It hits its mark and shatters true.
     The daggers fill the air.
But an instinct ne'er I knew possessed,
     displaced my soul elsewhere.
My body mirrored movements
     with a groggy obligation.
A loyal slave to a master
     without a moments hesitation.

I hear relief above me,
     so palpable and thick.
It leaves a grin upon my face,
     that I could act so quick.
'Tis then I see, amid the dust
     persuasive leg extended.
Diverting death from plighted path,
     just as the girl intended.

"Again?" I ask, almost a sigh,
     "I could have moved enough!"
"You didn't!" comes her stark reply,
     all roughly rude and gruff.
"Thank you though," she quips aside,
     I fulfilled some kind of need?
"For giving me another chance
     to demonstrate my speed."

We laugh together long and hard,
     still chuckling as we climb.
She reaches top and pulls me up;
     physique at peak of prime.
And now perched on our vantage point,
     his lair is in our view.
The entrance decimated
     as the whitest snows accrue.

"We're here" she says.
     I nod reply, my stomach hangs in knots.
Debris pokes out from covered ground
     like ugly polka dots.
The deadly army swarms behind,
     they clamor for to feed.
Reaching, ever reaching,
     for a way to sate their greed.

Ahead the ground slopes gently
     as we tiptoe through his land.
Awaiting devastation
     dealt by Bertholdt's devious hand.
Closer, closer, Marcus now
     directs us through remains;
past broken beams and battered walls,
     and cables snaked like veins.

Technology's capillaries
     connecting to the heart.
The home of computations
     wherein lies villain's smart.
Each one so thin, with effort small,
     I'm sure that I could sever;
yet so numerous these fingers,
     that my quest would last forever.

I kick at snow, much lighter here,
     the ground below feels warm,
and watch the flakes rain down to floor,
     just like a tiny storm.
A chair is toppled to my right,
     aside an android arm.
Mayhap from phony mother,
     or the sister forged with charm.

Or Father. Why do names persist?
     I know his nature now.
But shake them I cannot
     as if my mind will not allow.
Not serving to remember them,
     with any fondness due.
Moreover to remember
     what that program put me through.

She told me that a dozen times.
     A trillion steps she said.
The way he thinks, the processes
     the method in his head.
Just steps and logic. One-by-one.
     devoured at lightning speed.
A gourmet meal of bite size chunks,
     a linear stampede.

He doesn't think, I heard her say.
     He really can't 'decide'
A giant clockwork Frankenstein,
     just mechanical inside.
If only we could match his speed,
     though thoughts appear unplanned,
entirely predetermined,
     as the turn of minute hand.

The entrance seems deserted,
     as we make our was so cautious.
Swallowing my fear,
     that ever leaves me feeling nauseous.
How apt that I should sense this now,
     the feeling taking hold.
Not since that night when we first met:
     The Relic to behold.

How glad I was at first. I thought
     he'd saved me from malign.
'Twas only years later
     that the truth proved her benign.
Perhaps that word fits not my queen,
     I've seen her battle-cry.
The way she wielded blade
     and sentenced androids so to die.

I see her crouched, she hushes me.
     ahead a man appears,
emerging from the wreckage
     undisturbed, at peace, for years.
Behind a broken wall we hide,
     avoiding line of sight.
I close my eyes, I weld them shut,
     afraid to reunite.

It's him I know, the ruby shoes,
     the man I thought was dead.
He's there, my word, he's still alive
     that mask obscuring head.
I grit my teeth and open eyes,
     he's joined by several more.
Searching for their prey
     each one a lusting carnivore.

An explosion then behind us roars
     with enough concussive force.
Shattering attention
     in a way overtly coarse.
The snow is thrown; cast sideways.
     An unnatural looking sight.
When vertical is broken,
     horizontal floating white.

The ground beneath us heaves and shakes
     my arms become my brace.
Between splayed fingers flakes cavort,
     in a weird interlace.
The pressure fades, the wind dies down
     and gravity returns.
In distance, past the peaks of white,
     a fire brightly burns.

The artist paints a perfect gold,
     the hue in sky doth raise.
Through snowy air the colour bleeds,
     and permeates the haze.
A smaller blast assaults the land
     as flakes encircle sun.
And over crackled radio
     a voice declares "It's done"

I stand in awe at what we've done:
     The tyrant now curtailed,
and dread to think the consequence
     if we our mission failed.
Attention now, is drawn away
     from the gold in heaven's hue,
instead towards the clones of him
     incarnate residue.

In unison which seems so odd,
     the dozen freeze in time.
Like group of trained performers
     acting out a rhyme in mime.
Their heads tilt left a slow remark,
     then centre once again.
Snapped quick as if they oughtn't.
     In a circle stand the men.

Yolanda casts three stones with aim,
     to catch the androids eye.
Yet though she even hits one
     this infraction passes by.
"They're dead?" I ask in whisper hushed.
     She answers, "So it seems!"
Perhaps at last my memories
     will surpass disjointed dreams.

Yolanda clutches haft of blade
     and edges out from cover;
Expecting to be set upon
     by Bertholdt's band of brother.
Yet they moveth not, like statues still,
     the concrete fills their veins.
Shackled in position;
     locked and bound by many chains.

The flakes have eased. We carry on.
     A little closer with each stride.
Our bodies growing vertical
     as fear begins to slide.
We reach the group of mannequins,
     a danger hangs in air;
Missing yet still present,
     somehow lost, but still aware.

Their eyes are open, glazed and straight;
     arms hanging by their sides.
Watching, waiting, silently
     as time the brother bides.
The entrance reached we make descent
     and into lab explore.
A dozen rooms I've never seen,
     each with numerals gracing door.

We enter room B-XIV,
     behind a case of glass,
a tiny object rests upon
     a pedestal of brass.
My key I see, sweet rapturous joy,
     my eyes with tears swell.
I thank the Lord a thousand times,
     my life preserved by shell.

"It's here," I shout, "Oh, Thank you Y!"
     I see a genuine smile.
Her line of sight ne'er leaving key,
     she watches all the while.
"You're welcome!" chokes the Pharma Queen;
     She fears the time is near,
when I'll regain my memories
     and our love will disappear.

She's standing there effulgent,
     and my heart now breaks in two.
I yearn to know my past,
     to know the life my soul went through.
but equally my love for her,
     Yolanda, like eclipse,
betrays my quest with fervour such,
     born from apocalypse.

What should I do, Dear Lord reply,
     I've ne'er been so unsure.
Ambivalence an ugly foe,
     I'm torn right to my core.
The shell extracts, my key is free,
     just waiting for the taking.
As I extend my hand to touch,
     the partner at my waking.

Just when I think my mind made up,
     the moment I decide.
That well of nausea bubbles up.
     I drown beneath the tide.
But taking key won't force my hand,
     the words are still not known.
Instead symbolic gesture,
     of the place I dare to roam.

"Having trouble" comes the voice
     all grim and with foreboding.
The voice I thought was gone for good,
     now fills the air with goading.
"Go on," it says, I turn my head
     another one arrives.
"Take it!" Now I know it's him:
     The threat to all our lives.

The dozen cram into the room,
     surrounding us and key.
He speaks about the future,
     and how success all rests on me.
The androids take their turns to speak,
     a phrase, a word, a pause.
Justifying genocide
     and pleading for their cause.

My mouth in stunted murmurs makes
     a noise of little sense.
And innards knot with feeling hot
     as freezing muscles tense.
Yolanda draws her sword: a show.
     For sure, she'd never win;
when pitted 'gainst a dozen
     of robotic reapers grim.

In quickest flash his arm rounds throat;
     he holds my body near.
Tasting my emotion,
     at the banquet serving fear.
My body shakes, the sweat facilitates
     my squirming motion.
What will he do? Just who am I?
     I'm lost in deep commotion.

"You can't decide!" my captor states,
     his kin up to me squares.
and whispers, "Let me help you"
     as Yolanda onward stares.
She's petrified, just as am I,
     he takes my key so small.
He lifts it high and waits
     as if its sight doth him enthrall.

He takes my palm and places key,
     then closes hand to grip.
As the blue eyed girl so helplessly
     bites down on quivered lip.
"My work on Earth is almost done,"
     he speaks behind the mask.
"I only have one final job,
     just one outstanding task."

The voice now speaks in unison,
     which adds to my unease.
The multitudes of Bertholdt
     fear and loathing guarantees.
"Let us begin" he states,
     "It's time you find out who you are"
as guardian springs, with wielded blade
     and speed of Jaguar.