S-Panzer and Tinsel Soldier, chapters 1+2

[kalechipskid]

These are old stories I wrote for some mecha prompts on cohost. The name is sort of terrible and there are things I would change, but I'll just keep them as-is for now. They're about a man(?) named Birdy who pilots something called an S-Panzer. The first two parts, the flickering man and quiet time are here. Warning for animal death and something approaching body horror (but not quite, it's just a little wet).

*1 the flickering man

I'm extracted from the cockpit in a cloud of scalding hot steam but through the crowd and wires and hazy red (something's in my eye, it's on my face, it's small and sharp and dusting my skin like powdered sugar on a pastry) I can see an incandescent figure wavering in place and the message plays once more:

this ain't over-

I go through the thousands of impossibilities for an explanation but it all comes back to horrifying snap sound that occurs when you apply enough pressure to chest cavity of an S-Panzer. I wonder if the engineers knew that the arms of these things were strong enough to rip a chest open. I know that. No voices should've poured out. Nobody was left to speak.

A thousand hands pull me out and take me someplace else.

"Come on buddy, let's get you outta here."

I let everyone else do the work. I've done enough already.

🕊

Food doesn't taste like anything on this new medication. It's supposed to numb you up while your muscles get used to the implants, but it messes with everything else too. Your head gets foggy and you bump into things. I shovel something I'm pretty sure is mashed peas into my mouth. I'm only going off of texture.

"Birdy, hey Birdy, you seen it yet?"

Marko, smiling so wide that his face looks like it's about to split in two, leans over the table to shove a screen in my face. The other pilots are smiling behind him. He shakes it around for emphasis, the image blurring with movement.

"Y'see? Y'see?"

The garbled collection of pixels reveal a tattered red clump cocooned with sparking wires, metallic silver fractals entrusting it like breadcrumbs on fried chicken. There's a hand sticking out in the corner. Some bits of the company uniform are soaked black and crimson. The only thing I can recognize is the bright orange encircling it all-- that's the color they use for the cockpit seal of the S-Panzer. This one's been heavily damaged.

"So, what is it?"

"It's you, dumbass!"

I squint. There isn't any part that indicates it's me. Then again, I've never seen myself from the inside.

"Nobody thought you'd make it, but look at you, you're just dandy. You were a beast. Everyone's been talking about it. You know how hot it was in there? You shoulda been fried! Your arm was on by a thread but here you are, doin' just dandy!"

"Hmmm..."

"Whatsit?"

I tap the side of my face (I can't feel it, but I know the finger lands) "It's like a christmas tree... All the tinsel at Christmas..." Without thinking, my arm moves upwards to make circles around my head. A little halo of tinsel.

Marko takes a look at the mess and then back at me and squirks his mouth to the side in deep thought before laughing so loud it hurts my ears. He mimics my movement.

"Yeah," he barks "I sees it. Like a Christmas tree. Everyone, hear that? Birdy says 'e's like a Christmas tree!" There's laughter from all directions and it's like I'm in the cockpit again with the hands surrounding me and pulling me away, I open my mouth and I'm not sure what comes out but it's a sound that get lost in the air. The laughter stops and my mouth hangs open, but at that point there isn't anything left. I resume shoveling mash into my mouth as Marko continues to talk.
The enemy retreated, but they were caught and executed. I begin to think about Christmas. I guess everybody died. I wonder what I should buy for Christmas. There's nothing left on my plate. Marko helps me to my room. Something is burning bright in the hallway. It repeats:

this ain't over-

I'm laid out and I ask Marko to leave the light on, but he's already out the door.

🕊

There have been cases where wave radios release a transmission far too late. There have even been times when the transmission is released repeatedly, resulting in an echo that ends with a startling clip of static. Something in the machine holds onto the voice and ponders it, picks at it, folds it in on itself before sending it out to the receiver in little crackling packages. Over and over and over it goes until it stops, when all the presents are unwrapped. It doesn't happen often. I've never bothered to ask why.

A man in blue coveralls brings the radio up to his ear and shakes it before handing it off. Something there can be saved.

I'm bent over the railing watching a squad of engineers cannibalize the S-Panzer for parts. I can't see the number but I'm assuming that it's mine, and suddenly the grotesque image Marko showed me makes sense. The torso is dented at the top and blown out completely on the side, melted slightly from the heat it was put under. The metal plates on one of the legs are peeled up like a banana from the explosion. Everything is dotted in tiny holes. The elbow joints are completely busted so that the forearms are snapped backwards-- The pressure, I suspect, from crushing that enemy cockpit was too much. I don't think the guys upstairs will be happy about this, but I'm too doped up to follow that line of thought so I just continue ogling at the worker ants below.

Away from the rest of the rest of the workers is a lone engineer with the radio box in his hands, the innards hanging out from the bottom so that they nearly brush the top of his boots. He takes the box and shakes it, making a quizzical expression, and then shakes it again. It should be busted but I suspect he hears something. I watch as he taps the side with his gloved fingers.

There's nothing. But then it screams.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHH! AHHHHHH--

Everyone freezes and somebody drops something and curses at it clatters to the ground, one of the seniors marches up and yells as the perpetrator but it's all just babbling and confusion and sorries that get drowned out by the voice of the machine. The space of the workshop always felt so empty but now it's blasted through with something inhuman and it's getting very hard to breath.

As the senior readies his hammer I notice that I'm making my way down the stairs. I cannot feel my legs but I see they're moving, and I see my hand reach for the hand rail and miss. Something inside me disconnects. I can almost hear the metal rivets scraping.

My bandaged face meets the steps. The hammer comes down. The screaming is silenced with a loud metallic CRACK. It is quiet for a moment, even with the burning figure flickering among them.

"What're you standing around for?! Go help the man, goddammit!"

Time begins again. I want to get up by myself, but my arm bent at an awkward angle so I surrender myself once again to the crowd of hands. I'm lifted up, I'm cradled, I'm carried away carefully, and somewhere I'm counting the steps since the ritual has happened so many times. Something gets put in me. They ran away. Everybody died. I want to buy something nice for Christmas. I can't feel my body. The radio was full of silver tinsel. I crushed that man so he would stop trying to kill me. I hope he leaves the light on.

Over and over and over, until it stops.

Nobody saw the flickering man. And the flickering man says--

*2 -- quiet time

When I was a little kid, I had a cat named (can't remember right now) who I probably liked very much (I always liked animals) except she brought me a rabbit in her mouth with the neck twisted and screaming and I didn't know what to do.

I didn't know what to do because I always woke up to wind chimes and the grass outside was soft and I can't remember a moment where Dad spoke to me in anything louder than a whisper so when (it was a girl cat, but I don't know the name anymore) walked in with blood around the mouth, I just let my mouth hang open as the noise pushed in and out. I knelt on the floor (which creaked, the wood was old) (it was a good creak I liked it plenty) and held the rabbit a little bit away from me as the cat I can't remember very well looked at me like she was proud. But my Dad always told me that the scorpion stung the frog because that was in it's nature, it couldn't help it, that's just how God made His creatures. So I knelt on the floor until Dad came home repeating the phrase like charm.

"Good girl, good girl, good girl."

The cat didn't do anything wrong. The rabbit didn't do anything wrong. Good girl, good girl, good girl. I don't remember the name.

I guess you could say I've heard worse things since but before I clinked when I walked and ate more pills than bullets the sound of a living thing in pain was enough to make me cry. I grew up softly, without bruises or scars, and more often than not in tears.

My eyes snap open and there's a pressure in my temple like a pin being pressed, with a little cry like a rabbit all twisted up. My arm goes up but it falls out of the air-- There's a disconnect between the shoulder and bicep, the flesh melts into wire and the wire tangles with the bandages I need to change-- collapsing to my side with a defeated thunk. It's heavy all over. The cry swims in circles above me.

Wwwwrreeeeehhhhh! Wrrrreeeehhhh! Wwwwrrrreeehhhhhhh! Wwwwhree--

My left arm is normal. I sling it over my eyes, pushing out one pressure with another. It's wet. There aren't any tears.

⚙

"Marko."

"Hnngff."

Trying to keep my balance, I push the door open a little more with my shoulder (I can't feel that side anymore, I have to confirm visually that I've made contact before moving) so that the light pours in. In it is a sliver of Marko, shirtless but with his work pants still on, his arms tucked neatly around himself as he silently lays on top of the already-made sheets (grey-blue, standard-issue from the company, but he has nicer ones folded up somewhere else). His boots are thrown to the side and a tin catches light from under the bed. That's where he keeps his cigarettes. They're special ones he gets in the mail on holidays. They smell a little sweeter than the ones the base lets you buy.

"Marko, excuse me."

There isn't an answer at first but when my hand clunks against the door knob, his body shifts and he grunts.

"I want to go to the infirmary, please."

"Whatsit now?"

He says that as he twists on his side and there's the familiar sound of air being sucked through teeth. His hand goes to the dark where his face is, probably to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Aaaaaaaauuughhhhhh. Aw Birdy, don't get it on my floor, will ya? I just-- Well, I just cleaned up. I was havin' a good dream, you know... Tissues to the left."

I try to push back on the door before realizing that I'm locked in place, so I just stand blankly, the last of my responding muscles tensing up in an effort to hold it together. Marko sees this, stumbles over, shoves a snowball of tissues into my face and flops back down to wrestle his boots on. I stand, bleeding into my hand.

"I was havin' a good dream. A damn good dream."

"Aboud whad?" I ask through the bloody crumpled mess. My tongue is getting heavy too with the taste of pennies, so my voice falls out with a slow drawl.

"Y'know..." He raises an eyebrow. There's a chuckle. "Or actually, you wouldn't. You wouldn't appreciate the details. It's so sad, I could just cry!"

A grin peaks through the exhaustion and Marko finishes with his boots (feet in but the laces balled up and tucked under the heel) and doesn't falter when he sees one of the tissues I'm struggling to keep a hold on has fallen to his floor with a wet plop. My hands don't move and neither does my mouth but he pushes me out with a forceful hand and slings one of my useless arms over his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," He says. "Some things just can't be helped."

⚙

A tinny sound reverberates through the center of the room and through all the vials and paper and into the needle in my neck which I didn't really need because I can't feel it anyway. Esther insists upon it though, and replaces it with a puff of cotton before heading back to her work desk in a single clean movement. I told her once she'd make a good pilot and she agreed without missing a beat. But instead of boiling in a metal can all day she works with her shoulders hunched over her desk, looking over numbers I can't understand, tapping glass vials and ignoring the phone. I see the light on the receiver glow for less than a second before her finger comes down to squash it out of existence. Once again, fantastic reaction speed. She picks up a tray of delicate tools and begins dabbing at the spot behind my ear.

Marko is spinning around on one of the extra chairs, still shirtless (Esther doesn't care about these kinds of things). He winks at me for some reason. I wink back. It doesn't work, and my left eye is stuck closed. It's too heavy. Marko ends up wheezing in his seat.

"Hold still," Esther mumbles before stabbing a thin, hooked needle into a spot I can't see. She's always precise and speedy which I like, but when she gets close I get a little scared. She doesn't smell like anything. I've learned that the uniforms of this place have a scent, and the human body has a scent, but there isn't anything coming from her, not even a hint from her sensibly painted nails. I must've been moving because she holds me in place by the jaw.

She twists her wrist and the hook clicks something inside my ear. There's a low thrumming, like if you pressed your head to the ground and caught the sound of a train far away. Growing up, we had those around. In the night I heard the trains pass by.

"Auh, auuuh, auuuuuuhhhh."

"Hold your mouth shut."

Another click, and my arm completely loses feeling. The thrumming gets closer. The wires in my hands (I can't see them, but they're pretty complicated) (since they all got crushed last fight) go up my arm (I need to change the bandages) and they're bundled at a divot in the base of my skull. From the divot is a thrumming, but then the sound pours out and makes circles above my head. Reverberating in the air...

Esther pauses and twists her wrist a little. There's a rattle, like something comes loose. She strengthens her grip in an anticipation of what comes next--

--A shrill hell only I can hear--

Wwwwrreeeeehhhhh! Wrrrreeeehhhh! Wwwwrrrreeehhhhhhh! Wwwwhreeeeehhhh!

I press forward into her hand, clamping my mouth shut so nothing escapes. Esther's hand is iron around my jaw. The sound is making circles above us.

It's inside, it's outside, it's in the in-between where my skin meets muscle (sometimes it comes off, but I get new skin to put back on). My reconstructed hand feels the sharpness of the high notes more than anything else. Because when I held the rabbit, its coat was very soft--

(my dad came home and took the rabbit from my hands)
(he made the screaming stop)
(but it was soft and it was fast)
(and i still cant remember the name--)

The world is drowned in silence and white and with a shake of my neck, it comes back into color. The circling sound has been shot dead.

"Lean back," Esther commands. Her voice is muffled as if I'd just dodged an explosion and I'm still recovering from the blast. When I struggle to move, she pushes me back herself.

"All better," I sigh.

"One of your implants was knocked loose and your body tried to fight it off like an infection. It could've developed into toxic shock."

"Ahaha."

Esther glares at me just as Marko spins into view, looking exhilarated. He scoots up close (the chair catches on the floormat but his toothy smile never wavers) and squints to look at the place the hook went in.

"Man, that's nasty. Put some lotion on it."

"That will only further the infection." Esther is at her desk now, scribbling away with her head down. "I'll order a replacement, we can install it next week. You'll be sent a notice in the morning. I advise against panzer operation until..."

Her voice gets drowned out by nothingness. It must be the part she extracted (it's laying in a petri dish, glistening wet) since it was the thing that helped me after the explosion. Without it, things come and go. But I'm never scared at all. It's like a big blanket covering everything, like when I was a little kid. I close my eyes and let everyone else do the work.

"...Hey, Birdy."

Marko is close to my ear. He smells sharply like cigarettes.

"Hey Birdy, we'll getcha anything you want. Did you hear?"

"You sound like you're under the sheets."

"You're getting operation, Birdy. So we'll getcha anything you want. You want more of that cider? The one from New Years? How 'bout a girl?"

"I don't know. No girls."

"Fine, fine. No girls." He laughs. "Tell me whatcha want more than anything. Go ahead."

The words come out on instinct. "Christmas."

He groans. "Not Christmas. This guy, it's all he talks about. Something else, surprise me!"

My head lulls to the side and I try to come up with something good. Clearly Marko wants something good, or maybe he's just bored, I can't really tell anymore. If I wasn't so doped up all the time maybe I could see if the way he squeezes my arm really hurts or not. But for now, I have to think of something good.

"...If I had to say.... I guess my Dad?"

I measure the words carefully so each syllable comes out perfectly formed. But the reaction is just silence as Marko's eyes go wide and then it's all over with an earth-shattering laugh. Esther is unbothered until Marko explodes-- She keeps her composure, but her arms tense at her side with irritation. When Marko laughs, he takes the air out of the room.

"You-- Oh, you really get me-- Doc, give his head another look, alright? Really get in there this time, see if its all, what is it, see if it's tinsel."

"When I was a kid, I tried to eat tinsel."

"You're funny, you know that? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"His blood sugar is low," Says Esther. "And he's allergic to the material in the ear implant. Marko, be ready to pick him up next week. Make sure he's showered."

"Aw, but I'm busy..."

He complains, but we already know how it ends. I let myself fade out again. There's nothing more to do.

⚙

I know what happens next, because it has happened countless times--

--I am walked to my room (but carried halfway, because of the numbness)--

--I am laid on the bed (grey-blue standard issue blankets that I can't even feel)--

--With my eyes closed, I can sense that somebody is there. They stand and stare for who knows how long (I dont bother counting seconds anymore, since everything repeats anyways) before taking slow steps out, and I can get lost a little longer until I have to go back to work.

The lights are never turned on. The door is never closed. Eventually it gets quiet, just like it was before.

Comments

[rainyshinydays]

whoaa, these are super good...the short sentences that feel like bulleted lists and switching between topics is great, it has a chaotic feeling to it, perfectly portrays the racing thoughts. the s-panzers also sound very unsettling. im surprised anyone can pilot them. really good, your writing style is awesome!

[kalechipskid]

Thanky you rainy ^_^
I should write about the panzers properly some day. It's old, but it was fun.