Dead Earth - We Are The Furies

by TheFullCrumb

Prologue

Blood. That was all he could smell and see as he looked around. Huge robot suits – the tools known as Clanks – littered the battlefield, their pilots dead or dying. With a pained groan, he pushed himself to a sitting position, trying to remove his helmet. With a hiss, the sealed environment in the helmet vented, allowing the horrible stench of the dead around him to filter in.

“Damn it all. Orion! Orion...” He turned around, the massive Atlas Heavy Clank he had once strode across the ground in watching him, its legs and arms, as well as the secondary head-mounted cannon, in many pieces.

“I-I a-am too b-badly damaged f-for further c-combat. AI chip eject initiated.” With a click, a glowing green chip landed on the man's lap, the stamp 'ORION' clearly visible as he leaned back and rested against the old Clank that had saved his life.

“We've got a live one! Sir, there's a live one over here!” The man perked up, trying to wipe some of the blood from his hands. Weakly, he tried standing up, only for his legs to short out and collapse. He looked up to see two heavily armored troopers clambering over the nearby wrecks and trying to get closer to him. The man reached to his side, drawing out a handgun as he took aim at the two. When they noticed he had drawn a weapon, their hands raised in a gesture of non-combat.

“Oi! We're trying to save you! Just hold on!” The blood ran thick from the man's hand as he looked at the gash on his left arm. The two soldiers slid into position, one dragging out a sturdy nano-bandage to implant into the wound. With a jolt, the man sat upright, the electricity restoring to his legs as the other soldier welded broken parts together. Standing up, he looked at the two of them, nodding as he observed the battlefield.

“You two think we lost this one? I mean, we did sort of stop the enemy invasion,” he whispered, his eyes drawn to every friend he had made lying dead in what could have been considered a mass grave. One of the soldiers removed his own helmet, looking over.

“They'd call it a pyrrhic victory, Colonel Miller, sir. A victory at too great a cost.”

0--------/|0|\--------0

Miller sat up straight, the sweat pouring from his brow as he looked around. Orion's AI chip still hung around his neck from a piece of cloth taken from a fellow Clanker – a Clank Pilot – when he had walked amongst the dead for a time. Glancing around, he looked at the night sky, the stars clearly visible even through the thick clouds that blanketed most of the Earth. Turning himself on the bed, he reattached his legs, letting them click into their sockets as he proceeded to stand. A tiny Clank sat outside, the chevron underneath a black 'I' indicating his service with the Independence Coalition, the last remnant of truly free men and women on the Earth.

“Someday I'll pilot another Atlas, stride the Earth once more like a God of War, Orion, and on that day, you will live again,” he whispered to the AI chip around his neck, smiling until he glanced at his watch.

“Oh no. James, Browley! Up and at 'em! We're an hour late for checking in with the General!” Private Mark James and Corporal Isaac Browley sat up, their heads slamming into the bed above and the ceiling respectively. With a growl, they looked at Miller, who simply stared back and smiled. With a mumbled greeting, the two got out of bed, strapping their combat gear on as they tried, and failed, to drink the day-old coffee that had been left on the cabinet that passed for their dresser.

“Still can't believe we got saddled with Long Haul, eh, Browley?” Browley smiled, punching James in the shoulder, eliciting a chuckle from the latter. Miller smiled at them, reaching over and placing a small chip inside the music player currently stuck to the wall as he flexed his arms to stretch the muscles in preparation for the move they would have to do.

“Long Haul's no pushover, James. Better straighten yourself, and watch out!” James punched him in the shoulder as well, pushing him as he tried to straighten his tactical vest, finally ending with his enviro-helmet. Miller smiled as he slid his own enviro-helmet on, absent-mindedly rubbing the AI chip hanging around his neck. Sliding his jacket on, he looked in the cracked mirror above their sanitation equipment. His head was still unerringly bald, as was typical of all Clank pilots – something about the cybernetics process removing the ability for the head to grow hair, which included nose and ear hair, strangely enough – while James' head was framed by a shock of unruly brown hair, while Browley preferred a simple high-top military haircut that framed his dark face. Turning around to the other side of the room, Miller tapped a keypad on the wall, backing away from the cracking plaster as a screen activated, the bearded, bald face of General Michael Newton appeared, staring down at them intently.

“You're late, soldiers.”

“Sorry sir. Long patrol yesterday, and most of our clocks stopped functioning as of last night during our brief communications blackout,” Miller stated, keeping himself standing straight and still. General Newton was notorious for being a hardass, and it reflected in how he dealt with Miller and his team. He pinched the bridge of his nose, smiling when he returned to looking at the team in front of him.

“This time, it's not that big of a deal. However, we're detecting massive amounts of energy, energy which seems to be similar to the abilities of the invaders you three may remember quite well,” General Newton explained, the smile fading as he returned to the matter at hand, his eyes never leaving the team, “and the rest of the Military Council is concerned that it could be a repeat of a year ago. Humanity is nowhere near prepared for any sort of war, while the WTO and the Shogunate refuse any communications with us. We've detected similar energies near Trader territory, and in Asia in the deadzone there.” General Newton leaned back, looking at the group of soldiers. Miller was the first to speak, a waver to his voice as the memories he didn't want to remember came to the surface.

“H-How far is that energy signal from where we currently are? How far!?” Miller shouted, all hesitation gone, though he was still somewhat afraid. He knew what those invaders could do to pilots, causing their bodies to explode inside their Clanks, coating the inside with their internal organs. He had great respect for the cleanup crews who scraped the Clanks clean so that at least something could be buried. General Newton was about to speak again when a piece of paper was handed to him.

“Urgent news. We've triangulated the energy signal, and it seems to be coming from a place twelve klicks north of your position at that old power plant. Investigate, and report back. Do not engage if it is Invader activity, otherwise you might just spark a war that humanity will most definitely lose. General Newton out.” The screen shut down, leaving Miller with eyes as wide as saucers as he looked at James and Browley. Browley lifted his rifle, pulling back the slide to charge the pulse chamber.

“We're right behind you, sir. Just point us in the right direction.” With a smile, Miller threw open the door to their sleeping quarters, walking towards the entrance to their little compound, where his Clank, THOR-1, lay in its containment carrier. With a whistle, the carrier opened, the ball torso of the Clank – an Independence Coalition Army Mech Marine – walked out, the Vulcan autoguns on either arm test spinning while the reactive armor plating swiveled around in front of the main eyepiece for the suit. The 105 millimeter cannon slid up and locked in place before THOR-1 knelt down, the cockpit opening.

“All right, men. Get to your APC, and we'll get headed north. THOR, begin sync.” Small mechanical arms reached for Miller as he was lifted into the Clank, his cybernetic legs being removed carefully before the sockets which had held them previously were slotted into areas in the bottom of the cockpit, locking into place.

“THOR-1, online. All systems online.”

“Good. Activate synchronization for human/machine sensory crossover.” With a jolt, the link fully connected to his sockets, the feeling of legs returning as he connected fully with the Clank. A smile crossed his face as he took a tentative step, feeling the massive leg take a step. Reaching his arms up, he grabbed the harness for the arms and the head-mount, making sure the wiring was locked in properly to the control chip in the base of his neck.

“You're looking good from out here, sir. Looks like you've got full synchro now. We'll be along shortly,” Browley stated as he looked over at James, the latter giving him a thumbs up as he strapped himself in for the unenviable task of playing technician for what was one of the most advanced pieces of military hardware available to grunts like them.

“Meet you at the waypoint, gentlemen.”

“All right, sir. Browley, let's get this party bus rolling, shall we?”

0--------/|0|\--------0

The four hour travel to the waypoint laid in for them by General Newton had been uneventful, except for the times that any member of the three-man team had to stop to relieve themselves. It was decidedly more awkward for Miller, as he had to wait a considerable amount of time while his cybernetic legs were reattached before running off into the bushes, his face a look of pain before a groan of relief exited the area he had stopped in, the only light he had coming from the lamps mounted on THOR-1's chassis.

The waypoint led to some rather strangely intact structures, though Miller could not place what they were supposed to be. The straw roofs reminded him of the time his father had taken him to a historic European Village, preserving ancient ways that barely anyone practiced any more, where technology was reduced to a more primitive standpoint. The viewpoint switched to infravision, showing four heat signatures, clearly not moving while he moved closer. An IFF alert triggered, displaying the information for Browley and James' APC coming around.

“Took you both long enough. We've got four heat signatures. Can't tell what they are at this range, but from the size, highly doubtful we're dealing with an Invader threat,” he stated before looking back at a gauge behind him, whistling at the readout. “This is definitely the place. Disabled teleport markers all over the place.”

“Let's get a closer look then.” Miller set the autoguns into standby mode, keeping the barrels spinning slowly so the windup would not take as long. Targeting solutions were being constantly shown, in case of hostile intent. THOR-1 slowed its pace down as it tromped closer, the lamps shutting off as to not spook whatever was there. Before he got there, he stopped, noticing one of the heat signatures was gone.

“Browley, James. One of the heat signatures is gone- what on- ow!” He felt a rather powerful blow slam into THOR-1's left leg, causing the Clank to slowly fall to one side.

“Miller, it's Browley. Whatever attacked you... it dented your leg.”

“Come again.”

“Sir, it freaking dented your leg. It's organic, but it dented your damn leg!” Miller sent out a ping, trying to determine any hostile contacts, until the ping signalled for something directly below him. Cursing the main weakness of Clanks silently, he gritted his teeth, before smiling.

“THOR, I hate doing this, but tuck and roll!” With a leap, the Clank slammed into its back, the 105mm cannon breaking in the process. It stood up, turning around to get a clear view of what had attacked it. Switching back to a normal view, THOR-1 turned on its spot-lamps, illuminating the creature that had attacked it. Miller had to stop himself before he revved the autoguns.

Whatever it was, it was red, had an orange... mane, was it?

It was a pony. It was an animal of an extinct species.

“Sir, we're getting the same camera data! How did one of those survive the Invasion?” Miller did not respond, only tapping buttons to unlock himself from THOR-1.

“Release sockets. Activate resealant for cybernetics. Open cockpit hatch.” Miller was lowered to the ground, a rifle being tossed to him by Browley, while James stood on the APC, his sniper rifle's laser sight clearly visible in the dark. Turning on the rifle's flashlight, he moved in closer, kneeling down before seeing that it was clearly in pain. Looking back at the pony's rear legs, he noticed that a piece of metal had become lodged in one of the hooves. Sighing, he waved Browley over, pointing to the metal.

“Sir, I'm a medic, not a vet.”

“I'll hold it still, just get the damn thing out of its leg!” Browley complied, while Miller stroked the pony's mane. With a whinny, the metal was yanked out, the wound being packed with a nano-bandage, with a spray-sealant to protect against infection.

“Yeeow! What in tarnation?!” Miller stopped, looking directly at Browley, who was just as confused.

“H-Hello?”

“Let go o' me. I ain't no invalid!” Miller looked down to see the pony staring up at him with anger in its eyes. Backing up quickly, he watched Browley follow suit, the pony shakily standing on its four hooves, until pain forced it to sit.

“Wait, you can talk!?” The pony looked back at the houses, sighing.

“Eeyep. Don't like to talk much, though. Wait... you're them... Human folk the princess was talkin' bout, ain'tcha?” Browley and Miller looked at each other, about to speak when James came running up.

“Sir, the other three, they're awake. Also none too happy to see big ol' THOR-1 there. Something about it drives them something scared.” He knelt down, an eyebrow raising as he looked up at the ash sky. With a sniff, he looked back, the other three he had talked about entering the light. One was cerulean, with a two-tone yellow mane, while another had a dark blue coat, with a light blue mane. The third was the most unusual. Its legs had holes in them, and she appeared to be rather unwelcome to the other three.

“You... you can help us, right?” The blue one spoke to Miller, her eyes wide as she looked him up and down. At least, from the voice, Miller assumed it was a female.

“Lady, I would love to drop everything and help you, but you're about 11 years too late.” The others looked at the red one, their eyes widening at Miller's response. Thinking something was about to happen, Miller activated the sound-proofing on his helmet, although it did not help much against the sonic tirade that occurred.

“11 years?!”

Author's Note:

I dropped Age of Clank a while ago, removing the story because it was not... good enough. It was done in the time I was in College, which meant I was trying to focus on too many things at once.

However, I remade the world, creating the world of Dead Earth.

Now, if anyone really understands how I think, something INTERESTING might come up.

Also, yes, Browley and James are names I chose. Browley was a typo, though I can't remember what the names were originally supposed to be.

Anyways, I'd love some criticism!