Page 111 of Red Scale Daddy
My hand finds the exposed seam, fingers forcing into the gap, and I twist hard enough to disrupt whatever internal system governs its movement. The resistance breaks in a sudden, violent release, and the drone shudders before going slack.
I don’t let it drop cleanly.
Instead, I shove it sideways into the second drone pushing through behind it.
The impact tangles them together in the narrow breach, their limbs colliding in a brief, chaotic knot of motion that stalls their advance just long enough to give me another opening. The second drone reacts faster than the others, adjusting its posture mid-contact, its limbs repositioning with unsettling coordination as it attempts to climb over the first.
It almost manages it.
I step forward again and drive my shoulder into its center mass before it can fully separate, forcing it back into the frame of the airlock. The metal groans under the combined pressure, the already-damaged structure bending further as the drone’s body slams into it.
Behind it, a third drone forces its way into the gap.
“They are increasing pressure on the breach point,” Roma says, her voice cutting through the corridor from behind me, steady despite the escalating threat. “Structural integrity is degrading faster than projected.”
“Then we finish this before it matters,” I reply, not taking my eyes off the movement in front of me.
The second drone recovers first.
It drives one of its rear limbs toward my torso, aiming lower this time, adjusting its attack pattern to the way I’ve been intercepting its upper strikes. The change is fast enough to be dangerous, but the space works in my favor again. There isn’t enough room for it to fully extend, and the strike clips against the side of the corridor before reaching me at full force.
I catch the limb mid-motion and yank hard, pulling the creature off balance.
It crashes forward into me instead of through me.
That’s exactly where I want it.
I twist with the impact, shifting my stance and using its own forward momentum to turn it sideways into the wall. The plating along its body scrapes hard against the metal surface, sparks flaring briefly where friction bites deep enough to shear material.
I bring my elbow down across the same weakened seam I exploited on the others.
The first strike cracks the outer plating.
The second drives through it.
The third opens it wide enough to reach inside.
The drone convulses under the force, its limbs striking wildly against the corridor walls, but the confined space traps its movement just enough that it cannot gain leverage. I push in harder, forcing my hand into the exposed interior and crushing down until the resistance collapses completely.
It drops.
The third drone clears the breach as the second falls.
This one does not hesitate.
It launches immediately, its movement sharper, more direct, as if the loss of the others has refined its approach rather than deterred it. Its limbs strike in a rapid sequence, testing angles, searching for an opening in my defense.
I shift backward half a step, not retreating, but creating just enough space to read the pattern.
It adjusts again.
Good.
That means it’s predictable.
I let the next strike come in closer before intercepting it, catching the limb just below the joint and pulling it off line. At the same time, I drive my knee upward into the center of its body, forcing its structure to fold inward just enough to break its balance.
The impact carries through both of us, the force echoing through the deck beneath my feet.
