Metal Skin

Metal Skin

                A heart of gold pumps within his metal skin. He sits high atop his robotic steed, plotting his course. The sun is rapidly setting along the silver horizon. It will be seven hours before the second sun rises, enough time for sleep. Within his cyborg, steel and flesh, brain he thinks to himself:

                “Not weary enough for sleep, but I must. Can’t stop thinking about him, that quivering creep, stabbed him in the back like a coward. I seek vengeance, my blade will let spill his red life blood.”

                The knight stops his horse and dismounts. He ponders his decisions, what choices he has and what he can accomplish. He’s confident in his abilities. He has spent many years training with swords and guns, honing his combat skills. His robotic augmentations further refine his abilities, advancing his human limitations.

                He reflects on his fallen comrade, the hand to the king Sir Grafton. He was assassinated by a revolutionary and the knight knows who that person is. He seeks revenge, the assassin will soon perish. At least he thinks he knows who it is. He got wind of the attack from a trusted ally who resides at the king’s castle. An email was sent to him describing what happened from his reliable source. The witness was hiding behind a curtain when he saw the assassination. The cloaked figure performing the horrid deed was identified based on his metal arm, showing underneath his robe.

                The cyborg knight will reach the castle walls in two days, that gives him time to train and to track down the assassin. He spends his mornings composing lengthy emails to his contact, wireless signals transmitted from satellites to the contact’s tablet PC. He wants to know everything he can about his enemy, where he goes during the day, his habits, everything he needs to be well prepared for his confrontation.

                He can see the castle walls in the distance; he is within half a mile, the robotic steed plots along, requiring oil and gasoline occasionally. By now the cyborg knight knows that the assassin should be preparing for a speech in his royal quarters. He can sneak in and eliminate the wretched being. He made it through security by flashing a phony badge of a long deceased diplomat. He dismounts and ties his steed to a nearby hitching post.

                He stealthy makes his way to the royal quarters, once again showing his badge.

                The assassin is startled as the cyborg busts in the door. The assassin is quick and draws his sword, as does the cyborg. They engage in a fight to the death, swords clashing and sending sparks flying. Tables and chairs are kicked aside. The assassin is a great fighter; he is more than a match for the cyborg. His sword slices the cyborg’s human flesh, but he is unfazed by the wound. His sense of revenge sends him into a violent rage. He attacks with reckless abandon, but he is careless. He leaves his neck unprotected. The assassin sees this weakness and attacks with a deft swing of his sword, cutting the cyborgs neck open, blood sprays out. The cyborg collapses, his emergency programs boot. His heart of gold pumps out life support chemicals.

                The assassin turns his back on the dying cyborg, confidant that his enemy has perished. But he is wrong. The cyborg slowly rises to his feet and thrusts his sword, stabbing the assassin in the back. “Just like how you killed my friend, with a cowardly stab in the back.” The assassin bleeds to death, Sir Grafton’s murder has been avenged.