When he woke up, there was light, diffused, the sort of light made of winter mornings, or perhaps the light after the fall: when broken things can no longer be mended.
So, he looked out of the window (or so he thought), a thin, metal framed construct, designed to keep him in, or perhaps, other things out.
Below him the road stretched, interrupted by a chasm, a blackhole of fog: how did he get there?
Then he remembered: the blast, the rain of melting steel, their column swallowed up by burning empty space: and, now, there were just the two of them, he, the human survivor, and the cyborg that saved his life… Below them, the hunt had started.
Leave a Reply