became much more difficult. The Gutterman rubs your hand with its thumb in an attempt to calm you. You can only give off a weak sound in response as a thank you. The gesture means a lot more to you than you currently think. Someone is there with you during your last moments. You were made to finish a war, even if it meant to die trying. You didn't want to be alone while it happened. And here you are, your time ending and mechanical heart filled with warmth.
Even now you don't give up. You wait until the Gutterman is close to how you are as well. It won't be long now. The last thing you want to feel is another life ending in your hands, and you can only assume that's what your partner feels as well.
You were only able to continue the war for so long. It's long and gone now, the last remaining machines still roaming the layers of Hell for their own sakes. That was all you were a part of, but maybe you were human too in some way. Continuing on, attempting to live a life that you weren't made to live. God felt disappointment with his creations, and the humans might have felt the same with you. It doesn't matter anymore now. Your life ended before you knew it, hand in hand with a fellow "human".
The lingering war continues, gunshots and bombs sounding throughout the air as numerous bodies litter the dirt. Two stand out, both leaning against each other as they sit motionless.
It continues, and you don't.