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Zero trudged through the city, optics scanning at regular intervals for any indication of magmaggots or fried chicken. The hours he could safely operate at the peak of day grew shorter as coolant became harder to find. He could make do with functioning at night for a while, and he’d done more with less, but he’d have to move on soon. Traveling between the ruins of civilization without adequate supplies posed too great a risk.
Zero couldn’t spend the day in standby mode out in the open, and he couldn’t defend himself all hours of the day if his components were overheating. His internal fans hadn’t been up to the task for decades.
Options limited, he ventured into the depths of the city, returning to the dilapidated structure that’d once been a multi-story mall. He’d investigated it once already, but he’d been working quickly and thus less thorough than he would have been otherwise. Odds that he’d overlooked something were marginally better than that he’d miraculously stumble across an auto repair shop.
He briefly inspected the integrity of what remained of the entrance–the skeleton of a revolving door, chunks of thick glass scattered outward on the pavement, steel warped and several precarious cracks in the ceiling–before carefully making his way inside.
He accessed his RAM, called up the snapshot of a degraded mall map from his last venture. The details of the mall’s contents were spotty, but it provided a grasp of the building’s layout at least, so he wouldn’t waste time going over locations he’d already searched.
He’d discovered a hardware store in the southeast sector of the second floor; while he scoured over the lawn mowers and chainsaws, his receptors registered heavy footfalls from somewhere beneath him. He had a good guess as to the cause…
“AAAAH!”
…he was somewhat less certain as to the source of the screaming that accompanied them.
After stashing what meager supplies he’d found, he left the hardware store and treaded slowly to the banister overlooking the main lobby.
Below, as he suspected, a cindaruma lumbered and lurched, hoisting and hurling molten rock as it went.
“C’mon, c’mon!”
And its target was a young, scrambling hedgehog with bright fur and quills. One who, for some reason, kept waving his hands out in front of him and over his head as he ran. If his objective was improved aerodynamics, his methods were highly counterproductive. All that racket wasn’t doing him any favors, either.
Rmbl.
It only attracted more creatures; a second cindaruma grunted and crawled up out of the ground, embers and smoke marking the spot it had spawned from.
Worse, it was the blue variant; significantly hotter and thus more lethal.
Zero ran through numerous calculations. He prioritized evasive maneuvers in the city and an offensive defense in the wastelands; he didn’t carry ammunition with him when he was gathering resources. Had he been dealing with any other monster, he could have easily interfered; cindaruma boasted an obnoxiously sturdy rock armor, though.
He’d just about resigned himself to jumping down and improvising when the hedgehog’s hand emitted a strange glow; one of the fixtures of what might have once been a fountain in the lobby teetered and smashed down against the blue cindaruma’s shoulder. The sudden impact caused it to drop the fiery boulder it’d been about to throw.
Determining that the kid would somehow manage for a moment, Zero ducked back into the hardware store.
When he returned and leapt over the banister, it was with a roaring chainsaw in each hand.
The monsters turned their attention to the new, louder and larger target Zero presented.
He twisted his frame, aiming for the red cindaruma’s head.
VRR-R-R-GK-GK!
He caught its shoulder instead; the saw in his left hand sparked and whined. Stuttered after cutting two inches into the rock before stopping short.
He pivoted upon landing and drove the other chainsaw through the glowing red gap in the armor around its right knee.
The monster groaned.
Toppled down and crashed against the floor.
Zero didn’t wait to see how the blue variant would respond.
“Run.”
“Who-wha—? Wait, I gotta—!”
He grabbed the hedgehog’s arm; turned west toward the entrance he’d used to get into the mall.
“Not a suggestion.”
Zero pulled the boy along until he started running on his own.
The blue cindaruma’s thunderous footfalls echoed behind them, distance shrinking every moment.
The boy suddenly loosed the sort of whooping cough that rattled the chest. His pace faltered.
A sharp spike in heat behind them.
Zero dove, snatching the hedgehog under his arm and throwing himself to one side.
Flaming molten rocks careened past them; glass melted on contact. The fiery missiles exploded, leaving craters behind in the building’s cement foundation.
The cindaruma loomed over them, lunging with one hand outstretched.
Whack.
PSSSH.
A bottle of precious coolant exploded against the monster’s face.
The liquid evaporated instantly; steam sizzled and covered it from head to toe.
Their pursuer roared furiously.
Kid still in hand, Zero engaged his afterburners.
He raced through the lobby.
Heard the beast give chase.
Calculated how much of a lead he had.
Broke through the warped steel frame of the door with a loud
CLANG.
Finally braked and turned his optics back.
Watched the cindaruma charge at him—
Crack.
Just as structural integrity of the entrance failed. Zero retreated further as the initial collapse gave way to more.
Twenty-four seconds later, the rumbling stopped; and his opponent buried, flame suffocated under the rubble.
“Whoa.”
His passenger muttered from under his arm. Zero deposited him on the ground and scanned the area.
“Um, than—”
“Do not stay here. The noise will attract charmanders soon.”
The hedgehog blinked. Having provided sufficient warning, Zero turned and began his circuitous route back to his base.
“Char—? Hey, wait up!”
Zero did not wait up. He heard the kid tailing him regardless.
– – – – –
“So, uh, what’s your name?”
“… Designation: Zero.”
“Oh! Uh, my name is Silver. I”
“You are stupidly reckless.”
“… I-I need to be able to fight them.”
“…”
“If I can’t handle his minions, I won’t stand a chance against Iblis.”
“…”
“W-well, somebody has to beat him! And no one can do what I can!”
“Run around screaming and flailing?”
“Mrrr… I just need practice. My psychokinesis works most of the time, it’s just hard to concentrate in a fight.”
“…”
“Wh-what?”
“Follow me.”
– – – – –
After a bit over an hour and some largely one-sided conversation
(“Charmander… is that what you call the fragments of Iblis?”
“Copyright has long expired.”
“Copy-what?”)
They arrived at Zero’s base. More of a temporary storage and hideout than anything, the nearest to furnishing were his ammo stock, spare coolant and the few other things he could carry without excessively burdening himself. Subterranean, as all his bases were, for the cooling effect of being underground.
Ironic that a day had come when Zero actively sought out basements.
“Conjecture: You require equipment.”
Silver tilted his head; somehow, gravity seemed to have no effect on whether or not his quills remained erect on his head.
“What sort of equipment?”
“You experience lapses in control of your psychokinesis under duress, correct?”
Silver frowned; lowered his eyes and gave a jerking nod.
Zero turned to his stash.
“Surmise that streamlining the process of channeling psychic energy will expedite your progress on the learning curve,” he said, digging through his things. “A pair of gauntlets would be appropriate.”
Silver already channeled his psychokinetic powers through his hands, after all.
“Wait,” Silver said, head popping back up with wide eyes. “You can help me?”
“Statistically probable.”
The kid’s face nearly glowed. Zero retrieved a worn yet well-kept tablet and turned it on; his CPU was still efficient, but an external backup was always prudent.
And not solely for practicality.
Zero did not possess any great inherent kindness. He couldn’t articulate precisely why he felt inclined to aid Silver in his frankly foolhardy desire to battle the Flames of Disaster.
A prompt for an administrator name and password blinked onto the tablet’s screen.
Perhaps Zero felt moved to do something of more significance than surviving.
He typed into the onscreen keyboard; matching entries for both prompts.
In the deepest corners of his motherboard, Zero might confess that it had to do with attempting to compensate for past wrongs; the boy being a hedgehog of all things…
Zero Michigan Three Nine Alpha
He tapped enter.
The prompts fell away, and a prerecorded audio sample of a slightly sultry, nostalgic voice greeted him.
“Welcome back, Omega.”