Page 12 of Craze

Shavih slinks back, lacing her metal arms protectively in front of her.

The ship outside enters a portal, slowly lugging the hundreds of specks though, via radiant ropes. A missile from a skysprinter breaks several Titans free. My human sisters cry out as they fall back to Hyperion.

My heart aches for the Titans, like so many of the women we have lost to Sevrin and Rochir’s horrific procedures. But right now, Shavih’s life is my immediate concern.

A Solcrue woman with human arms and synthetic legs steps between them.

“Move aside, Jeela,” he growls. “Siding with humans is a crime. Unlike Sevrin, I’m not eager to hurtyou. I will, however, do my job.”

“Punish me instead of her,” Jeela insists. “Shavih can’t take another hit today.”

The guard shakes his head, taps his earcom, then zaps Jeela until her legs give out. Jeela gasps.

“You dare tell me what to do?” he snarls. “How about I punish both of you?”

A subtle red frame flashes around my vision, growing brighter like a strobing migraine. I clutch my head and stifle a groan. I don’t want him to pay attention to me.

Poppy>>Local: Red Alert. Missiles locked on. Prepare for Impact!

Poppy?Nothing on Ravenger III is titled with such a name that I’ve seen, and I don't know anyone named Poppy.

The mess of windows that flash erratically in my vision send pangs through my head and show Ravenger III weapons have armed. Through the window, the ship’s thrusters burn brighter until I’m certain the ship entering the portal might explode.

My heart beats faster.

They’re trying to outrun something.

The visuals become clearer.

Poppy>>Pellucid: Who is this? I can’t read you clearly.

Pellucid?The word appears in the upper left corner of my splay’s visual field.I’m on Ravenger III.

Ravenger III: Missiles hot.

Shit!

My heart pounds. The ship's systems fill my vision with brighter reports. I feel their pull like heavy additional limbs I could control if I just had a little more strength.

The Titans are our only hope. They can’t die!

As the guard raises his baton at Shavih, I stagger through the women.

Shavih doesn’t deserve punishment for an observation.

The Titans don’t deserve to die for wanting freedom.

But something else compels me. My body acts alone as if it knows what I need when even I don’t. There’s no time to consider consequences. The base of my splay heats, and I think it’s controlling me.

Then I read the newest alert in my eyes.

Low power. Source detected.

Targeting brackets home in on the guard’s shockbaton.

Fuck me.

If the self-preserving splay works the way I think, a zap might be enough. But to willingly take one without Rochir or Sevrin forcing it makes me wonder if I’ve literally—finally—lost my mind to a machine.

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