Scene (& Explanation)

~ 2 ~

This was the Metal City.

Teetering over the edge of the mountain.

“A hybrid of old giant magic, and new technology,” Doug Ronan used to say, back when he liked to talk. “One of those Frankenstein things, you know?”

“What’s Frankenstein?”

“Never mind.”

Axel imagined it as a shapeless mass, not too big, but full of little secret entrances and useless levers and gears. Like himself. And everyone else, for that matter.

Every day, he had to fight, and his master made money and a few ‘friends.’ Stressing the quotation marks.

“Why do you need me, a human?” Axel asked Doug the next day, like he always did, every day.

“Action figures are the new thing, kid.”

“And?”

“Meaningless fun is better than having to watch your own back.”

“In other words, you couldn’t survive without me. Can you make me light sabers?”

“That’s a random question.”

“It’s not random. I’d totally win, every time.”

“You’d slip. Cut an ear off.” Doug rubbed his own ear and sniffed. “Done.”

The reddish-brown scales on Axel’s suit clicked into place, smooth as skin. As he stretched, stars rippled at the chinks.

He tested the chains at his wrists. With a flick, they whipped out. Back in.

Ready.

As Doug turned away, Axel piped up. “What’s wrong? Did I say something yesterday?”

“No.” The giant scratched his pant leg, and went to fetch his tool box.

There was only one explanation. Doug was hiding something.

It didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t be worrying about Axel. He was the one human who never lost for his master. He’d never be thrown on a trash heap. Quite the opposite.

“If you say so.”

Axel tapped an impatient rhythm on his heart panel, waiting.

Doug swiftly scooped the boy up, set him on the toolbox, and set off.

Out the door, down the street.

The snow sludge stood out in ridges and muddy brown footprints. It was a gray morning; smoke lifted in layers from the buildings. From the pipes sticking out of the ground.

Axel coughed; his throat was permanently spewing out everything as if it were static.

Doug shuffled forward a little quicker. They might make it before the sun fully dawned. The windows were still quietly dark.

A form appeared on the other side of the street. It passed, and Axel had just one moment to see the face leering down at him.

A thin, yellow face like melting wax; glassy eyes, a black waistcoat.

“…The unconventional way…” the wide mouth whispered to itself. Then it was gone.

Just a shrinking figure behind them.

“Um… Doug?”

The figure was gone now. Swallowed by the smoke.

“What?”

Seeing or hearing things was never a good sign. “Never mind. I was wondering when you wanted to upgrade me. They’ve got a dozen parts or so at the junk counter – super stuff. Better than Jackal’s man could ever pay for. I figured you’d want to take a look.”

“You’re already set for Jackal.”

He was always set for Jackal, and for just about everyone else. A play-fight. No risks; no thumbs down. Something to fall back on. But not to look forward to.

“Sure, but I’ve fought other kids too. And yesterday, I had only a bit of chain left to spare. It was tight. If we’re gonna make it to the big leagues, we need better ammo – get my point?”

He wanted some danger. Even if it meant unfamiliar faces, deeper into the City.

Doug Ronan’s face lengthened, ironing out his wrinkles. Slowly, carefully, he looked down.

Axel cleared his throat. Let out one breath. It swirled through the frost flakes. “Don’t act dumb with me. I need new parts.”

“You need a new voice box, from the sound of it. Your current one’s almost out of mileage.”

Axel’s heart warmed. He stopped blowing on his hands.

Stepping under the overhanging roof, Doug turned out his pockets. No reason an expert craftsman should look valuable.

The door swung open before Doug was properly finished.

“Why, Ronan, my dearest friend!” Boko, the arena moderator, stretched his thin neck out.

“Good morning.”

“Thirsty for the fights again, are we? Beautiful thing, beautiful.”

Doug put Axel on the newspaper box.

Boko licked his lips. He reached, with a thin, bony finger, for the boy. “Such intricate work. May I…?”

Uncertain, Axel took a step back. His fist went to his device instinctively.

Doug looked away.

Boko licked his lips again, and the rest of his fingers curled over the box – as if cornering a beetle. Axel tried to back away, but the nails were already closing in. Itching to dissect.

An artificial eyeball, like a smoldering red carbuncle, rotated into focus.

“What an interesting specimen, as well. Not as unique as others I’ve seen, but, yet… I could find a better deal for you, if you traded this one in. There’s a new hunter in this part of the City. A finer model, eh?” Boko wheedled.

A new hunter? This chance wouldn’t walk by again. Hunters never visited the edges of the City, unless on important business.

The fingers retreated when Doug raised a protective arm over the box.

Boko’s wheedle turned needle-sharp. “You can’t drop a bargain like this, old giant. It’s only a prototype. You can do a whole lot more than this,” he hissed.

“I’m not sure I could.”

“I’d throw one of these into the bargain,” Boko added, pointing to his eye.

The giant must be running away with himself. Axel couldn’t be that valuable. To give up his own eye –

“I prefer vintage models.”

One last hungry gaze, and Boko crept back into his shop.

Only a prototype…

The shop was divided into two parts; on one side, Boko sold his wares, on the other, the arena was set up.

The length of three giant arms on each side, the arena was big enough to fit on a table. Thin wire netting – or silver rope to the human – bent inwards to cover the top.

Axel had heard that, deeper into the City, the arenas were covered in blood stains. There, the giants were filled with so much madness, that they emptied it out on their humans.

One after the other, every night.

It was better for everyone. Less cost.

Better, better, better. Or at least Axel told himself. In a way, he was a hero. If the giants took it out on each other, they would take out the world.

Small-scale damage is better.

Tiny humanoid figures dangled from the rafters above. Discarded battle suits, hanging from twine. Shells. From the dark days of Boko’s establishment.

“No one’s in,” the owner said, leaning over the counter. “Got a new cartload from inside the City. Fresh. Your, ah, little one could use some parts.”

Axel raised his eyebrows at Doug. Told you so.

The giant shook his head. “Enough, please.”

The two settled themselves at a corner table. Doug leaned back listlessly. His lids drooped, eyes unfocused. Axel then knew for certain how alert his master was – very, very much so.

In half an hour, a giant troupe entered. Axel recognized the leader. The giant (called Greld) heaved himself over the doormat, swiping everyone aside easily. He was on the more inhuman side of the giant spectrum. A box swung wildly from his belt; Jackal clung to the bars for dear life.

The two met eyes.

As much as he hated to admit it, Axel was lucky. He was out here, on his own feet and his own terms – to a degree. Yes, he was a slave. But a slave and an adopted son, of sorts.

Jackal was locked up in a cage, like an animal. No one held any respect for him, and they never would.

Both took it for granted.

Greld was twisted together with blue veins and a long, curved spine.

“Sorry for the damage last night.” He bowed his head, and rotated it to a strange angle to see Doug more clearly. “My feelings did not listen to me.”

“You must lock them up more securely,” Boko said with sympathy.

“Yes.”

“Would you like to try again, my friend?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” Doug said quietly. “ Then all is well between us.”

Everyone turned to Doug, who sat up now. He smiled – not a sign of peace for him.

Matter-of-factly, Greld shrugged one shoulder, eyes smoldering. “May it always be so until death.”

“But not the same for our humans.”

“True.”

“So,” Boko intervened, clapping his hands, “Shall we make terms?”

“And pay the fee first hand?” someone said. The giants chuckled together.

“In other words, yes.” Doug said, still smiling.

Greld gave Boko two silver-colored bars. They were giant-meld, and of the best quality. Doug stood up, and did the same.

The giants approached the arena. The other monsters silently followed. Axel found it funny, almost – that these beings dramatized such a small, insignificant battle. Lived to watch these tiny humans, like action figures or toys. As if they had nothing better to do.

Jackal’s box fell from Greld’s hand into the arena. Jackal skulked out, and softly put a hand on the wall. “Ready.”

Doug put Axel in as well. His voice was muffled through his beard. “Try, mouse.”

With a nod, Axel turned to take a quick, sky-blue glance into himself.

He concentrated on his hands, his knees, his shoulders. Relaxed. Unfolded. One by one, until he went limp.

Breathe.

His pulse deepened. His heart dial trembled, then dipped. The high-strung magic, threaded through his armor, loosened.

Then he let loose.