I Will Say Their Names, Now

The Droid knew of a list of names that came before Death and it was the first thing the Droid recalled when Death suddenly appeared in the canyon. The Droid knew it was unlikely, but it was going to try to escape. It ran as fast as it could, it’s metal foot-like structures ping-ing and pang-ing against the rocky base of the canyon, echoing off the canyon walls. The sound of metal banging against ore and graphite repeatedly would have been an unnerving sound to most, but to Death it was familiar. This sound had become Death’s trumpet call. This meant the hunt was on. Like a hound excited to give chase, Death was riveted by this delightful resonating noise.

As it came to the end of the canyon, the robot tried to scramble over rocks and boulders. The boulders in its path were not much of an obstacle for a machine that did not get tired or pull muscles, but its gears were rusting. It had been years since there was a good oil bath, even longer since an upgrade. The robot pulled its weight up but Death was quickening its pace now, straight down the center like an arrow through the canyon. There was a screech emitting from Death. Maybe it was internal, maybe it wasn’t. The screech was a union of rage and glee. The robot reached it’s arm up over the last, and largest boulder, hoping to reach its iron grip into the top of the rock but was taken by surprise as a robotic arm reached forward and pulled the robot up, up, and out of the canyon completely. Momentarily out of harm’s way. 

Death was fast, but it would take moments for it to get up the boulders. At least moments longer than the robot had.

“I am here to help you, friend.” the voice said. The voice, and arm, belonged to a humanoid. There was skin, but it was faded as if pigmentation was washed out. Patches of the flesh were burnt, missing, or torn. The body had no genitals, no breasts, no hair, and facial features were simple and slender while the eyes were unmatched and made motorized sounds as they regarded the robot. Inside the holes of this being’s flesh the robot could see metal screws and bars. It also registered the voice as having a metallic twang as if it were emanating from a speaker with poor wiring.

This was one of the few. One of the Cyborg.

“I know you d- n-t speak - know Death hunts yo- Comrade, you must - away with me.” 

The Cyborg gripped the Robot’s hand and pulled it. The Robot did not know it’s leg parts could move so quickly. The Cyborg dragged the Robot but somehow the Robot kept up. They ran together across the desolate lands. The Canyon had been a place of refuge for Robots hoping to escape Death but now it had become a trap, a pit of despair. To escape it meant to run in plain sight across the arid desert but even with the risk of exposure, there was the chance to flee. 

As they ran, dust and sand kicked up from behind them. The robot calculated they must be going considerably faster than it had ever considered going. Relief, or whatever computes as relief, began to settle into the robot. Death, at least today, would not get them. 

As they ran the sun began to sink. The sky had been a blood orange but in the distance was a now purple and fuchsia hue erupting through the green clouds. The clouds were always green. The sunsets were rarely this beautiful. 

The exploding sound of the vehicle behind them was enough to shake even the Cyborg. The Cyborg’s gate faltered for a moment and they stumbled but quickly caught their step and continued at the previous pace. 

“Death has repa—red his automobile. We — destroyed it, months ago. We d-not expect him to g— —back so quickly. I am sorry, Droid 7767. —- uld have come more prepared. We — —nly may die.”

Vhhraaaaaaaarrrrkkkmmmm! 

The sound was louder now. The two-wheeled vehicle was jet black but clearly built from dozens, if not hundreds, of other machines. It was compiled with scraps and remnants of not just previous man-made vehicles, there were droids. Droid skulls, droid hands, droid feet as pedals. Death apparently took the bodies of the droids who attempted to destroy his mode of transportation and incorporated them into it. They became part of their undoing. 

Death smiled at the Droid from a meter away, knowing full well the Droid could see him from this distance. The 7767 lost its grip and began to flee in an opposite direction of the Cyborg. 

“Stop! You w—n’t make it alone!”

7767 knew it shouldn’t run, but it could not process the thoughts quick enough. The computations alerted the Droid of flight not fight, of self preservation and determination to stay with Cyborg. But everything inside 7767 was compromised by some sort of virus-like fear of Death.

Pink-pank-pink-pank-pink-pank-pink-pank!

The steps from the copper base of 7767’s feet rang out across the granite surface. 

The vehicle pulled up close to 7767 keeping pace with its frenzied running. Death wore a helmet that appeared to be made from fragmented droid parts, complete with the fin from aquatic droids melded to the top of the helmet. The monstrous humanoid was also outfitted in leathers and rags. On every limb and twice bound across his back were holsters filled with weapons. His vehicle also had holsters for weapons such as guns, spears, and more. It was an intimidating and merciless sight.

From a holster attached to Death’s leg he pulled a short black stick. With a flick of the stick it became a medium-length pole which, upon pushing a button at the handle, began to spark. 

The sounds of the vehicle’s engine vibrated the metal of 7767. It tried to run left and away from the wheels but Death kept on it, hounding it. Death was cackling, 7767’s receptors could process this unfathomably maniacal joy.

As Death took aim with his pole, the Cyborg leapt upon him and knocked him clean off his ride. 

“Huhrph!” 

“—oooo!”

The vehicle spun out and rattled as it spun on itself and flipped over. The impact nearly took out 7767 but with a quick duck and head cover, the Droid was clear. Cyborg was holding Death down into the sand, pushing into his wrists. 7767 could hear bone-cracking as Death screeched vitriol. 

“Y— are a relic. You do not bel—g here! You —st die n-.” 

Death chuckled through his groans of pain. 

“I will turn you back into the plastic and metal you were.” 

7767 looked between the two, trying to decide whether or not to keep running. As 7767 approached it noticed the boot of Death was covered in spikes, specifically a blade wedged into the tip. Before it could warn Cyborg the foot came up and slammed into Cyborg’s leg. 

With the strike came a flinch and with the flinch came a loose wrist and with that came an electric rod right through the left eye socket of the Cyborg. 

7767 stepped back in surprise. It stepped back again. Then it turned and ran. 

The Cyborg was not yet dead, however and reached to wrap it’s limbs around Death’s throat. Death used both his aged and calloused hands to wrap around the false skin of the Cyborg’s forearms, digging into the flesh and pulling it apart, revealing wiring, tubes, gears and electrodes. 

“You’re not real.” Death whispered to the Cyborg. With all his weight he spun off his back and pinned the Cyborg down onto it’s. 

“You were a mistake. A mistake that learned to perform violence. To murder. To maim. To eviscerate. I will say their names, now and you will hush.”

The Cyborg could feel it’s processors sputtering as Death listed several names, names meaningless to the Cyborg. Names that could have meant nothing and with this mad creature moments from destroying it, that was very likely. 

The Cyborg’s visual receptors were shuttering and failing, it was leaking precious and rare fluids that ran through its tubes into it’s cortex, generating faster and more accurate emotions than the average droid. 

With final moments it looked to its killer and tried to smile, the mechanized gears behind the flesh whirring as it did. 

“D—n’t you s- that is what you h-ve become?”

Death reached over to his right. He picked up a large rock with one hand while his forearm held the Cyborg down by it’s throat.

“It’s what I always was. I made you. I am your God.”

And with that, Death dropped the large rock onto the Cyborg’s face resulting in an explosion of fluids, wires, and falsified flesh. Death repeated the motion until his arm’s were exhausted.

Pink-pank-pink-pank-pink-pank-pink-pank!

7767 ran deep into the night. The purple had faded into a darkness highlighted by ripples of green. It was a gross sky but the robot didn’t have the ability to feel that way about it. 

That night, as the acidic rain quietly fell from the sky, the Droid rocked itself back and forth behind a boulder, reciting numbers quietly.

The Droid had survived it's first encounter with Death.