Chapter 118 - Synthetic Blood
The bullet struck with the force of a sledgehammer, snapping Vance's head backward. But there was no spray of crimson, no collapse of human tissue.
Instead, a shower of electric-blue sparks erupted from the wound, accompanied by the high-pitched squeal of severed optical wiring. Vance's head rolled forward again, the synthetic skin across his forehead torn open to reveal an intricate skull of polished titanium and micro-servos.
"Fascinating reflex speed," the machine spoke, its voice now digitized, buzzing through damaged vocal modulators. "Reaction time: zero-point-one-two seconds. Even with thirty years of degradation, Unit 09 remains an exceptional defensive platform."
The mechanical simulacrum stood up from the desk, its limbs moving with unnatural, hydraulic rigidity.
"You didn't think I would be here in the flesh, did you, Naomi?" the synthetic Vance said, tilting its damaged head. "The Directorate has not resided on the North American continent since the Bretton Woods conference. This facility is an extraction terminal. We came for what Arthur kept hidden in the vault below."
Before Naomi could fire again, the titanium blast doors behind them slammed shut with an ear-splitting clang. From the ceiling, four recessed heavy defense turrets dropped down, their twin rotary barrels spinning up with a menacing whine.
"Get behind the desk!" Naomi shouted, grabbing Vanessa by the collar and hurling her across the room just as the turrets opened fire.
The mahogany desk splintered into kindling under the storm of high-caliber ammunition. Naomi threw herself flat, sliding across the bloody floorboards as the synthetic Vance charged forward with speed that defied its artificial weight. The automaton's hand plunged through the solid oak where Naomi had been crouched a millisecond before, splintering the two-inch hardwood like wet cardboard.
Naomi rolled onto her back, drawing her combat knife—a serrated blade forged from tungsten-carbide—and drove it upward beneath the automaton's chin, targeting the neural relay junction at the base of the artificial spine.
Blue coolant sprayed across her hands. The automaton shuddered, its servos screaming in overload, its metallic fingers locking around Naomi’s throat with bone-crushing force.
"Alpha Directive... is already... initiated..." the machine hissed through crackling speakers. "You cannot stop... the London transit..."
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Naomi gripped the hilt of the knife with both hands, channeled the entirety of her bio-engineered strength, and twisted the blade ninety degrees. The internal relays severed with a deafening pop. The blue sparks died out, and the machine went limp, collapsing heavily across her chest.
***
