《Life Engine DIESEL PUNK》


 Chapter 1 - ARC 1 Life Engine Starts

    Red fills Reed''s vision. An older woman waves signs, pointing people to their exits. She has grey hair, and the veins on her body are pronounced. Her Life Engine gives off a light blue glow that coats one of her arms. Reed always preferred the light from the Ryerson-engine, it contrasted nicely with the eyes of its users. Those purple, hazy eyes had been terrifying at first when people started getting them. Many of his friends had adopted engines for work, but he¡¯d always believed them to be blasphemous. The Old Testament said we were created in God''s image.


    Still, he had to admit the new church''s teachings were convincing. They preached that these engines were a gift to humanity. Before he could ponder further, he was called forward as they shuffled people into the bunker.


    Finding his usual spot in the bunker, he could hear the low whisperings between people. Most were speculating on when this incursion would end. A few whispered to their own about who might be invading this time. Many people, including Reed, had found the leaked data about the creatures invading Earth. The creatures were just as, if not more, intelligent than humans. This too was an unholy line of thought, but it felt natural. Why else would humanity always be on the backfoot? It reminded him of grand stories he¡¯d heard of the old Europeans invading the Americas. But back then, they were doing what God intended, spreading His ways. These creatures were not.


    Reed tried to listen in on a conversation about the latest Inkwell-engine design, but he kept getting distracted by the noises outside. Everyone seemed so at ease nowadays with all the gunfire and the rattling of engines. He remembered when the first Life Engine had whirred to life. He¡¯d gone with the men of his church, all of whom had reserved seats to witness its first ignition. They had bought their seats to snub their noses at the nonbelievers who didn¡¯t believe salvation would come. Those people, he believed, would never make it to heaven.


    Now, he was admiring the eyes of someone using the very engine he had dismissed so many years ago. That first engine had been loud, extremely primitive, but it made sense. The combustion engine still felt new to Reed, even though it had been sixty-some years since it debuted (if his memory served him right, which it didn¡¯t always). The engine they demonstrated back then was so different from the ones he and his father had worked on. His dad, an automotive expert, insisted Reed learn the trade, claiming combustion engines were the future.


    _Oh, how wrong you were, Dad,_ Reed often thought, especially after that first Life Engine roared to life. The engines shared similar technologies, but the key difference was the fuel, and the force it could provide. That first Life Engine wasn¡¯t optimized, it still used outdated tech and only lasted a few cycle turns before blowing up. But the power it released was out of this world.


    The engines Reed could hear outside were still loud, but those were combat engines. Reed wasn¡¯t privy to their names or the tech behind them, but he remembered them as absolute machines. The one outside sounded like it was misfiring, an old-world automotive term, though many such terms had carried over. Reed liked keeping up with tech, even if part of him detested it.


    The misfiring engine¡¯s hum grew louder. It began to sound less like a hum and more like the roars he¡¯d heard before. He couldn¡¯t tell if this was due to proximity or some other unknown tech. At first, Reed stood to investigate, pressing his ear against the wall. Others in the bunker gave him strange looks. He knew how poorly non-believers were viewed these days. Everyone had put their faith into the men and women who powered these machines.


    But he knew better. He had seen what those machines produced, not just as byproducts, but what they made of the people who wielded them.


    The engine¡¯s offbeat thrum reached a crescendo, loud enough that everyone began listening. It felt close, _too_ close. Dust shook from the walls as they vibrated, and the whole building felt unstable. To Reed¡¯s left, a mother cradled her children, who showed no fear. No, they had been properly conditioned to believe in those out there fighting. The schools ensured faith in humanity and in the engines they wielded. Only the older generation, those born before the engines, still had doubts.


    As the dust thickened and cracks formed along the walls, Reed¡¯s palms began to sweat. This wall was all that stood between them and whatever battle raged outside. The moment the wall started to give way and crumble, Reed looked around, and realized a little too late that he was the only one still standing close. Everyone else, including the mother and her children, had either run or huddled near the far wall.


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    Everyone, save one child. The same child who had shown no fear of the battle. Reed saw the child¡¯s mother curled on the ground, unaware her child had wandered off. Yet the child now stood beside Reed, smiling up at him, as Reed frowned down.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, mister! The Iron Hearts always prevail!¡± the kid shouted over the roar of the engines. He yelled like he needed to hear it, even if it came from himself.


    Reed suddenly felt a strange respect for the kid. He didn¡¯t seem to blindly believe in the engine wielders, or ¡°Iron Hearts,¡± as he called them. He was simply trying to have faith.


    The dust finally settled. Just Reed and the nameless child remained by the shattered wall. Together, they got the first glimpse of the Iron Heart lying on the ground. It seemed his Life Engine had taken the brunt of the impact. He appeared only lightly injured, but his skin had turned a sickly pale.


    The other figure, his opponent, stood about twenty paces away, unmoving. Then, the man croaked:


    ¡°That Kyrian¡­ it won¡¯t attack you. Don¡¯t worry. It¡¯s only after specific blood types.¡± The man wheezed as he tried to rise. As he moved, his engine whirred back to life, and more color drained from his body.


    ¡°Just move away. Run to the next nearest exit. Backup will come. Don¡¯t worry.¡±


    Reed was stunned. This man was a true hero. He felt shame, shame for having once turned his nose up at those who wielded these engines. And then it hit him, he was standing so close to one. A combat-class engine. For the first time.


    His awe shattered at the sound of footsteps. Two sets. One, the slow, methodical steps of the Kyrian. The other came from right beside him. The child.


    The boy approached the Iron Heart. Before Reed could stop him, the kid was already on his tiptoes, trying to place his arm into a compartment labeled **SPARE**. Before Reed could piece together what it meant, the man groaned:


    ¡°Your blood won¡¯t work, kid! Get back inside, now!¡± The Iron Heart now genuinely feared for the child¡¯s life.


    But the kid just mumbled, ¡°I already took the test. I was born with sundered blood. I _know_ this will work.¡±


    The man''s face lit up slightly, some color returning. His blood was being spared, replaced by the kid¡¯s. The engine roared out of sync, but it roared nonetheless.


    ¡°If you¡¯re gonna be so brave, then what excuse do I have to stand back?¡± Reed stepped forward and began checking the engine like he¡¯d seen done before. He quickly located the equivalents of spark plugs and injectors. One plug was loose. He tightened it and sealed the fuel injector near the spare-hand hole, moved the kid¡¯s hand aside, and inserted his own.


    He had long known his blood was compatible. Everyone took the test. Most, after testing positive, adopted a civilian-class engine for work. Not Reed. He¡¯d never wanted one.


    But now, in this moment, he couldn¡¯t let a child be braver than him.


    The familiar pinpricks pierced his hand, needles from every direction. He felt his strength drain. And then, almost on cue, the engine roared with new ferocity. The fix helped, but even Reed could tell this machine was on its last legs.


    With a low hum, the engine hit a rhythm. The man stood fully now, distressed but grateful.


    Reed walked the child back into the bunker. That was the extent of their help. Now came the front-row seat to the battle.


    The Kyrian, seemingly satisfied with the Iron Heart¡¯s recovery, picked up its pace. Once in range, it lifted its arm. Its cloak slipped, revealing a twisted form, an arm shaped like a drill. It began to turn slowly, then accelerated as it fell toward the Iron Heart.


    The man focused. Reed saw gears shift on his body. A red glow pulsed through tubes along his limbs. His legs moved. Pistons fired. The man vanished from the drill¡¯s path.


    With a gloved fist pulled back, Reed noticed a smaller engine on the man¡¯s arm feeding off the larger one, converting power into pure momentum. Something at his elbow glowed red as the fist rocketed forward.


    The fight moved too fast for Reed to follow. Even after the repairs, the Kyrian had the upper hand. It moved with equal speed and wielded its drill effortlessly.


    Eventually, the Kyrian seemed to lose interest. It tucked its arm away and simply walked off. The Iron Heart let it go, he was on the brink. Then, as the Kyrian vanished around the corner, six more Iron Hearts arrived. Some glowed red, others yellow, and one deep blue, not the light blue Reed had seen earlier.


    All six panted, despite their powerful engines. Some looked nervous.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the Kyrian?¡± the first Iron Heart asked.


    After a pause, the original finally responded, ¡°Sir Leon, sir!¡± His faint yellow hues flared back to life.


    ¡°It must¡¯ve sensed you. All those engines, and a boiler, no less.¡± He nodded toward the one with the deep blue hue and sighed. ¡°Good thing you came. This was almost a disaster. Shame we couldn¡¯t take it down. Kyrian parts are worth their weight in gold, more when intact. But... it¡¯s for the best.¡±


    The seven Iron Hearts, some of them women, to Reed¡¯s surprise, though he¡¯d heard of female Iron Hearts, talked among themselves casually, dropping their pretense.


    Then Leon turned and looked at Reed and the child.


    ¡°And what to do with _you_ two?¡±

 Chapter 2 - ARC 1 Life Engine Starts

    Despite Leon''s interest in them, they were both let out of the bunker and given permission to return, the child to his mom, and Reed back to his home. Reed recalled how the boy¡¯s mother didn¡¯t even seem to register her son having left her sight, her jaw was simply shaking as she lay on the ground in the bunker, her eyes at some point after the fight having rolled back. Through her trembling jaw, she kept mumbling that a creature, a nasty, disgusting creature, was coming for her and for what she had done. Reed felt angry. This woman had simply abandoned her son. Yes, the child had been the bravest of them all, but his mother should have been with him despite his actions.


    Waiting for some kind of change in his day-to-day life, Reed continued as he had before. The iron-hearted and, from what Reed gathered, military man Leon seemed to want something from him. But he couldn''t wait in his house forever. Putting on his work boots, a pair that went nearly to his knees, he zipped up his jumpsuit and got into his car. The car had once been his prized possession, and still was, but now it was seen by many as a hindrance, a relic of a time gone by. Starting it up, the roll of the engine and the familiar vibration felt comforting to him.


    After the car had warmed up, he slipped it into first gear, rolling down his driveway. Micro-class powered cars filled his vision. The cars weaved easily around each other, no car jerked from poorly switched gears or suffered from badly designed engines. No, these cars drove smoothly, all of them using very similar technology, a tiny life-engine. You could never be too careful when it came to a life-engine.


    They were powered by a new fuel source, a weak one. Human-sundered blood would have still been too powerful. No, this fuel came from other means, a disgusting experiment they had done. Thinking of these things gave him an awful feeling. His own car had drawbacks, of course, its fuel was becoming more and more rare. He had to stock and carry it in his trunk, as there were no fueling stations anymore, only large tankers you could buy from. These tankers were meant for old-world technology not yet converted, but Reed had modified his engine to run on this fuel.


    Finally arriving at his location, he stepped out of the car. The sun shone down, and the old metal bones scattered across the yard reflected the light. Rows and rows of pipes, tubing, and everything else that came with it stretched out before him. It seemed every car had a puddle that accompanied it, the smell of oil so strong you couldn¡¯t escape it.


    The yard didn¡¯t just hold rust. An off-white door with an ornate handle lay to his left, and to his right, his prized piece of junk, the front body of an old warplane. Its engine machinery was still intact, eight evenly spaced pistons all powering a single arm in the center. This place felt truly peaceful to Reed. He could never accomplish his father''s goal of becoming a professional mechanic, but he watched over their graves. His father''s wasn¡¯t far from here.


    The rest of the day had been mundane. He owned the yard, but there were still tasks to complete. He was given lists of parts different companies wanted, amounts of metals others requested, and a backlog of machines that needed destroying. Alongside this, he had his own personal machines that he fixed simply for fun. Completing his work always felt rewarding. The final piece of the puzzle was putting the chain on the fence and closing up.


    But before peace could come to him, he noticed the car parked outside the yard. It wasn¡¯t a car, at least not in the new sense. Those things might have been smooth rides, cheaply fueled, but their emissions were disgusting. Many called them Scorchers, due to how they looked like they were burning the ground. But in reality, it was just soot being funneled downward, meant to be cleaned by special trucks.


    This car though, Reed knew it. A famous car. The Thunderbird.


    The man leaning against it was none other than Leon. Looking very pleased with his entrance, he removed his sunglasses. Reed could tell Leon regretted that as soon as he did, it was blistering hot.


    ¡°The sun is really getting hot out here,¡± Leon said, squinting.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you bring one of those cars here?¡± Reed pointed to the Firebird. ¡°We both know that technology is dead.¡±


    These words hurt Reed to admit, but while he disliked those engines, he couldn¡¯t run from the truth.


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    Leon laughed. It took him a while to stop. He asked:


    ¡°Then can you explain what that is doing here?¡±


    He pointed to Reed¡¯s car. Before Reed could say anything, Leon continued.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get it confused. Just because I¡¯m Iron Heart doesn¡¯t mean I supported swapping every machine over to a life engine. In fact, with the knowledge I have, I¡¯m probably one of the biggest advocates against converting everything. We barely understand these things. And even on the surface, we can all see the disgusting emissions they produce.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you wear one? Why¡¯s it still bolted into your skin?¡± Reed¡¯s eyes scanned Leon¡¯s body. The coat tried to cover the metallic shapes peeking out underneath.


    ¡°Because, while I¡¯m able to not love these machines like many do, I can understand them. They were our only chance. The enemy wields machines even stronger, even more deadly. Finding this technology after the first incursion was our only hope of surviving it.¡±


    Reed pondered the answer. The fighting was closer than he had imagined. He¡¯d assumed humanity adopted the technology quickly out of convenience. But in reality, it seemed the initial decision had been one of desperation. Reed wanted to learn more about what happened during the first incursion. He held himself back from asking. The man clearly came here with intent, and Reed figured it was better to seem disinterested than eager, not that he was good with politics anyway.


    ¡°Can I ask what¡¯s different about the enemies? I saw that thing you called a Kyrian¡ªits arm seemed to be the machined part. And it just looked like a drill.¡±


    Leon just smiled.


    ¡°While I¡¯d enjoy talking more about this with you¡­ for one, that¡¯s extremely classified. And two, I came here with a reason.¡±


    Reed figured as much. He read the news: ¡°Two Iron Hearts dead at the scene,¡± ¡°Incursions coming more frequently.¡±


    Leon¡¯s face straightened.


    ¡°We want you to join the Iron Hearts.¡±


    The jovial nature vanished, replaced by calm seriousness.


    ¡°I figured you¡¯d say that. But¡­ can I ask why? My bravery was second to a child¡¯s, and it¡¯s not like I have any special training.¡±


    Leon shook his head.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t want you because you acted like some hero. We wanted you because you showed some courage, and you demonstrated an exceptional ability to fix machines. We need someone like you on the frontlines. When one of us goes down, we need someone who can help. Otherwise, we¡¯re just sitting ducks.¡±


    It finally clicked for Reed. No one was there on the battlefield as a mechanic. His kind was becoming rarer, especially with the advent of life engines.


    He began to think it over. The idea of helping people on the battlefield, and in turn, helping the innocent people relying on them, appealed to him. One of God¡¯s teachings was to help those in need. But he knew what that came with.


    He had only briefly been deployed during the last war, one of the last sent out before the atomic drop that caused the Sundering. Afterwards, both sides quickly finished negotiations. The Allies, having clearly won, still made quick work of peace talks. Nothing brings countries together like an outside enemy. Even so, he heard the gunfire. He felt the tremors of bombs dropping. He knew the feeling of sleeping in barracks, not knowing which of his friends would come back alive from the last battle.


    The brief time he was on the frontlines, the stench was what took him out. Rotting bodies. It wasn¡¯t something he yearned to see again.


    ¡°I know that look,¡± Leon said. ¡°I made the same one when they asked me to join back.¡±


    The idea of watching friends die around you.


    Reed snapped out of his thoughts and looked more closely at Leon. The man seemed just a bit younger than him, but old enough to have been sent out himself.


    ¡°How early were you sent out?¡± Reed asked.


    ¡°One of the first waves. Back when they promised it¡¯d be over by Christmas. When it was just supposed to be a vacation overseas.¡± He paused. ¡°I was just lucky, lucky enough to live that long. Friends I cared about died¡­¡±


    His sentence ended abruptly. But Leon never lost his smile as he said it.


    Reed tried to read past the smile, but it seemed that was all there was.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to think about it. It¡¯s a big decision. And I hope you know¡­ I despise those machines.¡±


    ¡°If you want, you don¡¯t have to wear one. We can keep you on the backlines, just ready for repairs.¡±


    Reed considered it, but before he could dwell much longer, Leon cleared his throat.


    ¡°I hate to say this¡ªbut this was less of a request and more of a polite informing. You¡¯ve been conscripted. We can¡¯t afford not to have someone like you. The battles have become more dangerous, and frankly speaking, it would be a waste to give someone like you the choice.¡±


    He sighed.


    ¡°That¡¯s the military¡¯s sentiment. And honestly? I agree. I¡¯d rather force you to do this than lose another friend.¡±


    Reed took it all in. His thoughts jumbled. This conversation had gone from a polite offer to a death sentence at his doorstep.


    ¡°I understand your hesitation. You can go home. We¡¯ll return for you in a few days.¡±


    Reed¡¯s heart thumped. He didn¡¯t know what to make of it. But he knew if he went home, he was going to hide. He wanted to be brave truly but he was afraid.


    ¡°No. Let¡¯s go now. I¡¯ll follow behind your car. If I¡¯m gonna do this, I may as well face it head-on.¡±