Flash Fiction: Honkey-Bot Beatdown (1200 words)

 

So for Chuck’s challenge this week, he asked up to create our own “punk.” Inspired by my move and locating some old gear from the kung-fu days… and of course, our two swords, which we have strategically placed in the house… I decided to write some “Blacksploitation Punk.” This also features my first ever fight scene. I’m very pleased! 

 

 

 

“Damn, girl, they gonna send their best shit to take you out? That’s just cold,” the high pitched comment of the 9-11 dispatcher came through loud and clear, though Gloria’s ear was nowhere near the phone.

“What you got in that house? You know, protection?” Gloria crawled into the nursery where her two sons slept. There hadn’t been any noise in the house over the last five minutes, but she knew that the intruder was still there. She quickly locked the door behind her and walked to the closet.

“In this room? A short sword and a short staff,” Gloria whispered, opening the door and taking them from a hidden ledge.

“Damn, that ain’t enough,” the dispatcher mocked.

“No shit, sweetie,” Gloria quipped. That, she said a little too loudly and the children stirred. Another few steps were taken below her. “My husband done took my favorite kanas with him…How much longer?”

“Given the type of unit that is probably there, we need to send more than the usual amount of force. Unfortunately, there are four other intruder incidents happening in the city…”

Gloria unsheathed the long sword and crouched into a defensive stance. A draft went up under her chemise, reminding her once again that she shouldn’t sleep so under-dressed when her husband wasn’t home. The steps stopped and started in intervals, accompanied by the rustling of papers or the slide of furniture. It was all a front, though. Gloria knew she was being baited to come downstairs.

“Less excuses. I need a time,” Gloria whispered sternly.

The clicking of long acrylic nails onto a keyboard came over the phone along with a sucking of teeth and clucking of the tongue, “Bitch, you lucky some turkey-ass assassin ‘bout to walk through your door, otherwise—“

“After I’m done killin’ this bot, I’m comin’ down there to get you too, bitch.”

“Yeah, you a badass, but is you bad enough to kill that honkey-bot downstairs?”

Gloria crouched into a low horse stance, “Tell the blue that I’m in here fightin’ when they decide they gonna come out.” She hung up before the dispatcher could give more excuses. There was no way any simple uniformed officers were coming to her door.

Her eldest son rolled. Gloria didn’t flinch, knowing that he wouldn’t wake up fully. She couldn’t invite the honkey-bot in here. Kissing each boy on the forehead, she said a little prayer before returning to her weapons. The sword could slice through the still-human parts of the bot, but not the powerful metal portions. She was faster with the short-staff anyhow, and it would damage all parts without risk of getting stuck. She picked up the solid and light wood, placing it at her side before sliding through the door.

The small landing and balcony of the second floor revealed no clues. The staircase of the row-home hugged the wall, and it felt cold through her thin chemise as she descended. There were no sounds coming from her kitchen and living room.

“I know you’re there, bot,” Gloria ventured above a whisper.

No reply. Not even a shuffle. Placing feet on the wood floor of the entrance hallway, she put herself in bow stance, her back facing her locked front entrance, her staff ready to strike in her right hand. Her eyes were used to the dark, yet she could see nothing.

“Gloria White,” a deep male voice echoed from the darkness. Human, so this really was a top-of-the-line intruder. “Your non-husband is dead.”

Gloria frowned in the darkness but felt no pain. She didn’t expect him to live very long. She didn’t expect for any of this to last.

“Gloria White,” the charges continued, “you are harboring citizens of the Majority. This is a capital offense.”

“The Sanctuary City of Baltimore allows for mixed-race children of citizens to—“

“The United Majority of America does not recognize dual citizenship with rebellion territories,” The bot dismissed flatly.

“There are plenty of little high-yellow babies in this city—“

“You have five minutes to comply with the directive.”

Gloria used her left hand to turn on the hallway light. Honkey bots always stood at six-foot five, as this was a primary requirement for the infusion. The still-human skin was bronzed and scared—he’d seen a lot of combat. The muscular build was not surprising, nor the massive hands balled in fists. It was the red and unflinching eyes that were always unnerving. She wondered for a brief moment, observing the bot’s short blonde hair, if at one point he had the oh-so-rare blue eyes that the Majority was trying to return to the population.

Lowering into her stance, she twirling her weapon as to prepare her wrist for combat, Gloria growled at the unhuman red eye. “You’ve got five more minutes to function, jive motherfucker.”

Mechanically and yet swiftly, the man flexed and drew the long sword from behind his back. He kept the gun holstered—no need to alert the neighbors.

The hallway did not leave a lot of room for maneuvering, so when the bot charged toward her, Gloria’s only move was to block. Twisting her legs and tightening her body, she placed all of her energy into holding a strong and tight staff, deflecting the mighty overhead blow. Screaming, she lifted her entire body, knocking the machine off balance and allowing for one swift strike to the face before slipping to the right and running into the larger space of the living room.

The blow had done nothing to slow the bot, who pivoted and chased, but with more room now, Gloria was given confidence. He answered with a swift swipe to the face, cutting above her brow. The bot was quick with the sword, but Gloria was faster with the staff. Powerful slices gave opportunities for quick, disabling strikes. Cutting contact and powerful slams took the air out of Gloria, though the will to fight remained. Frustration brought harder hits, taking out functionality of an arm and reducing functionality of a leg. Wordless and soundless, the bot yielded little. Pivot, parry, slice. Pivot, parry, charge.

Chemise tattered, sliced and bleeding from head to toe, Gloria found herself cornered in the hallway again, her heavy breathing made the only sound in the room. She sat in a deep cat stance, all of her weight on her back leg, her staff still at the ready. The bot towered above her, bruised and broken in places, yet still powerful and functional.

“Surrender the citizens,” The bot commanded.

Gloria spat a bloody wad at her opponent, “ain’t nobody gonna walk out of here with my babies.”

Sword arm still functional, the bot raised it one last time, “Gloria White, you have committed a capital crime again the United Majority of America.”

Gloria licked her lips and smiled. As the hammer came down, her leg flashed in front of her, a mighty circular kick deflecting the blow and knocking the bot off balance. Using both hands, she brought her staff down for the hardest strike she could manage on his temple. He dropped like lead before her.

Screaming, she kicked the bot in the chest three times, letting out the last of her anger. The metal infused body did not yield as flesh would, shooting pain through her, yet she didn’t care. The screams, of course, woke the children, who began to cry above her.

Getting down on her knees, she picked up the bot’s head, looking into still functioning red eyes.

“Tell the Speaker that if he wants my babies, he better come get them himself,” She growled at the dying machine before slamming his head on the floor.

 

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