The blue line passed so close Armand felt the heat on his neck.
Not metaphor. The Hunter-7 drone's plasma shot scorched the air centimeters from his jugular, leaving the stench of ozone and almost-burned skin. The Skyhauler lurched left—instinctive response, not calculated—scraping against a scrap metal wall. Sparks exploded. Metal shrieked like breaking bone.
"LOWER!" Lara shouted, pointing at the gap between two tower-barracks. Fingers gripping the dented panel, blue eyes fixed on the labyrinth ahead. "They can't fit through there!"
*Width: 2.3 meters. Skyhauler: 2.5 meters. Margin of error: -0.2 meters. Collision probability: 78%.*
Armand laughed. Short. Bitter.
"You giving orders to the sky now?"
He twisted the stick. Hard. The kind of move sensible mechanics never make with ancient levitators.
The vehicle cut through the alley like a rusted blade. The right side scraped the wall—*screech*—metal on metal singing a high note that made teeth vibrate. The left passed five centimeters from a stretched tarp where a family ate synthetic rations, pale faces ducking in panic.
Behind them, one Hunter-7 tried to follow. Wings folded. Engines adjusted.
Wasn't enough.
The drone collided with the light post. Distant explosion—*whump*—orange flash illuminating the alley for half a second. Debris raining like metallic hail.
*Five drones remaining. Fuel: 40%. Escape routes: 12 options, none good.*
"They're gonna fry us," Armand muttered. Sweaty hands on controls, jaw clenched. "But not today."
Lara leaned out the open window, wind whipping the loose blonde strands from her bun. "Left! Abandoned depot!"
He obeyed. The Skyhauler rolled in a barrel—stomach floating, world spinning—passing over a plank bridge that trembled under the weight of nothing. Wood creaking like final warning.
Children watched from torn windows. Dirty little faces pressed against glass, wide eyes reflecting the sparks from the sky. Mute witnesses to the nighttime madness, already learning that surviving means staying quiet.
Another shot. Blue line tearing through air. Missed by centimeters. Fried a clothesline—garments falling like defeat confetti, dirty fabrics spinning in hot wind.
"Close one!" Lara yelled. Hysterical laughter escaping, sharp as broken glass. "You flying this thing or fighting it?"
"Both." Armand dodged a crooked antenna. "Save the sarcasm for later!"
---
The junkyard appeared ahead. A cemetery of flying carcasses. Piles of rusted fuselages. Dead engines stacked like giant bones, air heavy with rust and dried oil.
*Almost there. Dense scrap. Pure interference for sensors.*
Armand tilted the Skyhauler down, diving between the metal piles. Air itching with metallic dust, each breath scraping the throat.
But fate had other plans.
---
A shot came low. Precise.
The Hunter-7 leader's cannon locking perfect on the Skyhauler's right flank.
The blue line hit the rear levitator. Direct hit on the core.
**BOOM.**
Muffled explosion. Metal tearing. The vehicle spun wild—like a drunken top, world becoming blur of lights and shadows.
"HOLD ON!" Armand screamed. Fighting the stick. But control was gone, air filling with black smoke and smell of burning rubber.
They fell. Spiraling. Scraping against a pile of broken wings—secondary impact rattling teeth.
The final hit. Metal against metal. Scream of dying gears, echoing like last breath.
Silence.
Just the crackle of sparks. And the distant echo of drones circling, buzz becoming victorious growl.
---
The Skyhauler died with a final groan. Twisted metal smoking in the junkyard, smell of melted plastic mixing with sweat.
Armand blinked. World spinning slowly. Pain throbbing in scraped arms. Knees. A shallow cut on his forehead dripping hot blood, salty in his mouth.
*Nothing broken. Thanks to cheap nanites.*
Lara coughed dust. Scraped shoulders. Thin cuts on forearms where nails dug in the earlier fight. Legs trembling but firm, muscles tense like stretched cables.
She stood first. Blue eyes sweeping the chaos, air loaded with dust sticking to skin like wet sand.
"Get up. They're coming."
Armand nodded. Head dizzy. But instinct screamed louder than pain.
---
A low buzz arose. Not from drones.
**From the ground.**
Heavy. Mechanical, like gears grinding in a bad dream.
Vorath patrol robots. Rusty humanoids, but lethal. Arms with cutting claws. Crimson sensors blinking to life, cold light cutting through dust.
The first emerged between scrap piles. Two-meter structure. Faded corp logo on chest, like old scar.
Armand rolled to the side. Hand groping the ground, fingers sinking into metallic dirt. Found a twisted iron bar. Heavy. Serrated edges, sharp as accumulated rage.
"This way!" he grunted. Standing like a blur, world still spinning.
The robot locked on him. Arm raising to crush. But Armand spun. Bar hitting the mechanical knee with a crack, black oil spurting like synthetic blood.
Sparks flew. The monster staggered. Almost fell, grinding of joints echoing like muffled scream.
Lara kicked the robot's flank. Muscular legs propelling, impact reverberating in humid air. "Run! Don't stop!"
They bolted. Feet splashing metallic dust. The junkyard a labyrinth of carcasses, piles of fuselages like silent tombs, air thick with rust scraping throats.
Behind, more buzzes. **Three robots now.** Emerging from shadows, joining the hunt. Sensors locking on fugitives, lights cutting darkness like knives.
"To the building!" Armand gasped. Pointing at the horizon. An abandoned Vorath tower. Cracked concrete skeleton. Now favela refuge. Windows covered with tarps. Graffiti screaming rebellion, smell of old smoke rising like warning.
---
They jumped a wire fence. New cuts on arms. Blood mixing with grease, hot and sticky on skin.
The first robot caught up to them. Claw reaching for Lara. She rolled. Armand spun the bar. Hit the neck. Mechanical head flew—synthetic scream echoing brief, like electronic whisper. Body falling with thud, dust rising in cloud.
"One less!" she snarled. Fierce smile despite pain, white teeth in darkness.
Building door wide open. Internal stairs spiraling up. Corridors echoing footsteps, air inside moldy from years of neglect.
They entered. Gate slamming behind.
But the robots didn't stop. **Two now.** Climbing the facade like iron spiders, claws scraping concrete like nails on chalkboard.
---
They climbed. Step by step. Lungs burning. Scrapes burning like fire, salty sweat in cuts like salt on wound.
On the third floor, a robot appeared on the landing. Crimson visors locking. Arm with spinning saw, buzz becoming hungry snarl.
Armand jumped. Bar against saw. Metal screaming metal, sparks dancing. He pushed. Lara kicked the monster's back. Imbalance. Robot falling down stairs. Echo of collision, like cracked bell.
"Keep going!" she screamed. Hand on his arm. Mutual support, cold fingers on hot skin.
Fourth floor. Another robot blocking. Claw snapping. Bloody lights blinking, oil leaking.
Lara grabbed a loose pipe piece. "I got this one!"
Hit the eye sensor. Glass shattering. Armand finished with bar to chest. Circuit frying—blue sparks dancing like wandering fireflies, smell of burned circuitry rising.
They gasped. Bodies aching. But alive. Climbing more, air becoming thinner, as if building swallowed oxygen.
---
The building pulsed with hidden life. Whispers of residents in corners. Curious eyes in shadows. Improvised refuge. Crate beds. Cold bonfires, smell of extinguished charcoal mixing with sweat.
Fifth floor. Almost at top. Cleaner air. Wind howling through broken windows, carrying dust like ghosts.
Then, a strange sound cut the silence.
Not from robots. Not from shots.
**An old melody. Cracked.**
Coming from a dark corner.
A record player. **Relic from last century.** Cracked vinyl records spinning slowly. Needle scratching grooves, crackling like rain on old tin.
Deep notes echoing in stairs like ghostly hymn. Precious. Unexpected. As if building breathed forbidden history, breath of world before towers.
Armand stopped. Honey eyes widening.
He knew this song.
*"Where is my mind? Where is my mind?"*
Pixies. Old band. From 20th century, when world still had countries and borders and choices.
An old man who gave him food in childhood loved this song. White hair, hands trembling from radiation, but always smiling. Said it was **the anthem of world's end**. That when everything broke for good, this would be the soundtrack.
Armand was seven. Didn't understand.
Now, at twenty-five...
*Still doesn't understand. But feels.*
"Someone's playing... vinyl records? **Here?**" Voice came hoarse.
Lara pulled him. "Later. Run."
The melody followed. Deep notes rising like smoke. Like omen that didn't have a name yet.
---
They climbed more. Sixth, seventh, eighth floor. Legs burning.
The old music echoed behind. Stubborn.
Ninth floor. A robot climbed through side window. Claw digging into concrete. Crimson visors locking on them.
Lara spun the pipe. Hit the arm. Metal grinding. Armand came from behind. Bar to skull. Shards flying.
"We're almost there, don't give up!" he grunted. Blood from forehead dripping in eye. Blinked. Pain ignored.
Tenth. Last flight. Wind howling strong through cracks.
Rooftop door wide open. They exploded outside. Flat cracked concrete roof. Crooked antennas like accusing fingers, strong wind whipping torn clothes.
---
Open night. Stars dirty from pollution. Favela stretching below like map of pulsing veins, lights blinking like weak heartbeats.
Armand stopped at edge. Gasping. Bar hanging at side. Looked around.
**Drones.** Hunter-7s circling the top. Red lights blinking like malignant stars. Five. Six. Cannons locked, buzz becoming death choir.
Below, **robots** climbing facade. Claws digging. Bloody lights rising like killer fireflies. Three more. Four.
**Surrounded.** No gap. Wind carrying buzz like sentence.
Lara leaned against rusty chimney. Pipe falling from trembling hands. Blue eyes sweeping the siege.
"Shit," she muttered. Hoarse voice. "They cornered us. No way out."
Armand gripped the bar. Muscles tensing.
*It was fun while it lasted.*
"Great ending to the night," he spat. Crooked smile. "At least we die with a view. Better than being raped in an alley, right?"
She snorted. Black laughter escaping. "Romantic. You always save girls to fry together later?"
"Always. It's my specialty."
The drones descended lower. Cannons glowing. Robots reaching the edge. Claws snapping.
---
Then... **it happened**.
It wasn't gradual.
It was **instantaneous**.
Like someone had flipped a master switch on the universe.
---
**Pulse.**
Not sound. Not light. Not pressure.
**Pure absence.**
A wave of **nothing** exploded from the horizon—not from one point, from **everywhere**—sweeping reality like cosmic blackout.
The air didn't change. **Stopped.**
For one eternal nanosecond, everything froze. Sound, movement, time.
Then...
---
**The drones died.**
Didn't explode. Didn't fall slowly.
**Went out.**
Like blown candles. Engines cutting mid-buzz. Red lights blinking once—then **nothing**.
Six war machines plummeted from sky like dead stones. Hitting concrete below with muffled crashes, echoing like cracked bells.
The robots on facade **froze**. Claws stopping mid-movement. Sensors going dark—red becoming black.
One fell. Rigid body hitting each floor. *Clang. Clang. Clang.* Until exploding on ground.
Another. Then another.
**Silence.**
Armand and Lara stood still. Gasping. Eyes wide.
*What just happened?*
---
All around, chaos exploded.
But it wasn't battle chaos.
It was **mass death** chaos.
Below, floating buses tumbled. Engines cutting in air. Plummeting with screaming passengers, distant impacts shaking ground.
Flying cars careening. Colliding into towers. Orange explosions lighting night like apocalyptic fireworks.
Luxury sedans, cargo trucks, flying bikes—**everything falling**.
The Vorath tower—that giant shadow that always dominated horizon—**went dark**. Lights dying floor by floor. Darkness swallowing corporate fortress like hungry mouth.
Fire outbreaks sprouting where machines collided. Flames licking shattered glass.
The entire favela—once lit by stolen solar panels and blinking LEDs—plunged into darkness.
Only fire remained. And screams.
**Human screams.**
Not from machines. From people. Thousands of voices rising in raw panic.
---
Armand dropped the bar. It fell on concrete with metallic *clang*.
"What... the fuck... was that?" Voice came hoarse. Trembling.
Lara didn't answer. Because she didn't know.
They stood there. Catatonic. Eyes fixed on scene.
The mechanical world had died in an instant.
And something **worse** was being born in its place.
---
Then, in post-apocalyptic silence, the music returned.
Louder now. As if machines' death had freed space for organic sound.
*"Where is my mind? Where is my mind? Where is my mind?"*
The record player downstairs still played. Analog. Pure mechanical. No electronics to die.
Armand swallowed hard.
"Now I remember... an old man who gave me food in childhood loved this song."
Pause.
"Said it was **the anthem of world's end**."
The melody danced in hot wind of distant fire.
Lara reached out.
Found his hand.
Squeezed tight.
Said nothing.
Because there were no words.
The world had ended.
And they were alive to see it.
But for how long?
---
**END OF CHAPTER 2**