“Get up!” the voice ordered, this time with more force.
Something in my chest stirred at the familiar tone. Panic had been lapping at the edges of my mind so I hadn’t paid much attention to the speaker.
“Please, Sim.”
Brone…that was Brone’s voice. I ignored the alarms ringing inside my head as I lowered my arms from around my head and rolled back over. The face of a Tank Class filled my vision, his bright blue eyes flickering off and on as his breaths came much too fast.
“Brone?” I pushed myself up and crawled over to him, the whoosh of my frantic heartbeat in my ears drowning out any other sound. I stared at his face and somehow, I knew it wasn’t him.
But where? I had heard his voice. He must be here.
A shadow loomed and I looked up…and there he was. Brone hovered over the other Tank Class, his face a mask of pure pain.
I glanced at the other Tank Class. He was in bad shape. His eyes and the state of his breathing told me he had lost control of some of his functions. I had never worked on a Tank Class before, but I knew cyborgs. I could help.
And ignore the war that seems to be going around you? My mind taunted. One look at Brone, the desperate plea he had uttered ringing in my ears, had me reaching out towards the Tank Class, but my hand never made contact.
I was so close to him that I saw the fear in his eyes as they flickered wildly. I felt his breath on my cheek, but my fingers went right through him like he wasn’t there.
No. Something was wrong. This whole thing was wrong. I stood up, the acrid smell of smoke wafting around me. Darkness twirled around my legs, the fog pressing against my chest, heavy and bitter on my tongue.
“Brone?” He didn’t look at me. He just kept staring at the fallen Tank Class, who was gasping for breath.
The Tank Class was going to die, his systems were failing, and neither Brone nor I could stop it.
I pushed through the few inches separating Brone and I, not sure what I was doing. I simply needed to be with him at this moment.
“Brone. I am here.” My hands shook as I stepped in front of him, tipping my head back to really see him. God, he was beautiful. I had missed him. Missed this…well, not this.
Being so close to him, being stuck here without being able to talk to him or take his hand, was pure torture.
That and everything in me screamed at me to help his fellow Tank Class. Sobs clogged my throat as my vision blurred.
I scrubbed at my cheeks. I was useless here.
This wasn’t my nightmare. It was his.
As if to confirm my thought the scene shifted, like sand, as the sounds of the battle were replaced by a faint but continuous buzz.
Scattered everywhere around me were Tank Classes.
And they were in pieces. I stumbled, tripping over a boot...with an attached ankle, the metal of the cyborg’s inner frame on display.
My stomach twisted, the taste of bile rising in my throat. I shook my head. “No, no, no.”
I caught sight of Brone’s massive frame, his eyes locked on a figure lying in the burnt and charred grass.
My eyes followed his, widening at the sight of the damaged Tank Class among the wreckage. His left arm had been burned down to the metal, the synthetic skin melted to the exposed wiring. His right leg was missing and his chest and face were littered with shrapnel. But his eyes were bright and flashing, a small groan of pain coming from his lips.
He was still alive. Oh god. Was this what he saw? A constant loop of losing his Tank Class brothers playing on repeat?
“I’ll get someone to help you, Trig,” Brone rasped.
“Don’t.” He coughed and something rattled inside his chest.
Brone dropped to one knee, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not going anywhere, my friend. I scanned your injuries and with the right MechTech, they can have you back to fully functional in no time.”
The sound of footsteps coming close had my body stiffening. The sight of two men in Global Allegiance uniforms sent an icy rush of terror through my veins.