Marcus cocked an eyebrow at Layne. "I have to hear this plan you suddenly came up with.”

  Suddenly a metallic appendage inside the pilot's console wrapped itself around Marcus's arm, still lodged inside the keylet hole. The cold steel pressing against his skin shocked him but panic set in after realizing he was firmly locked in place by the steel rings.

  You who dares. Let us see if you are truly worthy. The voice called out to Marcus in his mind once again.

  Beginning hematic authentication. A different, mellow toned voice echoed in his mind.

  "What does that mean?" Marcus blurted.

  Layne cocked his head. "What does what mean?"

  The pilot's control panel whirred, and the rings binding Marcus's arm tightened.

  Marcus turned, trying to think of how to concisely explain how he was hearing voices in his head without sounding insane. "There's this thing—"

  As if his arm was suddenly shoved inside a nest of furious hornets, dozens of stings ran from his wrist to his elbow. Marcus shouted as he tugged, desperately trying to free his appendage.

  Layne placed the pistols he was holding on top of the gunner's seat, then rushed over to Marcus and yanked with all his strength. Even with both of them fighting against the restraint, it was no use. But the stinging suddenly ceased.

  Analyzing... The mellow voice rang out in Marcus’s mind.

  The two kept pulling. It felt like they were going to rip his arm off, but it seemed like being free was better than whatever this demonic thing had in store for Marcus.

  Error: Authentication Failed, no match found. Attempting failover database lookup... The mellow voice spoke in Marcus's mind.

  "Get it out, get it out!" Marcus flailed his shoulders.

  Layne shoved his foot against the panel and let out a wretched cry.

  Aborted: Administrator override found. Authenticated. The mellow voice finished and faded away.

  Suddenly the metal grips inside the panel released, along with the force binding Marcus to the console. In an instant, both Marcus and Layne hurled themselves against the opposite wall with all their strength. Both of their legs buckled. They fell on top of each other and the barbarian's dead body.

  Groaning, Layne rolled off Marcus and onto the floor, out of breath.

  Marcus raised his arm. Even in the dim red emergency lighting, he could see three rings wrapping around, each created from a dozen individual pinpricks that the machine made on his skin. One ring close to his wrist, one in the middle of his forearm, and the other just below his elbow. Somehow, they weren't bleeding or swollen, just little spots.

  Marcus swallowed hard and caught his breath. "So, what was this plan?"

  Layne breathed hard, reaching up to the pilot's seat and pulled himself to a sit on the floor. "We could use the gunpowder to ignite the fuel in the line and start the engine."

  You who dares. I see you are worthy, the original voice with a deep timber returned in Marcus's mind. Regrettably, my power source is failing, and I can no longer maintain control over myself. I submit to your will, so that you may restore my normal operation.

  Marcus blinked in confusion at the strange way the voice spoke. Its manner of speech reminded him of his father for some reason.

  Layne sputtered. "I—I know it's stupid but either it works, or we just die faster."

  Staring at the pilot's control panel, Marcus felt strange knowing that the voice was now also depending on his success. He rolled himself off Timur's body and groaned. His arm ached. "Let's do it." Marcus stood, then helped Layne up.

  The two squeezed into the engine room after climbing down the three-rung ladder. The room wafted hot air from the motors. There was a small metal grate walkway surrounding the massive twin engines which were mounted on struts overhead and underneath. The narrow catwalk was just wide enough for one person to squeeze around the engine assembly without touching it.

  With their backs pinned against the fire-resistant material lining the wall, they inched toward the intake opposite the entrance. There was a lone emergency light mounted to the wall directly over their heads.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "We just have to fire one, and vacuum pressure should cause the other one to turn over." Marcus looked at the intake assembly and pulled apart the casing with a small spanner from his front pocket to reveal the metal line leading deeper into the engine.

  Layne nodded. "We just need to figure out how to light the powder once it's inside."

  Marcus blinked. "There is a way."

  Layne furrowed his brow. "Huh?" He cocked his head.

  With a smile, Marcus motioned to go back into the cockpit. "There's a reason you keep me around."

  Layne stood on the gunner's chair after placing the pistols on the part of the pilot's console that separated the upper and lower cockpit. "This is all we have, show me how you intend to get the gunpowder lit inside the engine."

  Marcus picked up the pistol with a cocked hammer and eased the flint onto the striker plate. "Cup your hands here." He pointed to the center of the panel surface.

  Layne complied.

  "You over think things, as usual." Marcus pushed a small gap between his hands and began tapping the barrel of the pistol against the console. After a moment, the wadding, ball, and gunpowder fell onto the metal surface, contained by Layne's cupped hands.

  Marcus wagged the empty pistol. "You had the right idea all along." He motioned to his best friend's hands. "Let me see."

  Layne carefully moved away.

  Marcus plucked the wadding and ball to the side, brushing off the ammunition, then used the side of his palm to sweep the gunpowder near the edge of the console and carefully scooped it into the barrel. Then he removed the ramrod and stuffed the wadding in to secure the powder. "There."

  Layne raised his eyebrows. "You're right, I overthink way too much." He beckoned to hand over the pistol. "I'll do it."

  Marcus shook his head. "Run the starter, I got it."

  Layne looked back at the gunner's control panel. "It was my idea; I should get blown up if it goes wrong."

  Marcus shook his head and started walking toward the engine room. "This is my machine. Denied."

  Layne blinked and then smiled with a shake of his head, sitting down in the gunner's chair.

  Inching back to the still-disassembled intake, it would be fairly simple to do, just jam the barrel straight into the inline cylinders via the intake assembly.

  "Crank it." Marcus shouted and cocked the pistol, jamming the barrel into the exposed intake.

  After a moment, the massive engines started roaring as the starter began spinning the crankshaft. The jump box was needed to shove enough fuel into the engine fast enough in order for compression to take over. The plan banked on there being enough fuel in the cylinders to not need a jump box.

  Marcus pulled the trigger. The pop echoed off the interior of the engine room, dazzling him. The engine began to vibrate and sputter. Heat blasted him in the face. Then the engine died.

  With ringing ears and an empty pistol, he looked around, trying to think of why that didn't work, then evacuated the engine room.

  Layne spoke, but Marcus couldn't make out what his best friend said over his sudden tinnitus.

  "What?" Marcus shouted.

  Layne jumped in his chair and then turned. "I said, we probably need more fuel in the intake for this to work." He hollered.

  Marcus nodded and then thought for a moment. If he pulled the fuel line off for any amount of time, that would be certain death. However much fuel was in the engine room would ignite the moment he shot the pistol. And he had no confidence that wouldn’t be a small amount.

  The upright groaned and began to list forward.

  Layne looked around and gasped.

  Marcus quickly rushed over to the other pistol and emptied it, tossing away the shot and refilling it. "One last try. This time, I want you to count down from three then turn it over."

  Layne nodded. "Just say when."

  Marcus rushed into the engine room. There was a bleed valve on the fuel line, he just needed enough fuel to get the vacuum going. "Start counting!"

  "Three." Layne shouted.

  Marcus reached up to the valve turn handle and pressed his lips against the burning brass outlet. Then opened it. His mouth filled to the brim with scorching fuel.

  "Two." Layne called out.

  Marcus rushed over to the intake.

  "One." Layne hollered.

  Marcus cocked the pistol. The engine started turning over. He spit, emptying his mouth into the intake and then rested the pistol on the assembly. Burying his face in his shoulder, he closed the eye closer to the intake and pulled the trigger.

  The engine sputtered and then began to chug. But it kept running.

  Dropping the pistol, Marcus worked quickly to put the intake assembly cover back on and rushed out to the cockpit, sealing the door behind him. The engine began to level out.

  "Yes!" Layne shouted out over his shoulder.

  Then the viewport transformed from gunmetal to transparent to reveal the outside in front of the Firestorm. The water level was over halfway up the cockpit.

  "Shit." Layne sat back and ran his fingers through his hair.

  Marcus sat in the pilot seat and shifted to neutral, then started revving the engine. He bumbled, his mouth still burned and filled with fuel, trying to talk to Layne.

  "What?" Layne turned over his shoulder.

  Marcus spit and sputtered, trying to get the foul sour taste out of his mouth. "I said start digging us out."

  Layne blinked and then looked down at the controls. Then he grabbed the joysticks and started rolling them. The upright’s arms reached forward and scooped muck out from in front of the machine’s torso.

  Marcus shifted to first and feathered the throttle, but the legs were bound up in the bog.

  As Layne carved away the mud, the Firestorm began to inch forward and right itself.

  Their view turned upward and revealed a small upright sprinting along the marshland. It was the Adder.

  And the plateau was set ablaze, most of the cannon batteries abandoned or destroyed.

  The intercom tone rang out overhead. Marcus reached up and flipped it on.

  "Timur, where the hell are you?" Amurad shouted. "Get that thing sorted and in the fight."

  Arminius's upright was in motion atop the plateau and running along the cliffside, locked onto the Adder.

  A screen ignited on a panel in front of Marcus, a monochrome blue and white in the center of the pilot's console. It read:

  Fuselage Embedded Navigation and Instruction Controller for Kinetic Systems initializing...

  https://www.patreon.com/c/mekabukiko

  https://discord.gg/vS8jjazffM