There were five.
I did not remember why I was sent here. Or what had happened to me.
As they crowded over the remains, one stooped down reaching to touch the blood. As he did, I slowly started to move, a step at a time towards the last to have stepped through the now open door.
Breathing down his neck, I could smell it clearer, that faint acrid scent hidden by the combat suit. The slight tremble in his aim, as one of the scythes began to raise along with the beat of my heart.
Finally, they discovered it. Still liquid. Fresh.
He jerked his head, abruptly standing up and no doubt giving a silent warning obscured by his helmet. As they all tensed and started to scan the room, I could see the trembling rifle held by the one before me devolving into an outright shake. But it was too late.
It all happened in a blur.
As the beating of my heart accelerated, delivering energy to my six limbs, I faded back into view and the scythe fell in the next moment, meeting only a faint resistance before the combat suit failed its owner. Falling down a low stance, supporting myself on my hands as my legs tensed before talons gouged out the previously pristine floor. His hand still wet with blood, the one who discovered my existence had barely enough time to turn around before two scythes pierced and pinned him to the opposite wall in a lunge.
Three were left.
Two as one scrambled for the door in my peripheral view, leaving a series of bloodied footsteps.
Above the blood pouring from the respirator, I could see the survivors reflected in the helmet's visor take aim and fire. Faint lightning emitted from the barrels as the supercharged magnets accelerated their payload. Their bullets impacted on the carapace, jolting my entire body as they deflected into the wall.
As a vibrating screech echoed and the scythes dropped the now lifeless body, the elongated tail swiped at one, its blade slicing below the helmet and bringing him to his knees.
Only one remained, unshaken by the demise of his comrades, rifle still aimed as it began to hum once more. But it would never fire again.
As he was caught and his feet lifted a meter off the ground, the only resistance he could muster came in the form of a pistol delivering three rounds into my abdomen below plated carapace. The burning pain did not stop the open maw closing in to the helmet.
The taste of iron was overwhelming.
I remembered why I was sent here. The Succession had discovered a clandestine League facility established on a small independent world. We were sent to disrupt suspected research of relativistic weapons, but we were wrong.
As my overheated body cooled with the taste of iron, I could see the scars dug into the room by my talons and scythes, the deep impacts left by bullets. In the reflection saw one lone inhuman figure standing among remains of men.
And a now open door, and departing footsteps.
My heart skipped a beat.
I squeezed through the door, bullets ringing on the floor as my wounds closed. The alarms were now clear, and the room was bathed in soft red lights. The ceiling was oppressively low, easily reached by my outstretched hand. Scratching the ceiling, I could remember how piercing those nails had felt moments prior.
Hearing a loud crash behind made every muscle tense. It was only an assortment of vials breaking, knocked to the ground off a desk by my tail, still swaying lightly in the air. The unknown fluids combined on the floor, releasing a faint and numbing smoke.
A hand peeked out from under the desk.
Someone was laying under the desk, face to the ground. A large red stain spread across their back, a blood trail streaking across the floor. They had been shot in the back.
Most of the equipment in this room was in similar condition to the now broken vials, destroyed and inoperable. Papers were ripped to shreds and laid everywhere. The signs of sabotage.
There was no more point in staying here. I tried to operate any of the terminals still intact. Tipped by sharp nails, they could only scratch and pierce the controls — unable to make use of them.
The trail of bloody footsteps disappeared beyond a blast door labeled L6-73. I could not find any mechanism to open it.
Running my nails across the seams, they found hold. As muscles tensed, I heard the metal straining, as did my limbs. Yet the metal started to give in, and the door lifted with the audible crack of a lock breaking.
The door slammed back down to its original position once I stepped through.
It was a corridor, extending long into my left and right. Besides the survivor's trail to the left, it was only marked intermittently marked by sealed blast doors and signs of gunfire. It too, was bathed in dim lights, alarms still resounding throughout. The facility was put under lock-down.
I followed the footsteps, yet with every step they became fainter. The blood had dried, and the trail was seemingly gone. If not for the scent of iron drifting in the air. Lighting a path in this dark space.
I continued to follow the scent, body warming as the chase continued. Picking up speed, every footfall propelling me forwards made a dull thud. The screeching of metal impacted by claws.
However, I had to stop, talons grinding against the sleek metal floor. The alarms had fallen silent, and light was restored to this white corridor.
No longer in the dark, I could see it now, the beast in the reflection. The prowling stance of a predator, chasing low to the ground.
Yet a faint sound pulled me out.
Human.
The distant chatter of voices.