[DUBLIN – STREET LEVEL, 4:55 PM]
He pushed himself up off the ground.
Pain cleared his head for half a second.
Then it hit again. Blinding.
"Aagh!"
His knees shook.
"C'mooooon!" His voice cracked. Teeth grit. Shaking. "GET UP, YOU BITCH, AAAGH!"
Knees almost gave. Ribs flared. Chest locked up.
One hand slapped wet stone. The other clutched his ribs. Fire bloomed under his skin.
He stayed up.
Barely.
Shoulder was back in. Usable. Kind of.
"Come on," he hissed. "Just hold it together, just, fuck, hold it together."
His ribs throbbed with every breath. Deep, slow pulses of fire that locked up his spine. He couldn't get air. Not really. Every inhale scorched. Lava in his chest.
Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.
The street spun. Vision went sideways.
He swallowed it down. Shook his head like he could knock the pain loose.
Diaz was still coming.
Every step cracked pavement. Sparks flared off the power core. Steam vented in short, angry bursts. The heat shimmered in the cold rain.
And that screech, metal on metal, shrill and wrong. Sharp enough to cut through the rain.
Something in the suit was off.
MOVE.
Just move. Keep going. Keep him away from the shelter. Keep him away from the civilians.
"He doesn't get to touch them," Darren growled, barely above a whisper. "Not one more. Not one."
He staggered behind a wrecked car. Boot slid on glass. He fell hard onto the hood.
FLASH of pain.
"Aaaaagh, FUCK!"
Tears burned the edge of his vision. No. No no no no not now.
Bit them back. Bit down hard.
"GET UP, GET UP!"
One hand slammed down on the metal.
"Get the fuck up, Darren, GET UP! Come on, MOVE, MOVE!"
His hand left a red smear across the hood. Rain washed it out in seconds.
His hoodie stuck to him like skin. Blood, sweat, rain, everything soaked through.
Left side gone.
Dead weight. Shoulder barely holding.
Every breath said drop
Every muscle said quit.
Every part of him screamed give up.
But the shelter was behind him.
People were still back there.
He pushed off the car. Legs trembling. Mouth full of copper. Something in his chest rattled when he breathed.
Didn't matter.
Couldn't matter.
He staggered into the open. Rain in his eyes. Blood in his teeth.
"COME ON THEN!" he shouted, voice raw. "COME THE FUCK ON!"
Diaz stepped out of the smoke, slow, massive, glowing from the inside like a furnace about to blow. Sparks cracked off his shoulder. Something in his left arm stuttered—Darren heard it. A grinding hitch.
But Diaz didn't stop.
Didn't care.
"You look like shit," he shouted, voice warped through the mech. "That all you've got left?"
Darren stood his ground. Barely.
"You're shaking," Diaz said. "You know what that means? You're done. You're finished. You just don't know it yet."
Another step. Heavier. Concrete split underfoot.
"You think this city's yours?" Diaz barked. "You think these people are yours?"
He jabbed a finger back toward the alley. Toward the shelter.
"They're mine now. Every last one of them." Darren charged.
Not smart. Not clean. Not with a plan.
Just rage. Just fear. Just please stop him, please stop him, please...
He slammed a fist into Diaz's chestplate.
Nothing.
Another hit. Knuckles split open on metal.
Diaz grabbed him by the arm mid-swing, twisted.
POP.
Darren screamed. Dropped to a knee.
Diaz yanked him back up by the collar, face-to-face with the glowing eye slit of the helmet.
"You think any of 'em will remember your name?" he barked. "You think they'll even say thank you before I rip their fucking heads off?"
Darren swung again.
Missed.
Diaz caught him by the throat and slammed him against a wall. Hard.
"You gonna beg?" Diaz snarled. "Huh? You gonna beg for 'em? For that girl? For those people back there hiding in the dark?"
Darren clawed at the gauntlet. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak.
Diaz leaned in close.
"I'll break her legs first. Make her crawl over you when I dump your corpse outside the shelter. Let her scream in your blood for a while before I finish her."
Darren thrashed. Kicked. Eyes wide.
Diaz dropped him.
Hard.
Darren hit the ground coughing, gasping, trembling.
"You hear me?" Diaz shouted. "I'm not just gonna kill 'em. I'm gonna tear through them like fucking paper. And every single one of them is gonna know it's your fault."
Darren tried to get up.
Didn't make it to his feet.
Diaz kicked him in the ribs.
Something cracked.
"PATHETIC!"
Another kick.
Darren hit a wall. Slumped. Eyes glassy.
"Still breathing?" Diaz laughed. "Good. Don't die yet. I want 'em to see you when it happens. I want 'em to watch your face break."
Darren growled. Pushed off the wall.
Legs shaking. Arms numb. Blood pouring down his chin.
He charged.
Diaz laughed.
"FUCKING FINALLY!"
He grabbed Darren mid-sprint. Spun. Slammed him into the ground like a sack of meat.
Darren gasped, back arching. Couldn't even scream.
Diaz raised his foot.
"STAY DOWN."
He brought the boot down
Darren rolled. Barely.
Diaz's foot cratered the concrete where his head had been.
Darren punched up. Hit metal. No effect.
Diaz laughed again.
"You're nothing, Sentinel."
Darren's body shook.
Darren stood. Somehow.
Barely.
One leg shook. The other barely held weight. His arms hung at his sides, trembling, broken things. His ribs felt like they were caving in. Breathing was a shallow, wet rattle. Blood soaked his hoodie, the mask, everything.
But he stood.
Because he had to.
Diaz didn't even slow down.
The mech stepped through the crater he'd made. Sparks jumped from the knee again. A servo in the shoulder shrieked.
Darren saw it.
He swung again. One last punch. Just to try.
His fist hit Diaz's chest.
Nothing.
Diaz grabbed him by the neck. Hauled him off the ground like trash.
Darren kicked at him. Weak. Uncoordinated.
Diaz slammed him into the side of a car.
Metal bent. Windows shattered. Darren dropped like a corpse.
"You done yet?" Diaz barked. "That all you got? That little spark?"
He kicked him again.
Darren slid across the pavement.
He couldn't move. His legs didn't work. His hands twitched, but they were useless. His shoulder screamed. His ribs felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.
Diaz stalked toward him.
"I thought you'd be more fun," he said. "You put up a fight last time. Now look at you."
Stumbled forward. Limping. Shoulder low. Eyes bloodshot.
Diaz stepped forward, power core flashing erratic now, suit wheezing steam. Glitches sparked down the right arm. A faint whine from the servos.
Diaz stopped a few feet away. Arms relaxed. Breathing heavy through the suit's vents.
"Look at you," he muttered, almost bored. "Still twitching."
He crouched down, metal knees grinding. Leaned close.
"Let me guess. You think if you just stand up one more time, you win, right? That's the story you tell yourself."
Darren didn't move. Couldn't.
Diaz grabbed him by the front of the hoodie. Lifted him up just enough to make it hurt.
"You're not a symbol. You're not a hero. You're just meat."
He dropped him.
Darren hit the ground like a sack of bones.
"I should've brought a camera," Diaz muttered. "So they'd never forget how hard you failed."
He turned.
Started walking toward the alley.
Toward the shelter.
And Darren...
He didn't get up.
He couldn't.
His fingers scraped weakly against the ground. Legs dead. Shoulder wrecked. His chest burned. His vision blurred. The world felt far away.
This is it.
I lost.
The thought stabbed deeper than anything Diaz had done.
He'd lost.
Diaz was going to kill them. Hurt them. Make them scream.
And Darren couldn't stop him.
He'd failed.
He blinked. Rain hit his lips. Cold. Real.
And underneath it all… a flicker.
A heartbeat.
Not strength. Not strategy.
Just rage.
Not clean.
Not brave.
Just rage.
It crawled up through his ribs, into his throat, behind his eyes. It tasted like blood and salt and dirt and hate.
He dug his fingers into the pavement.
Teeth bared. Gasping.
He dragged himself upright.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Enough to see Diaz walking away.
Enough to scream...
"GET BACK HERE!"
Voice cracked. Broken.
But loud.
Diaz stopped.
Turned.
"Still not dead?" he said, voice flat. "Fine."
He stepped forward.
And Darren stood.
Not a full rise. A stagger. A broken frame of what he was.
But he stood.
Diaz stepped forward.
Darren launched.
Not a plan. Not a technique.
Just rage.
He slammed into the mech with everything he had left. Elbow. Fist. Forehead. His body screamed, but he didn't care. Couldn't care.
"GET AWAY FROM THEM!" he roared. "STAY AWAY!"
Diaz didn't even flinch. Just laughed.
"You really think they'll be safe?" he said, voice warped and sharp, like a blade. "I'm gonna go door to door when I'm done with you. Tear that shelter open and make them watch while I peel them apart."
Darren hit again. The vent. A cracked joint. Something sparked.
He didn't notice.
He shoved Diaz back. One step. Maybe two.
"You think that girl won't scream for her parents when I rip her arms off? She'll scream louder than you ever did."
Darren headbutted him. The visor cracked. His vision blurred.
"STAY—THE—FUCK—BACK!" he screamed, voice raw and tearing.
Diaz swung. Missed. The arm jerked at the elbow—off-balance.
Darren dove into the opening. Slammed his shoulder into the side panel. The one venting steam.
Sparks flew. The suit hissed.
Still, Diaz laughed.
"You're just meat with a mouth," he spat. "And when you stop making noise, I'm gonna drag your body through the street like a trophy."
Darren grabbed a chunk of rebar. Didn't remember doing it. Just swung.
CRACK.
Metal hit metal. The shoulder sparked. Twitched. Stiffened.
"You hear me, freak?" Diaz snarled. "They'll remember what I did to you. Every time they close their eyes."
"SHUT UP!" Darren screamed.
He hit him again. And again. Not aiming. Not planning. Just rage and panic and muscle memory.
"SHUT UP—SHUT UP—SHUT UP!"
Diaz staggered.
Darren shoved him again, pushing him toward the far end of the street—away from the alley, away from the civilians. One step at a time.
He didn't even notice the sparks pouring out of the knee.
Didn't hear the sputtering whine from the core.
Didn't see the cracks in the plating.
He just kept screaming and swinging.
"I'M NOT LETTING YOU TOUCH THEM!"
"YOU DON'T—FUCKING—GET—TO TOUCH THEM!"
Diaz raised his arm.
It didn't move right.
Darren hit it anyway.
The elbow exploded in sparks.
"THAT ALL YOU GOT?" Diaz roared, staggering. "YOU BLEED, YOU CRY, BUT YOU STILL THINK YOU MATTER?!"
He took a step forward...
and his leg locked.
The servo shrieked. The joint stiffened mid-stride. The whole right side of the mech shuddered, like it hit its limit.
Diaz grunted. "Fuck..."
Too late.
Darren slammed into him.
His shoulder gave out again, but he didn't stop. Didn't care.
Diaz stumbled, then collapsed, the suit crashing down like dropped scrap metal. A knee hit the ground hard. One arm twitched. The other sparked.
Darren was already on top of him.
Fists swinging. Elbow. Forearm. He didn't know anymore.
He slammed his fists into the chestplate, again, again, again.
Sparks. Steam.
No response.
"You're not getting near them," Darren rasped. "You don't get to. You don't,"
A laugh sputtered through the helmet. Short. Distorted.
"You think... they care about you?" Diaz wheezed.
Darren hit the chestplate again.
The laugh cut short, static.
Diaz's head twitched slightly. Servo noise, maybe. Or not.
"You'll die... same as them," he growled. His voice glitched, clipped, digital noise slipping through the words.
"...line 'em up... grzzt little girl first..."
Darren screamed. Slammed his fist into the chest with everything he had left.
The core flickered. Hissed.
Diaz's voice stammered. "…watch you…zzzt fail…"
Another piece of shoulder armor slid off with a soft clank.
Darren's elbow came down.
Metal cracked.
Diaz's visor flickered. The HUD glitched like a broken screen. He didn't say anything this time.
He tried to lift a hand.
It shook.
Then stopped.
The chestplate let out a long hiss of pressure, steam venting from a hairline split across the front.
Darren backed off slowly. Hands open. Bleeding. Shaking.
Everything blurred. The street shifted sideways.
He blinked again. Couldn't keep his eye open. His body swayed.
Tried to lift his head.
Didn't work.
The glow from the core was still there, dim, flickering, but alive. Steam hissed out the side of the armor.
Not done.
He flinched at the sound.
Tried to speak. Just air.
Then..
"…get back…"
He dragged his elbow forward. Slipped. Fell hard on his side.
Elbow screamed. Vision spun.
He's gonna...
Just out. Just knocked out. That's all.
Just out.
Tried to raise his voice.
"Don't… let him… near them…"
Then...
A voice. Filtered. Faint. Somewhere close but too far away.
"...Subject 4-1B... target secured..."
"Back…"
That was all he got out.
His lips kept moving anyway.
"…gonna get up…"
"…he'll…"
"…get back…"
Tears ran sideways down his face.
His lips moved to warn them.
But the words didn't come.
And the dark finally did.