09 – Renegade

The door exploded inward, metal shrieking as it tore free from the frame. The tattooed woman stepped through the wreckage, her face split by a malevolent grin. Her eyes, ringed with thick, bar-like tattoos, locked onto Delilah.

Erika didn’t hesitate. She surged forward, bat raised, aiming for the woman’s head. The bat struck just below the woman’s eye, and Erika heard a crack of bone, but the woman stumbled slightly, and didn’t look bothered beyond that. Her eyes swiveled in her head as her hand snapped up, catching the bat before Erika could pull back.

“нⷩeͤlloͦ. нⷩeͤlloͦ aͣgaͣiͥn,” she said with a lopsided grin.

Erika wrenched her bat back, twisting her wrist, and aimed a kick at the woman’s knee.

Time dragged around Erika. The Fixer appeared from nothing, moving like they were tackling Erika back toward the bed. The sharpened nails of the woman’s clawed hands just barely missed Erika’s ankle. Unsteady and disoriented, Erika swiped her bat in a quick, aimless swing, which The Fixer easily dodge before righting Erika, putting her back on balance, and vanishing. Their blur swirled around the woman with a glint of a blade catching light as it swiped toward her, stabbed, and pulled back.

Erika cracked her neck, steadying herself. She had fought this woman before, and she hadn’t been all that successful. Erika broke the woman’s arm back then, but it didn’t look like it was still broken, nor was her head hanging off from the near decapitation of Rick’s sword. Erika wished she had Rick’s sword, or Rick, but she doubted he could get here in any relevant amount of time.

Her gun was back at the house. Erika had not been keen on using it ever since the museum showed her just how bad she was at aiming. She did well at the shooting range with Leslie on two occasions, but those were controlled and calm situations where she hadn’t intended to break things.

Deciding to take the risk, she reached deep into her coat, pulled out her pistol, and rested her finger over the trigger.

The Fixer flickered through the room, each movement a stuttering afterimage—here, then gone, then reappearing with a combat knife in a flash of steel. The woman’s clawed hand sliced through the air, each arc missing The Fixer by a hair as she struck out like she was trying to swat away a persistent fly.

One swat connected, hard, turning The Fixer into a hazy streak over the top of the bed, just to Erika’s side. Delilah yelped, scurrying for new cover as The Fixer almost landed on top of her.

Erika leveled her gun, heart pounding. She edged back, sliding her foot backward, both to steady herself and to put herself just a little further out of the woman’s reach. They were still close enough that there was almost no chance of missing. Erika squeezed the trigger.

Erika flinched at the noise and light, but didn’t stop. She pulled her trigger another fourteen times. With each shot, she focused, fully intending to break whatever she struck, just like she did on the occasions where she flung her baseball bat.

The bright flashes momentarily blinded her and the deafening noise made her ears ring; she flinched at every shot, but kept her hand steady as she kept up the fire.

The Fixer’s form solidified off to the side, looking haggard, bloody, and clutching one arm close to their chest.

The woman staggered, wobbling backwards toward the open door. Several pockmarks dotted her chest, a few of which dribbled with dark blood. Her left arm hung limp at her side, her shoulder hung at an angle, but she was still standing, still grinning.

Not giving her a chance to recover, Erika flung her pistol—it missed, breaking away a chunk of the wall—and rushed forward with her baseball bat. Break her, break her, break her. Something in the woman resisted. The bat felt heavy as it struck the woman dead on in her kneecaps. Reverberations traveled up Erika’s arms like she was just some normal woman who hit a metal pole.

The woman stomped forward, her bare foot slamming down on Erika’s steel-toed boot. Foot stuck, Erika couldn’t pull back as the woman leaned in.

“нⷩiͥiͥ…” Her breath smelled of cheap chocolate. “Yoͦuͧ cͨaͣn’́ᴛⷮ вⷡrͬeͤaͣᴋⷦ mͫeͤ…”

Erika grit her teeth and jabbed her head forward. Pain spiked through her face, forehead taking the brunt of the hit, but it had an effect. She hit the tattoo on the bottom of the woman’s chin, forcing her jaw askew even as it knocked her head back.

The tattoo running from her mouth down her throat split in two and her chin cracked.

Erika shoved, throwing the woman back into the broken wall.

For a moment, Erika stared, eying the woman’s jaw as it clearly hung in pieces, held in only by her skin. She still managed to grin, though it was so lopsided that it was barely recognizable. Suspicion crept into the back of Erika’s mind as her eyes flicked to the woman’s limp arm. There were pockmarks all over the her chest from the bullets, but only her arm and shoulder were broken… right where her tattoos were.

The first time Erika encountered the woman, she got a niggling feeling that the woman wasn’t wholly within this world. That was why her powers didn’t affect her. She hadn’t been able to do anything with the information at the time, and even now, didn’t really know what it meant…

But if the tattoos were a little more real than the rest of her…

The woman trailed a finger down her chin. As her black nail crossed over the broken line in the tattoo, the break shrank, and with it, her jaw ground back into place.

As interesting as Erika found it that the woman prioritized fixing her face instead of her arm in the middle of a fight, she didn’t feel like giving the woman a chance to recover further. Erika charged forward again, pressing the attack with a tight arcing swing at the tattooed woman’s thigh, aiming for the spiral of ink that wound down her skin.

The woman moved, just barely, just a twist pushing her enough that Erika’s attack primarily hit the unnaturally pale skin between the tattoo. She continued the movement, stepping into Erika’s attack as she lashed out with her good arm. Her clawed hand would have gouged claw marks down Erika’s face were it not for The Fixer coming in clutch once more, a blur pushing Erika aside.

They caught the brunt of the attack, The Fixer hissing in pain. Lavender’s face peeled apart, with large flaps of skin hanging from her muscles.

Erika didn’t hang back this time, charging forward for another attempt. She didn’t know if The Fixer stood a chance at harming the woman. The tattoos were a weakness that she could exploit. One good, debilitating hit, and the tide would turn.

The woman’s eyes never strayed to the blur of The Fixer, instead keeping fully focused on Erika. She moved her broken arm into the path of the bat, taking the hit on the already useless limb.

Erika ducked under the retaliation, but not fast enough. Claws raked across her shoulder, tearing through her coat and drawing blood. She stumbled, pain flaring, but only tightened her grip on her bat. She jabbed again, aiming for the crossing tattoos that ran from the woman’s breasts to her sternum.

The tattoo split, a hairline crack running through the black bars. The crunch of bone followed an instant after as the woman hunched in on herself. She hissed, a sound more animal than human, and lashed out.

Her clawed hand grasped hold of Erika’s bat before she could swing again, squeezing down with enough force to bend the metal, tearing it apart. Erika tried to pull it from the woman’s grip, but ended up with only the grip of the bat in hand.

Erika’s eyes widened as the other half of her own bat came down over her head.

The Fixer materialized in the tight space between Erika and the bat, taking the entirety of the attack to their back even as they shoved her out of the way. They broke, back audibly snapping as the force of the blow sent them straight into the hard ground. Their head hit the concrete-like carpet with a sickening smack, sending a splatter of blood in a halo around their head.

The naked woman, still slouched and hunched, let the end of the bat clatter to the ground as she brought her hand to her chest.

“Like hell,” Erika hissed, pulling a fresh, wooden bat from her storage while she stepped over The Fixer’s still form.

The woman had to move to keep from losing another of the tattoos that bound her to the world. The bat whistled past a spiral of ink, smashing into the pale flesh of her elbow. Bone jarred beneath Erika’s grip, and the woman’s arm jerked wide, leaving her no opportunity to stitch herself back together.

Delilah’s scream stopped Erika’s second attack.

The girl had hidden herself half in the bathroom, peeking out just enough to watch—probably looking for the first chance to slip out the room’s only door—but she wasn’t looking at the fight right now.

A monstrosity was slowly rising—unfurling—from where The Fixer had fallen. Gone was any trace of Lavender, Leah, or Mister Dice. In their place, something mechanical and nightmarish clawed its way into the world.

Metal plates split and unfolded from the broken human shell, hissing as they locked into place. Spindly, jointed limbs—too many to count—snapped outward, each tipped with razor talons that gouged furrows in the floor, the bed, and even the ceiling, anchoring the monstrosity in place. Gears whirred and pistons flexed beneath a latticework of chrome and blackened steel, the whole thing moving with a predatory, insectile grace.

From the center of the shifting mass, four angular heads emerged, each a mask of polished metal and flickering, green-hued circuitry. Their eyes—cold, unblinking lenses—rotated and focused on Erika with mechanical precision, casting harsh reflections across the room as the stench of ozone hit Erika’s nose.

Erika felt her heart hammer in her chest from something other than the fight. No longer was The Fixer pretending to be human.

One scythe-like limb slammed over Erika’s shoulder, moving with the sound of a ticking clock or ratcheting crank.

Cursing herself for taking her eyes off the true enemy, Erika spun around, putting The Fixer at her back. More of The Fixer’s scythes stabbed down at the woman, except they moved so fast that it felt like they were already there before they crossed the intervening space. Even still, the naked woman managed to slip aside, avoiding the attacks simply by not being where The Fixer struck.

“нⷩiͥiͥ… нⷩiͥiͥ… нⷩiͥiͥ…” she laughed, as Erika advanced with her bat.

The Fixer struck down again slamming six limbs into the ruined motel wall around the woman, this time not to attack, but to block her movements. Erika took the opening for what it was and swung her wooden bat. The woman still tried to move, but The Fixer kept her from moving far enough. Erika’s bat struck the woman’s already dead arm, shattering the tattoo binding it to the rest of her. It flung off, leaving a trail of dark blood over the bed.

She still grinned, lashing out with a clawed hand to force Erika back a step. A limb appearing between them stopped her from actually reaching Erika.

“Fun. нⷩiͥiͥ… Iͥ waͣnᴛⷮ ᴛⷮoͦ вⷡrͬeͤaͣᴋⷦ ᴛⷮoͦoͦ…” She grasped the limb and started to squeeze. The Fixer was made from sterner stuff than the motel door, but Erika could still hear the metal start to groan under the stress.

The Fixer started to strike back, only to freeze solid as a distant whistling sound started up. It was high pitched and faint, something Erika was surprised to hear over the ring in her ears still going on from her gunfire, and sounded vaguely like a bomb falling in one of those old movies or cartoons. Whatever it was, both The Fixer and the naked woman stopped to stare out the remnants of the doorway.

“Dͩiͥs͛aͣрⷬрⷬoͦiͥnᴛⷮmͫeͤnᴛⷮ,” the woman said like it was a sigh. “Goͦiͥng ᴛⷮoͦ geͤᴛⷮ iͥn ᴛⷮrͬoͦuͧвⷡleͤ foͦrͬ faͣiͥliͥng aͣgaͣiͥn…”

Erika snapped her gaze back to the woman, readying her bat, only to be taken aback. Most of the woman wasn’t there. All the flesh was gone, leaving only the thick bars of her tattoos in the shape of a woman, but even those ribbons were slowly spiraling away like she was some kind of Cheshire cat.

The Eclipse had said that she vanished out from under their noses. This must have been what they meant.

Erika lunged, but The Fixer’s massive limb blocked her path. She swung anyway, desperate, but avoiding The Fixer took too long, leaving the bat slicing through empty space—the woman’s tattoos unraveled into nothing, leaving only the echo of a grin before even that faded into nothing more than a sting of frustration in Erika’s chest.

“Erika.” The Fixer’s voice was a chorus of static and grinding metal, echoing not from any of the heads, but from deep within the machine. “You need to go.”

“What? But I—”

“Go. Now. There is no time for argument. This is not your fight.”

“The Mummy—”

The Fixer’s four heads turned, ratcheting across their body. “It is not The Mummy that approaches.”

A chill ran down Erika’s spine. The Fixer was here in their robot form. It was far more monstrous than The Analyst’s sleek, mirrored, and far more humanoid shape, but it was just as otherworldly—literally otherworldly. The Fixer had once said that they couldn’t show off their robot form to her and Carter because reality would object; reality would send some Terminators to excise that otherworldliness from existence.

“I do not know what might happen if they become aware of your existence. They may ignore you, but if they do not, they are far above what you can hope to stand against.” The four heads swiveled down with metallic clanks, staring at Erika with empty, vacant expressions. “Your mother and I will be fine. I have fought and escaped many times, but I need you away; I cannot handle this and protect you at the same time.”

Erika bit back a protest. She wanted to say that she could fight, that she could help, that she could do something, but looking over The Fixer now, transformed into some mechanical monstrosity, her words of fight died off in her throat. She nodded her head.

“Good. Go to your brother. I’ll be back soon.”

“What about…” Erika trailed off, looking around.

Delilah was gone. The window had shattered at some point in the fight and the curtain looked deliberately draped over the rim, like someone had used it to climb over without shredding their hands. Resourceful, but irritating to Erika in the moment.

The girl couldn’t have gone far.

With one last look at The Fixer, Erika stepped over the broken door and hurried out to her truck. Some people were out of their motel rooms, standing about staring at the room and her, but she ignored them. Most were half hidden behind cars, some with cameras out. Despite The Fixer’s massive form, as soon as Erika was outside, she couldn’t actually see them that well. It was like there was a small haze over the motel, casting everything inside the lit room in an ethereal shadow.

The whistling was growing louder and louder with every passing moment, but she couldn’t see anything against the overcast sky. Nor could she see any sign of Delilah. If anyone else could hear that whistle, they weren’t showing it. Nobody was staring at the sky. She thought about asking someone standing about if they had seen which direction Delilah ran in, but that whistle had her on edge.

Figuring the girl had survived on her own and thus could survive a bit longer, Erika got in and started the truck. Maybe her spooky ghost friend would lead her back to Erika, or maybe not. With the way The Fixer had acted, Erika wouldn’t be surprised to hear later on that she ran in the opposite direction as fast as she could manage.

Distant, yet approaching sirens joined that sharp whistle as Erika pulled out of the motel parking lot.

Erika stopped at the light, fingers tightening over the steering wheel. The whistle reached a crescendo, then abruptly stopped. A figure glided down on gilded wings, gracefully touching to the ground just in front of the ruined motel room. When The Fixer implied that Terminators would show up, she expected… well, Terminators, large robots with a skeletal, steel appearance.

This was no Terminator. It was a figure ripped straight from the stained glass windows of a church, all angelic and pious, yet constructed from brass gears and rich, brown wood. A holy creature penned against the world from a steampunk artist’s mind, complete with a strange, inky-white outline.

She could see it, but angling her rearview mirror, she didn’t think anyone else could. Nobody turned their phones to record it as it stepped across the parking lot. It stepped into the haze, vanishing even from Erika’s sight. The haze must have been The Fixer’s doing—an extension of their time warp?

She bit her lip, wanting to rush back and do something.

The light turned green, and Erika drove away.