Cornered

Their voices stuttered and shifted like a static signal.

"You. A little girl, here, in the premises of this uncharted underground," Its voice rumbled three layers deep within its metallic exterior. Its fixed glare from the metallic formation from its helmet glowered. "Interesting," It seethed. "You're different, somehow—your anatomy. You're spawned with the same shape as a human's, however, your central nervous system, your skeletal system–your bones are…immensely unique, and your musculature is far off human compatibility. I'll have to study your biological structure after I'm done with this nonsense."

Enveloped in the darkness, Klara felt helpless. She couldn't see her opponents aside from the eerie faint pairs of robotic eyes varying in color glowing in the dark. Taking a step back, her glare hardened, growling. 

Frantically placing a hand on the wall for balance, her chest started aching. Then she started choking. Grabbing her throat, she mustered an exhale as beads of sweat developed on her forehead, temples, and arms. Goosebumps coated her skin. Her form trembled similar to a leaf against howling winds. 

For once, fear struck the very core of her being.

Why did it only hit her now? Has the adrenaline ceased? Did she just realize the weight of her position just now?

She took several steps back. "What do you want?" She internally cursed. She hoped to sound more intimidating…instead, she sounded more like a cornered dog than anything else.

The first metallic figure stepped forward. A resounding, clanking thunk echoed that gesture.

She squeaked. "S-..Stay back."

In an instant, the point of a blade pierced her solar plexus. Eyes wide, mouth gape, she choked a scream.

But the blade shattered on impact into millions of fragments. Her gasp pulsated throughout the empty metallic hallway.

"..." The static grew. Ringing clogged Klara's ears as she staggered on the floor rear first before gathering herself to her feet, mustering a stance. 

Her eyes adjusted enough to see the cyberpunk studying his shattered weapon as if it happened daily.

"That blade had a Titanium interior reinforced with a Tungsten extrinsic forged under a thousand degrees Celsius. Tested, calibrated, modified." Its red dual hue for eyes left a soft blink. "And your very skin shattered it as if it were under the assumption that it was as fragile as the tail's end of Prince Rupert's drop."

Heaving, her glare faltered. "Wh…what?"

She heard a familiar click.

It was a gun.

Orange streaks came in blinks in her direction. Without a thought, she raised her arms to protect her head–once the orange linings came in contact with her skin, they ricocheted—, tore holes through her clothes–sent ripples on her skin–strands of orange scattering in all directions, bullet holes left in their wake.

Whimpering, in an act of desperation, she slammed herself on the metallic cold wall.

Augmented metal slid through her skin like liquid, leaving a gaping human-sized hole of her size on the supposedly "near indestructible" wall. The restless shooting took hold.

The Cyberpunk blankly stared at the hole mildly amused.

"How unpleasant," it ushered with a glitch in its tone before gesturing its familiars to pursue her, the rest slipping through the hole without a hint of reluctance.

Crashing several stories down, unscathed, and leaving a minor crater on the concrete floor, Klara panted as she stepped up to run. While doing so, she checked her arms, her legs, and her chest–she swore she was shot multiple times. She swore that she was stabbed. She swore that she should've died. She would've been killed. She should be dead.

But in some twist of fate, she's alive. And for now, that's all that matters.

Encountering an intersection of hallways, she took a right, this time, said hallway had the familiar flickering neon lights above. Pipes hissed from both sides as steam fumed.

Looking back, no one was following her at the moment. Panting to a slowed stop, she huffed, leaning her entire frame on the wall on her left.

From above, neon lights flickered erratically. Blinking, sparking. Seething with a mechanical hum.

Abruptly, images of Dante flashed in her head like a paparazzi–fulgurating intensely while each click displayed a memory of him. A memory she cherished. 

Exhaling, her chest started to rise and fall rapidly. Sniffling, she covered her mouth. She slid down the wall and eventually fell on her knees, sobbing. The weight was unbearable. Seeing him..torn like paper was devastating to her emotional well-being. Mentally, she was not ready.

"Dante, wasn't it?" The familiar glitch in its tone was evident. 

Snapping her gaze back at the voice, she was about to make a stance until the former grabbed a lock of her hair and slammed her head on the wall.

Thirty-seven consecutive strikes to the head. Pounding her head on the wall at such speed her face turned to a blur. The Cyberpunk released a combo on Klara, aiming for the head the entire time.

It did this for several minutes consistently. Consistently, it used its elbows, knees, and the palms of its hands.

Klara twitched and flinched at every beat. No matter how much she wanted to scream, a metallic fist, elbow, or knee would shut her up. Silence her a nanosecond before she could muster one.

…

After a rough beating for thirteen minutes, she finally laid limp.

Her body slid from the side of the wall and onto the cold concrete floor before laying flat.

The familiar with orange hues for eyes blinked. It blankly scanned her. Steam fumed from its ribs. What ticked off the familiar the most was the evident absence of blood.

"Vital nonetheless," it said in the same robotic tone. "You'll make a fine product." It knelt on one knee grabbed the hoodie of her jacket and dragged her away. 

Now strolling through the underground, with the limp body dragged over dust, rebar, and debris, it went on like this for nearly forty-five minutes. For forty-five minutes, Klara was mindlessly hauled through heaps of dust, wires, torn pipes, thresholds, and wires.

For Forty-five minutes…

She played dead.

She hoped the familiar didn't know that.

It was a gamble she had to take. Either the familiar would play along, or it already knew…and would eventually get tired of it. It was to give her time. Give her time to think, recollect–to format a plan.

…

Klara grew tired of it. As of late, she only had one goal at the moment: to confirm herself if Dante…was still alive. If he died–no. If he was actually killed.

Putting up the act, she stayed limp. She wasn't sure if this thing knew she was alive. Her assumption was if it did, it would've tried to kill her. Since that assumption was false, she believed she was out of harm's way. At least, that's what she thought.

She felt her rear drag over a threshold. They were entering another room again.

"You caught her, it seems," the Familiar's glitchy tone echoed within the dust-layered room.

Now there are two of them. Klara internally cursed.

"..." She remained silent.

Metallic thunks reverberated, taking steps toward the assumingly "lifeless" carcass.

Another thunk echoed.

"She is alive."

Klara tried her best not to flinch.

Mechanical whirring signified that the other familiar shifted its gaze to the latter. "Have we not given the orders to eliminate her?"

Klara was thrown to the ground. Still, she laid limp—a failed attempt to play dead.

"I couldn't." The latter said.

"You could not?" There was an evident hint of disbelief.

"Thank you for reiterating my statement."

Knowing that her ploy was for nothing, she finally stood up. She expected a reaction. However, the two Familiars didn't flinch. She received no such reaction from them. "Not gonna lie," she started. "Your lead ain't shit. All it did was rip my stuff."

In a mere instant, her fist punctured through the Familiar with the orange hue for eyes. Her fist impaled him. However…

The familiar didn't even wince. It just stood there, blankly staring down at the fist supposedly meant to "impale."

A cold sweat ran down her cheek as a strained, cramped smile curved her lips. "U-Uhm…"

—

A roaring rumble shook the underground halls. Dust trembled through the vibrations of the walls and the ground itself. The light fluctuated from another deafening rumble. Pipes hissing intensified. Neon lights started to tumble to the ground from the resounding explosions. Debris quivered after every thunderous strike.

A wall with a large imprint of 045–the paint started to bubble, melt. It began to seep from its augmented concrete walls as said walls started steaming. Visible linings of smoke oozed from the wall until a clean diagonal cut was fabricated from behind the wall. A visible white and orange residue was left from the heat of the slash.

That was until Klara crashed through it, leaving another gaping hole in the underground.

"Fuck, you assholes are ruining my clothes!" Was all she said amidst a clear 4v1. She instantly stood up, heaving. She examined her arms, and her form overall. Somehow, in some way, every hit she gained up to this second did nothing to her. 

As the tip of a katana slipped through the wall she crashed from like butter, she made a stance. She fought before. She knew a bit of martial arts–competed and won. But as of late, she was in an entirely different league. She wasn't facing opponents. She was fighting killers. And they wanted her dead.

The katana sliced through the wall like paper, the remaining concrete melted from the sheer heat of the blade as a familiar with green hues for eyes stepped into view. The molten concrete oozed down onto its stature…but ultimately it passed through its form as if it was never there to begin with.

Klara thought they were holograms.

Then the one with the orange hues for eyes simply fazed through the bubbling walls like a ghost.

Another one with white hues for eyes did the same. As well as the one with purple hues for eyes.

Klara sneered. "God, teaming on a girl? That's low of you."

The familiar with green eyes flicked its abnormally long katana, swiping away the left molten concrete before pointing the tip at the latter. "We only ask for you to bleed," its glitchy tone ever-so evident retorted. It was obvious that the familiar was irritated. 

The one with the orange hues spoke. "Or perhaps you could kill yourself for us," it said with hardened calm. "You're only adding the burden to yourself the second you continue to breathe the same air as us."

The teenager scoffed. "I'm too pretty to die," she answered with a sneer before mustering an offensive stance. "Besides, I still got a boy to find, and a shitty school to graduate from."