S.W.A.T. (book 2 of the hexology in seven parts)
Chapter 7: Switch

My eyes flicked open, and I stared up. The dull metal of machinery came in to sharp focus. It complimented the stiff feeling in my back, from the concrete floor under it. I lay there in the moment, wondering how I got here. My hand reached out, and found a concrete wall inches from my side. And turning my head, I could make out a brightly lit ceiling, about twenty feet above. My other hand touched the cold metal, as I pushed myself towards the wall; and I carefully eased myself up it. There was barely room to move. To my right seemed to be lighter, so I shuffled myself along between the machine and the wall. Finally the wall won out, and I stood panting from my exertions, free of the machine.

Further away was a huge metal roller door. It stretched from floor to ceiling, where some metal housing must contain the mechanism to raise it. I went over, and tried to get my fingers under it. But all I got for my troubles were broken nails, and dust caked cuts. I pounded my fists on the barrier. Until shaking from the exertion, and horse in the throat from my cries, I came to the conclusion no help was out there. For the present at least.

So turning to survey my prison, I took in the stark room. That’s when I saw it, or at least when I saw all of it. For the inert machinery I had awoken beneath, was a huge crouching figure. A humanoid form in giant proportions. The blood drained from my head, as I took in this unmoving beast. So I slid down the door feeling faint.

The head was bowed, giving it the impression of sleep, or at the very least deep concentration. The arms folded in front, could have squashed me like an insignificant bug. But staring closer from my slouched position on the floor, I discerned more. For attached to those huge workhorses of certain death, other more painful devices for a horrific demise came in to my focus. As my tortured mind took inventory, of how many ways I could be killed, if this machine of doom should come to life.

I must have sat there for some time, lost in my waking nightmare of the thing before me. Then with a shiver and an intake of breath, I tore my eyes away from the beast before me. Convinced I had seen no sign of life, for all the time I had stared at it. The room was indeed twenty feet tall, with harsh lights set in to the ceiling. I could only see the light coming from them, and I shielded my eyes to look for any other features. There were none. The walls too were bare, where the object of my dread did not obscure them. Desperately I searched the floor for any signs of an escape rout. Again there was none.

So I had to get through the huge metal door behind me, or approach the sleeping instrument of death before me. If only there was another exit hidden behind it. Cautiously I approached the side I had come out of before, and turning sideways I edged between the wall and the beast. I was loath to even brush against the dull metal, least it spring to life. It would only need to lean over, and I would be crushed flat. My mind was working on over drive, thinking of ways this thing could destroy me utterly. I tried to calm down, and think rationally. But there at the back of my mind hung the fear, ever present. My breathing grew ragged, and my throat got sore. Partly it was from the cement dust, but mainly from the lump in my throat from fear.

I suddenly became aware of my heart pounding in my chest, and even in my ears. I had to calm down, and then my top snagged on something. Looking down, I saw the sharp blade tugging at my shirt. Had I inched on to it? Or had this passive tormentor made a move, which I had not perceived. Either way the material was ripping, and there was not space to pull it off. Except by moving back the way I had come. But then a barb on the blade caught the top, as I tried to retreat. Would the thing sense my struggle like a fly in its web? I was sweating despite the cold, from the sheet terror of my predicament. And then with a rip I was free, and I edged quickly back to the front of this pile of metal death.

Still breathing raggedly, I bent double and willed my heart to slow. Finally it subsided to a dull beat, and I looked at the other side of the fiend. But that side looked narrower than the first. I got down on my belly, and confirmed my suspicions that the underneath was impassable. So with only one option left, I planned my route over this man mountain in slumber. If I stretched up on my toes I could just reach a ledge, and getting a toehold I managed to push myself up. Pulling with all my might, I edged over the lip and came face to face with a jagged blade. My eyes almost crossed looking at this new menace, an inch from me. Then with infinite patience, I edged sideways to avoid the peril. A thought occurred to me. What if some sentinel was waiting up here, to start the beast if I tried this route? I froze at the thought, and then realizing my paranoia was likely to kill me if I let it, so I moved on. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Up here I could see a vast array of arms and appendages. Which if they sprang to life, would end me in a very painful way. So stepping between these new instruments of doom I crouched my way over the beast, and carefully slid down its back. The far wall was plain concrete too, but not devoid of ornamentation. I stood there and stared at the two lever switches, big enough to need a whole hand to operate them. They were both in the up position. Then I noticed the square patches of wall next to each switch. They were barely discernable, as they were just a slightly different shade to the cement surrounding them. They brought to my mind a time when I had removed a picture from some long forgotten wall, to leave a patch of strangely discolored wallpaper to it surroundings. There had to be some sign explaining the function of each switch.

Feverishly I sunk down to the floor, and saw a piece of paper, the same size as each patch on the wall. I could just reach it under the beast with my fingers out stretched. Then getting a better grip, I snatched it up and read the legend. It said “Door Opening.” I sighed, like the world had new meaning. But what was the other switch for? And more importantly, which switch opened the door, to free me from the monster hemming me in. The patches on the wall were identical. It was only then that I noticed a small triangle of paper, sticking out from under the beast. Wriggling down under this fiend, I strained to get a finger on the sheet. And after ten minutes of desperate struggling, I held the second sign in my sore and bloody fingers. It said “Battle Robot On.”

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