I knew they couldn’t see me, but I scrambled backwards and away from them, a knot forming in my stomach.
“976 302, you have been ordered to return to the transport.”
A quick flash of pure hatred flashed in Brone’s eyes. “This Tank Class has not been terminated. With a MechTech, he could be restored to fully operational.”
“This?” The Global Allegiance officer looked down at Trig and sneered. “It’s nothing but scrap at this point.” Lifting his boot, he brought it down on top of Trig’s burnt arm, causing him to cry out.
All my fear of the two officers fled as my hands ball up, my vision going cloudy. “Stop! You’re hurting him!” The words were torn from my throat. It didn’t matter that no one heard me; that I was simply a phantom in Brone’s memory core.
“Let’s go, 976 302,” one of the officers snarled. “Time’s up.”
The officers grabbed Brone by his arms, and he allowed them to pull him away. I wanted to scream for him to fight. Brone is bigger, stronger. The officers stood no chance against him if he fought back. But my cyborg doesn’t fight. Instead, he looks back over his shoulder, defeat in his eyes as he gazes at Trig.
Lines of pain are etched around the corners of the damaged Tank Class’s mouth, his eyes never leaving Brone’s face. “Not your fault,” he whispered, and Brone’s eyes flooded with grief.
“God, does it seem like these things are getting more sensitive?” the dark-haired officer quipped, disgust on his tongue.
The other one shook his head as he yanked Brone by the arm. “That shit on its face looks like tears.” He shuddered. “I wish they would do something about it. No one wants a shitty piece of tech that blubbers.”
Brone’s face went blank, but in his eyes, I saw that the words hit their mark. They burned brighter, the blue cutting through the fog, shining like a beacon in this hellscape of pain and destruction. A low-pitched cry rumbled through his chest, far too low for them to hear, but I did and so did the other Tank Class.
The sound tore through my chest, squeezing my heart. “I’ll stay with him. He won’t be alone.” Trig wouldn’t even know I was here, but I couldn’t leave.
I had wished for this to end. But now I prayed it would linger, allowing me to be with the Tank Class in his final moments.
I hit the ground beside him, my hand hovering over his chest before dropping it to my side. I was desperate to offer him comfort. My touch would do nothing. An old lullaby crept up through the fog of my memory. One my mom used to sing.
So, I started to sing, the notes rusty, but sure. I sang until the lights in Trig’s eyes went dark, until his breathing stilled, and the only sound swirling among the fog was my voice…soft and low, the salt from my tears on my lips.
My eyes opened slowly, cheeks damp and my throat aching. Wetness clung to my face, my eyes swollen and gritty. I rubbed at my chest, a nagging ache pulsing under my palm.
“What was the song you were singing?”
I jumped at the sound of Ion’s voice. I had forgotten he was here.
I turned my head towards the Military Model, Trig’s face flashing before my eyes, and I choked back a sob. “It was a lullaby,” I croaked out, my voice raw.
Ion blinked, his eyes going soft. “It was beautiful.”
“Thank you. I sang it for-” I cut myself off. There was no way I could tell Ion what had happened. He would think I was crazy.
Was I? It felt so real. How the hell would I find myself inside one of Brone’s memories? My stomach plummeted.Could it work in reverse?I shook my head.It was just a dream.My mind had probably constructed some type of plausible scenario that could have happened in Brone’s past.
War and the death of cyborgs had been a part of a Tank Class’s life. I had read many accounts of what their existence had consisted of under the Global Allegiance. I had extensively studied every model type Dr. Shaw had created. Logic would reason that me missing Brone had combined with my knowledge and morphed together while I had slept.
That had to be it. “Never mind.”
Ion narrowed his gaze. “Who were you singing it for?”
I plastered a smile on my face. “For no one. It was just a nightmare, Ion. I know cyborgs don’t suffer from them, but trust me, a lot of the times they don’t make sense.” Sitting up, I reached out for the glass of water Ion had sweetly placed on the nightstand. I took a sip, letting the cool rush of liquid soothe my aching throat.
Ion quirked a gray eyebrow. “Humor me.”
Stubborn Military Model.
I sighed. My chances of getting Ion to drop this seemed slim. Something about the song…or maybe my reaction after I woke up, had piqued his interest. Never let anyone tell you that cyborgs aren’t curious.
Their curiosity was simply one more way they were so much more than machines. So what if Ion thought I had lost my mind? There was a whole complex of cyborgs who now despised me.