Sasha awoke to a raging headache and dim memories of the night before. Opening her gummy eyes, she shifted awkwardly on the hard lump of a mattress and threw a bleary gaze at the eggshell blue walls. Why the hell did I let Klar get me wasted? I shoulda had more sense.

"S'pose I better get up," she said to the room. The sunlight filtering through the window blinds was barely reflected by her tired blue eyes. She worked up a yawn and hauled herself out of bed.

Balanced on skinny legs in the bathroom, she flexed her bony shoulder blades. Facing herself in the mirror, she groaned. Today they're gonna send me back to the cops lookin' like shit.

After showering and tugging on her clothes, she collapsed into an armchair and snoozed until she heard a knock on the door.

"What are you doing, Sasha?" Lois's voice called.

"Sleepin'," she mumbled. She stretched her arms and hooked them behind her neck. "Come in, why dontcha?"

Lois wrinkled her nose when she saw her. "Sasha, you look a bit... gaunt."

"I feel like crap, so what you see is what you get."

She pulled herself out of the chair and followed Lois into the hallway, her boots dragging along the carpeted floor. "Do I get any breakfast before I go?" 

"Of course, Sasha. It'll be at least half an hour before the police armo gets here."

She wriggled onto one of the stools beside the kitchen counter and dug into a bowl of cereal. Her head was throbbing, her eyes blurry, and her ears ringing. Klar came over from the couch, where he had been chatting with Lois, and sat next to her.

"You know, we don't have to send you back to the police, Sasha. If you agree to let us continue our research--"

"No!" She rubbed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. "After all you put me through, you think I want to stay here? A police cell's gonna be cozy compared to this place"

He studied her for a moment. "As a research subject, we can pay you."

"How much?"

He paused, his folded hands resting on the counter. "You can start at five hundred an hour."

She stopped eating and looked away, keeping her eyes wide to stop the tears from falling out. "Five hundred an hour?  How come I wasn't paid before?"

"You weren't as valuable then." His lips curled with the trace of a smile. 

Blinking back her tears, she finished her bowl and drained her mug of coffee. He raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"The answer's still no."

He sneaked a grin, and slid off the stool. "I thought you'd say that. If you change your mind, give us a call. We can get your murder charge reduced to 'accidental discharge of a firearm,' if you'll say yes."

She pushed her coffee mug away. Twisting her head, she looked at the two purple bots standing on either side of the door, quiet and still. They'll be my escort to the police armo.

Perched on her stool, she listened to Klar and Lois conversing on the couch. Klar was saying gangs of armed terrorists, whom Tyrone Jakes--his pronunciation--had allowed to use his mansion as a barracks, had attacked the Houses of Parliament and stormed Buckingham Palace. Lois offered her opinion that people who invaded important national buildings, wearing military uniforms and carrying assault rifles, should be rounded up and shot.

Attackin' the Houses of Parliament and takin' Buck House? Christ, I hope Nika wasn't with 'em.

Her head was nodding with tiredness. She put her hand on the counter to stop herself from slumping over, when a commotion at the door brought her back into focus. The two purple bots snapped to attention and advanced into the lounge. She looked out the window to see a police armo dropping toward the Catalysis complex.

Klar called from the couch. "It's time for you to leave, Sasha." She climbed off her stool.

Lois looked up and smiled. "Bye, Sasha. I hope they give you a cozy cell."

She let the two bot escorts steer her into the elevator and up to the top floor, where she slouched along the endless corridor with its bland, corporate artwork. She felt her guts quivering. When I'm in the cop shop they're gonna treat me like a terrorist cop killer. That fuckin' sergeant's gonna beat the shit out of me.

At the end of the hall one of the bots punched a small pad next to the door. The door opened and they stepped outside. A faint breeze was blowing as they crossed the flat gray roof toward the waiting armo. She sensed the two huge bots flanking her and marching in lockstep, their metallic faces void of expression.

One of the bots swung around to face his partner who lurched to a halt. She stopped and waited. The second bot seemed to be scowling, his eyelets blinking. The first bot had a familiar look and her stomach tingled.

"What have you stopped for?" the second bot said in a grinding voice.

In a quick movement the first bot slammed his fist, with a loud clunk, into the other's neck. The second bot pitched forward and fell to the ground.

"Run, Sasha, run!" The bot's voice was high-pitched and childlike.

"Pavel..? Pavlushka!"

She stared at his face. There was a strange, savage look in his eyelets.

Police bots were climbing out of the armo, parked fifty meters away. Adrenaline flooded her limbs. Launching herself into a limping sprint, she galloped across the tarmac. Huffing and puffing, her legs pumping, she shouted between rasping breaths: "Pavlushka, I'll never forget you!"

A glance behind her revealed Pavlushka grappling with two massive police bots. He was sacrificing himself to give her time to get away. Scanning the landing area as she ran, she spotted a fire escape ladder at the corner of the roof. Legs flashing, she raced toward it and flung herself over the railing. The iron rungs rattled as she stumbled down the side of the building, her body tense lest police bots were waiting for her. Sweat poured down her neck as the first of her boots scraped the ground.

 She started walking, moving as naturally as she could. Looking back at the building she had escaped, she felt a tightness in her throat. Pavlushka had given his robot life for her. Her back and legs throbbed with pain, but she was buoyed up by the memory of his selfless bravery.

The street she was tramping along was mostly empty. Cars were whizzing by, but no one paid attention to a pale teenage girl in camo fatigues striding down the sidewalk. Until someone did. She noticed the car mere seconds before it rattled to a halt a few meters ahead of her.

The car had a driver--a man with large curious eyes who leaned out his window, put two fingers inside his mouth, and gave a piercing whistle. A man sitting behind him yelled "Need a ride, love?"

What the fuck do these dudes want? As if I didn't know. 

She put on a frown. Four men were hunched inside the car.  

"Where're you goin'?" They all had shaved heads and were dressed in military uniforms.

"To fight in the revolution. You wanna come with us?"

Do I look like a revo?  Hell, I guess I do.

She shielded her eyes against the bright sunlight. Her skin prickled in the heat and her hair itched. She raked it with one hand. On impulse, she said, "D'you guys know someone called Tyrone Jacques?"

One of the men, a squashed fighter's nose on his face, broke into a smile. "Yeah, he's the one who recruited us down the pub. We're goin' to his place right now, 's matter of fact. Jump in."

She scratched the back of her neck. The heat beat down on her while she pondered what to do. I'm sweatin' like a pig. Maybe I can get a shower at Tyrone's place. 

"All right then. Shift up."

She climbed into the back, next to the one with the squashed nose. He cocked his head, his eyes twinkling.

"It's been a long time since I shagged a redhead."

"It's gonna be even longer," she shot back.

"Any chance we can speed it up?" he said, smirking. The others laughed.

She didn't respond.

They raced through streets that were largely deserted of people. The whole town looked desolate and bare. "Where is  everybody?" she asked.

"Out fightin' the purples, like us," the man beside squashed-nose, who had a broad flat face, growled. "Either that or hidin' in their little hovels."

She grunted. Listening to the mens' chatter, she felt strangely comforted. People 're takin' a stand at long last. Maybe Dean's murder wasn't in vain.

As they approached the walled driveway of Tyrone's mansion, she heard the report of a high-powered rifle. The bang was followed by another, then another. A stream of shots heralded their arrival.

"What's all the shootin' about?" she said. The men laughed.

"The place is under attack, love," the flat-faced man said. "The cops an' their purple bots are smashin' it up."

Passing through the gated entrance, she took in her surroundings. They rattled up the twisty driveway past rows of lofty trees. The driver was talking to someone over his radio. The radio squawked: "We're being attacked from the south end. Reinforcements required immediately."

The driver shut off the radio. "Now we know where to head for--Southend."

The men's laughter was drowned out by the barking of assault rifles. The air was thick with the scent of cordite.

The car screeched to a halt when they reached the courtyard and the men tumbled out. She climbed out last and gazed at the turreted gothic mansion she had first glimpsed on her day out with Dean. It was battle-scarred now. Bullet holes pockmarked the walls and the glass windows were mostly shattered. Splintered wood, twisted metal, and shards of broken glass lay strewn across her path.

Following the four shaved-heads, she crunched over the debris and staggered up the flight of steps. The entire entrance had been blown away and the oak-paneled door was hanging loose. One of the men shoved the sagging door open and led them inside. The room with the ceramic-tiled floor adorned with oriental carpets had been reduced to piles of rubble. Everything was coated with a layer of dust.

She noticed a trail of boot prints in the dust. "We better be careful. There's cops about."

"Maybe, or they could be our chaps." The man with the squashed nose opened the door leading to the high-ceilinged room, packed with Chinese artifacts in glass cabinets. He recoiled in horror. The remains of bullet-ridden, uniformed squaddies lay on the floor in heaps. Blood splattered the cabinets. She felt like retching. The stench of death hit her like a punch in the face.

"I can't get the stink out of my nose," flat-face said. Squashed-nose took off his army jacket and laid it over a corpse so heavily mutilated it was barely recognizable as human.

"They even took their rifles," the man with big curious eyes said.

"Fuck. That's the one thing we need--guns," smashed-nose added.

Guns. Oh shit, I forgot. I hid Dean's rifle upstairs. She flushed. "Guys, there's a rifle hidden in a closet upstairs."

Flat-face turned to her. "So you've been here before?"

"Yeah, I--" Her voice was muffled by the thud of an explosion. "Let me get the gun."

She led them up the carved wooden staircase that led to the bedrooms and found the room and the closet where she had hidden the rifle. She squinted into the darkness. The rifle was propped up in a corner.

"It looks different," flat-face said after she brought it into the light. "Does it fire armor-piercin' shells?"

She shook her head, her face brimming with a secret smile. "My last boyfriend made it. It sends out ultrasonic waves. They're more powerful than armor-piercin' shells. More deadly, cuz they're unstoppable."

"Yay!" flat-face screamed. "We'll turn them fuckin' bots into scrap iron."

She looked at them, frowning. "You guys don't have any weapons, then?"

"We've got one semtex grenade between the four of us, and that's it." The man who spoke had a long face like a horse.

Tingling with fear, she stared down at her rifle. If the bots attack us now, I'm the only one with a gun. She lifted the rifle and whispered the code words, then she hoisted the strap onto her shoulder. "Let's see if we can find some revos." 

They tramped past once-luxurious rooms that had been trashed and abandoned. After the horse-faced man found traces of metallic feet, they stopped. She swung her rifle into firing mode. Slowly and cautiously, they followed the faint trail in the dusty carpet.

She heard the sound of claws scraping the carpet, just before a four-legged mechanical hound bounded out one of the rooms. They all gave a start.

"Down, boy!" The robohound ignored the command from squashed-nose and lunged at his body, frothing and yelping, clawing at his camo fatigues.

She jammed the butt into her shoulder and put her finger in the trigger guard. She squeezed the trigger and the silver bundle of metal quit savaging squashed-nose and flopped onto its belly, pawing at the carpet in an effort to crawl away. After a few seconds it lay still. Horseface leaned over it, peering at its folded limbs.

"What is it?" squashed-nose asked.

"Looks like a 'detect-and-destroy' sniffer dog. Look, it's got two antennae on its snout."

Squashed-nose crouched on the trash-strewn floor next to horseface, studying the dead hound.  A silver streak darted out from a room at the end of the corridor, followed by another. They surged forward, narrowing the distance between them and the two men. Sighting her target down the barrel scope, she fired. The first vicious robohound tumbled over, forcing the one behind to leap over it. She caught it with her next shot and it dragged itself to a screeching halt.

"Look out!"

The two crouching men got up quickly, their short panicked breaths and muttered curses mingling with flat-face's warning cry.

A trio of long-limbed humanoid robots was approaching from around the corner. They reminded her of medieval knights in layers of shining armor and their synthetic faces wore human expressions. They marched steadily toward the group, rifles at the low ready, and their leader fixed his gaze on on her.

A bolt of terror shook her. She let go of the rifle and stumbled back. Her gun dangled from its strap. The leader's face was flickering with rage, his jaw clenched.

"Put up your hands," he said in a cultured accent.

His murderous stare paralyzed her and the hairs rose on the back of her neck. His eyes bulged in their sockets.

She was shoved roughly aside. "I'll handle this," horseface said. Signaling to her and the others to get as far away as possible, he yanked a grenade from his camo fatigues, primed it and pitched it toward the advancing humanoids.

The smooth expressions of the humanoid robots changed from confidence to dismay. They broke their stride and hoisted their rifles. An explosion of deafening sound shook the corridor and filled it with a dust cloud. Crouched down at the far end of the passage, her ears were clanging. Dust hung in the air as she got up and crept forward, holding her rifle in firing mode.

Squinting through the dust, she picked out the silvery glint of the felled leader, among a mass of twisted shards. Sighting her target, she moved toward the metallic heap with careful steps. "Not such a big shot now, are you?" she muttered. The broken humanoid lay half-buried under the shattered limbs and torsos of his comrades. He remained perfectly still.

Coughing and gagging, the four shaved-heads caught up with her. They stumbled to the end of the corridor and she turned to the others. "Where do we go now?"

The man with large curious eyes put a finger to his ear, activating his radio. "Hello...Chief? Reinforcements here."

A scratchy voice said: "Copy. Get your arses to the rose garden asap."

The man with curious eyes looked confused. "Where's the bleedin' rose garden?"

She gave an exhausted smile. "Follow me."

Platoon Leader Ahimsa and his staff lieutenant were hunkered down in the remains of the rose garden. The multitude of rose bushes had been cleared away and a tent set up. She pushed open the tent flap and led the four shaved-heads inside.

"We're the reinforcements...sir," she said hesitantly.

Ahimsa was studying the screen of a toody on his field table. He looked up and beamed.

"Great. Good that you're here--we need every fighter we can get. I see you have an assault rifle."

She looked down at her rifle, hanging from the strap on her shoulder. "It doesn't fire bullets." 

He gave a slight frown. "Can I see?"

She lifted the rifle and held it out to him. With a furrowed brow he examined the barrel, butt, and the breech with no clip. "This looks like Dean's old shooter." He stared at her in amazement. "You're Sasha, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she said with the hint of a smile. The look on Ahimsa's face made her realize he was a friend of Dean's. "Dean was my boyfriend."

His expression turned serious. "I'm sorry..."

"That's okay. Thanks."

"So you're Nika's sister. She's in a bit of bother right now."

"What happened?" She gave him a worried look.

"She and her squad need some help." He gestured to the four men, who stood shuffling their feet. "Perhaps you and your men could be their rescue team."

The shaved-heads snapped to attention. "We're ready, willing and able, sir," the one with the flat face said. He smirked at the others. "Sasha the redhead's our leader now. We better mind our manners." The other three men snickered.

She scowled at Ahimsa. "I'm not their leader. They just gave me a ride."

The shaved-heads convulsed in laughter. Ahimsa looked at them sternly. "This is a serious matter, men. One of our special ops squads is pinned down by enemy forces in a government ministry building in Whitehall. We need a rescue squad to get them out. You can expect incoming fire. Are you up for the job?"

"Yessir!" they yelled in unison. She nodded. "Yeah, definitely."

"How's my sister doin'?" she said quietly. 

"Okay so far, but she and her squad can't hold out much longer."

Leading her newly-formed squad, she clambered aboard a captured police armo waiting in the courtyard. They had been issued with semtex grenades and the four men each clutched an assault rifle. She laid her ULF rifle on her knees. They rose over the streets of North London, her heart beating faster than it had all day.

Don't let me mess up, Tinker. I'm a fighter, but I'm no leader. Help me get Nika out of danger.

"Don't wave that rifle near me," flat-face said to smashed-nose. "I don't want my fuckin' head shot off."

"The safety's on, you pikey," smashed-nose rasped.

"Shut the fuck up," horseface said. He was leaning against his rifle with his face pressed up to the window. "Christ, it's like a graveyard down there."

The captured police armo touched down in the middle of Parliament Square. She tumbled out with the four newly-recruited squaddies and they hurried across the green. They headed for Parliament Street, which connected to Whitehall and the building where Nika and her squad were trapped.

A raging battle had recently taken place and the green was strewn with bodies. Salvage bots were trundling around the wounded and the dead, collecting fallen weapons and other valuables.

To the north, where Whitehall was located, casualties were piled up around one of the imposing buildings. That place could be where Nika an' her squad are pinned down.

Smoke was rising from nearby buildings and she feared the worst. As they got closer, she noticed wounded civilians crawling along the sidewalk. Others were hobbling, and a few lay oozing blood on the pavement.

"What's goin' on?" she asked a hobbling woman.

The woman's clothes were stained with blood. "We were having a peaceful demo and the purples waded in and mashed us."

"Where did the purples go?"

"They stomped off after we dispersed. Then a government drone full of armed bots landed on that roof." The woman indicated the ministry building. "I think they were going after some revo soldiers."

She turned to her squad. "Okay, we're goin' in. Expect some nasty stuff."

She led the men up the steps to the building. Noticing the lock had been busted open, she tugged at the glass doors. Rifles at the ready, they crept down the dark hallway. The choking smell of cordite wafted through an office door that hung open.

She put a trembling finger in the trigger guard of her rifle and, carrying the gun on high ready, stepped inside the door. Cubicles, desks, and other office furniture were pockmarked and splintered. Holes were gouged into the polished floor. 

There's bin a gunfight here.

She wrinkled her nose. Merging with the odor of spent cartridges, the unmistakable stench of death seeped from the bullet-scarred cubicles. She signaled the men to fan out and move cautiously.

The metallic sound of a rifle being cocked stopped her in her tracks. Spinning around, she noticed a watching squaddy, his rifle at the high ready. Tall and skinny, he looked about seventeen and had pimples on his face.

Instinctively she blurted out: "Where's Nika?"

"She's wounded." He lowered his rifle.

"I'm her sister. Take me to her." 

She motioned her men to keep her covered. Led by the young squaddy, she tiptoed past empty cubicles to a secluded area at the back of the room. The squaddy pointed his rifle and she looked down at a figure lying on the floor. Stretched out on an army sleeping bag, Nika stared at the ceiling, her eyes red-rimmed and moist, her skin ashen.

Her face was smeared with dried tears. When she saw Sasha, she propped herself on one elbow and put on a smile.

She smiled back. "What happened to you?"

Nika tapped a hand on her torso. "A bot's steel-toed boot crunched my rib cage."

"You guys must've been in quite a fight." She gazed at her sister who looked like a typical army officer in her combat uniform, from her helmet to her stiff black boots.

"We were. I lost all my squad, except for Zach." The youthful squaddy stood at the ready, quiet and watchful. A frown flickered across her face. "How did you get here? And how did you manage to escape from the cops?"

She grimaced. "You don't wanna know... Anyway, can you get up? I think we better move. It's too dangerous here."

"Affirmative. Let's have a quick drink first." From one of her pockets, Nika pulled out a flask. "Shows how bad things are--I'm swigging brandy." She twisted off the lid and took a swill, then pressed the steel flask into her sister's fingers 

She lifted it to her mouth. "Hey, Sis, I swig brandy, too." She tipped it back. The alcohol hit her belly and she trembled. She took another nip, then returned the flask to Nika.

She let the alcohol work its way through her body and put down her rifle. Nika slowly pulled herself to her feet and began rolling up her sleeping bag. "Did you guys set out from Tyrone's mansion?"

"Yeah, but the place is wrecked. I met your platoon leader, though."

"Ahimsa? He's a nice guy." Her eyes were bright with recognition.

"He was a friend of Dean's, wasn't he? He knew about Dean's rifle."

Nika nodded. "Ahimsa told me Dean had made a rifle, though I didn't know he had a handgun. He said they discovered how the Egyptians carved limestone rock into building blocks using sound. Dean used physics to revive an ancient process."

Before she could respond, she heard a gruff voice behind her.

"Bots coming down the corridor. I can feel the floor vibrating." Squashed-nose was standing with his rifle swung into firing mode.

She listened for the tremors that indicated approaching bots. "I hear 'em. Get inside the cubes, men, and prepare to fire."

Aided by Zach, she helped Nika stumble inside the protective wall of a cubicle. Her stomach fluttered. A troop of armed purple robots marched through the door, shaking the dusty floor.

The massive bots stamped into the room and formed a line facing the cubes where the squaddies were crouched. A grinding voice announced: "We know where you are. Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands in the air."

The automated voice was about to speak again, when squashed-nose stepped out from behind his cubicle wall and pulled a grenade from the waistband of his camo. "Geronimo!" he yelled, rolling the grenade toward the nearest bot.

Immediately an arm extended forward and its clawed hand snapped open, catching the grenade. Trembling, she watched it lob the grenade back into the cube. The grenade exploded and she felt the blast sear the side of her face. She was thrown on the floor and the room seemed to tilt and shudder.

"We need to get out," she heard Nika whisper beside her. "There's a door at the back of the office."

Her eardrums throbbing, she rolled over and groped around for her rifle. More cubes were being attacked and the bots were moving in for the kill. Flat-face jumped out of his cube and fired at the first robot he saw. She heard the explosion of his rifle and saw the bullet bounce off the bot's chest. Flat-face was scooped up and hurled across the room. His rifle clattered to the ground. He dragged himself, groaning, back across the floor and collapsed at the bot's feet. The bot lifted his boot over flat-face's head. She closed her eyes.

"This is insane," she whispered to Nika. "Shootin' 'em with bullets is a waste of time."

"Welcome to the world of the robots," Nika replied faintly.

The bots were eliminating the squaddies one by one. She saw the wall of a cube shoved over. A clawed hand reached inside and plucked out horseface, who struggled in its iron fingers. She fumbled with her rifle as the iron fist squeezed the man's neck like a lump of dough. His eyes bulged and his mouth grinned in a rictus of agony as the air was forced out of his lungs. 

She managed to lift the rifle into firing mode. Then she felt a nudge in her ribs. Nika and Zach had packed away the sleeping bag. They were ready to evacuate. Shit, we have to leave the guys behind. We don't have no choice.

The bots completed their grisly work with a quiet, efficient whir, punctured only by the screams of their dying victims. Sick with horror, she shouldered the strap of her rifle and stumbled toward the rear exit. Her head was spinning and her stomach in turmoil. The entire room seemed to rotate. She pushed the back door, which swung on its hinges. In the sunshine everything was harsh, bright, and buzzing with life. Daylight washed over her. She blinked in the sudden glare, then caught sight of Nika hobbling on ahead supported by Zach.

"Where're we goin'?" she called.

Nika twisted her head and forced a smile. "Trafalgar Square seems as good a place as any."