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RYANDALTON

two, you assumed that just ’cause I ain’t like them, it means I’m
helpless.”
He leapt from the chair, the rope falling from his wrists. In
one smooth action, he kicked the chair into Cyonic One at his
left, reached into his robe and drew what looked like the handle
of a katana. A curved blade unfolded and locked into place.
Fred swung at Cyonic Two to his right. With a metallic
shing-crack he chopped its arm o¤ at the elbow. The gun žew
free of its robotic hand, and Fred snatched it out of the air.
As Malcolm gaped, Fred unleashed chaos.
Aiming at Cyonic Two with its own gun, he opened ‡re.
Bursts of green energy riddled its torso with holes. The robot
convulsed until a bolt blew its head to pieces. As if surprised by
its own demise, it locked up hard and stood like a statue.
Fred dropped to the žoor and rolled between the dead ma-
chine’s legs, coming to his feet behind it. Now Cyonic Two
was his shield.
Cyonic One took aim and ‡red. Cyonic Two rattled as stac-
cato blasts pummeled its chassis. Fred reached around it and
žicked his wrist. The katana žew like a javelin to skewer Cyonic
One through its left eye.
The robot ‡red wildly, hitting the Destroyer as its pilot tried
to lock onto Fred. The big machine stumbled back.
Cyonic Two’s frame collapsed. Fred somersaulted over it
before charging Cyonic One, ‡ring green energy with every
step. As the machine fell dead, he plucked his katana from its
skull in a shower of sparks.
Malcolm stared wide-eyed. It had taken seconds and Fred
moved like winged death. Blade and gun pro‡ciency, battle
tactics, acrobatics—he wielded them as if they were old habit.
What had their friend been up to for two years?

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