Page 92 of Runaway Magic
Thinking was certain death. Training was all.
He sliced, stabbed, kicked, spun, thrashed, cut, disemboweled—the bodies piled up around him until he couldn't breathe.
He was failing, failing. Must keep going no matter what.
An unending wave of death and destruction rushed over him. He’d keep going, he’d never stop. Stopping meant losing. Losing was not an option. Swing, slice, kick, stab, slash.
Pain. Ignore. Keep going. Never stop. Never. Stop. Protecting. Him.
“You can stop now.”
Behind him.
Somehow, they got behind him.
He had to stop them.
Fourteen spun, bringing his full weight to bear on the enemy behind him and stopped his blade an inch from Jack’s throat.
“Fourteen. Buddy. It’s over.” Jack reached out a careful hand to push the glimmering blade away from his neck. “It’s okay. You got them. You got them all. You can stop now.”
Blink.
Cold reigned inside Fourteen’s mind. Why did he stop? What could have induced him to stop his swing at the last moment? Who was the man in front of him? His conditioning gripped him tighter, demanding he finish what he started.
Jack’s hand went to Fourteen’s shoulder, but still didn’t touch him. “This isn’t you. Don’t let them do this to you. Come back. Come back, man.”
A shudder swept through Fourteen’s frame, and he closed his eyes.
Weakness,the Cold insisted. It wanted him to kill his way out of the situation and continue to his goal. He didn’t need anyone else to finish his mission. He was trained from the start to rely only on himself, or, if absolutely necessary, Company operatives, and there were none of those at hand.
The hand hovering over his shoulder radiated heat, bringing Fourteen back to his body. He opened his eyes, and his gore-covered hand caught his attention. It was clenched around his weapon. He felt completely disconnected from it. What was it going to do next? Would it try to kill his new comrades again? Would he be able to stop it?
“This was done to you, Fourteen. This isn’t you. You can control this, I know it.” Jack’s voice was calm and low. His hand lowered slowly. So slowly. Fourteen could pull away easily if he wanted to. Any contact would be his choice, and Jack made sure he knew it.
Fourteen held still and allowed it to happen.
He concentrated on the sensation of Jack’s hand on his shoulder, trying to bring awareness to the rest of his body. He realized he wasn’t breathing and released a slow, shuddering breath. Inch by inch, his body came back under his control, and finger by finger, he pried his hand away from the weapon. It seemed an eternity before he heard the clatter it made as it hit the pavement.
Panting, Fourteen said, “Is the demon dead?”
“I think everything around us is dead right now.” Adelle’s dry voice came from behind Jack. She pointed to his right. The pile of unconscious bodies had become a gruesome circle of dead bodies.
He felt like a puppy that killed the family cat. He should be put down before he did something worse.
“Oh, no, none of that now. We’ll get this shit out of you, just hang on a little bit longer.” Jack shook him lightly.
When Fourteen continued to stare blankly at his surroundings, the hand on his shoulder increased pressure until it was gripping him hard enough to press his armor plates painfully into his skin. Instead of shaking it off, Fourteen welcomed the pain. It cleared out some of the cold invading his mind, telling him he was nothing more than a misfiring weapon. Now that he didn’t feel like he was freezing to death from the inside out, he could think.
“He’s back,” Jack said with a touch of relief.
The hand left his shoulder.
Fourteen didn’t miss it. Regardless of his temporary break with control, he still disliked being touched.
Only Cym was allowed.
“Good, unmaking that demon made me tired. I didn’t relish binding this one.” Adelle jabbed a thumb in Fourteen’s direction, and he stiffened at her words.
