Snippet #1370625

Allen gasped when he saw the machine.

It stood like a tumor, a giant among common rubble. "That's a government machine," He said, stating the obvious. Angora couldn't be bothered to dignify it with a response. "No one else in the city has the authority to make something like that. I wonder how it's powered. Nuclear? No, that's ancient technology. Powerful, but ancient."

He paused, leaning into the window. His nose was almost flat against the glass, which automatically displays information on the weather and humidity. What runs it? Human? Or automated? That gives room for errors, any Magin who can control machines can wipe it out. Perhaps it can be overwritten by a remote panel then?"

Allen was breathless with excitement. He loved technology, and he's never seen anything like this, not in textbooks, not in Laxton's sketches. Belatedly, he realized why it was there. His breath caught. Goodness, so big a machine to wipe out a few Magins? Were they really such a threat? A few little kids? More importantly, what was it's melting point?

The machine reared, then fired. The sensors on Allen's window read his eye movements, and magnified the direction he was looking at. Missiles shot at a lone kid - the same one who had started hijacking the train earlier. The kid fended them off, making a shield out of some black substance Allen presumed to be solidified darkness. It worked, but the boy was thrown backwards. The missile shrapnels exploded in all directions and fell downwards. It was raining iron and fire on the road, stricking a passerby who had been staring at the fight.

The dark blue shade the window use to mark biological components faded. Dead in 53 milliseconds.
More screaming. Allen made his decision then.

He put Angora down, pushing her towards her basket. She yowled, offended, because usually Allen took the time to tuck her into bed like a prized baby. Allen was already tapping on his window. "Route towards track no.45, 2nd tier."

Words started pouring onto the glass. "Scenic?"
"No, hell no."

The routes were stained red on the glass. It blurred out the areas he shouldn't be concerned with, ending with a huge red zone above the hijacked train's track. [RESTRICTED ZONE] was stamped on it, in the same forbidding shade of red as the towering robot. It was a first tier train track, used only when transporting government officials and trespassing was criminal. But at least Allen knew it's melting point, 1800 degrees Celsius. Made out of a combination of synthesized hard Uranium, either variation #125 or #128.

Before he could convince himself to be sane, Allen was already out of his window, his neighbour's window already sculpting itself to form a ladder.