Chapter eight

 The clanking sound receded into the distance on the other side of the warehouse. Mike stepped cautiously off the staircase and onto the concrete floor of the main building. He crept forward, Ling and Claus close behind.

"What's the plan?" Ling had moved next the Mike behind a steel pillar.

"We head to the diagnostic console over there" Mike nodded in front of them, where a light swayed slightly above a table covered in various MOP parts and complicated looking tools "That is where Jack would have been when this all kicked off"

"Then what?"

"Depends what state Jack is in. Chances are he'll need medical attention"

"Or scraping up" Claus had now joined them, but was greeted by an icy stare from Mike. "Sorry Mike, I was blunt, but you know what those MOPs can do, even unarmed"

"We won't know till we find him. For now we need to move before it comes back" He strained to hear, but the clanking wasn't within ear range. For now, at least.

The three of them crept forward, down a side aisle of the warehouse, passing lifeless MOPs on both sides, their hulking frames blocking out much of the light from the few overhead spotlights. At the end of the aisle, Mike paused. The diagnostic console was just 10 or 12 metres away now, but over open ground. And the clanking could be heard again.

"Can't see him" Ling was peering round Mike

"Could be on the far side of the console. Stay here and I'll check" before Ling could complain Mike had dashed out across the warehouse floor. Ducking down behind the console.

"Anything?" Ling hissed

"No sign" Mike replied, heading popping up above the console.

The clanking was getting louder, echoing around the warehouse making it hard to work out exactly where it was coming from.

"We need to get out of here" Claus urged

"Stay put and stay down" Mike urged from across the way. A shadow passed across the console as he ducked back down. Ling readied her gun. It might not make much difference, but it may be able to buy Mike some time if they needed a distraction. The clanking now sounded really close and judging by the light and shadows Ling calculated that the MOP must be on the aisle next to where she and Claus stood. She braced herself as the shape emerged from the next aisle, directly between them and Mike at the console.

But it wasn't an MOP.

Mike realised this at the same time, but reacted quicker, rushing out from behind the console and sprinting forward. For a big man he had a burst of speed, muscles with a distant memory of college football pumping hard as he covered the distance to the shape, slamming into it with a crunch and an ooomf. They skidded to a halt at Ling's feet.

"Help me turn him over" Mike said, amid panted breathes.

Jack's legs kicked and spasmed in the air, as if trying to run on the spot as Mike attempted to turn him over. Ling holstered and gun and kneeled down to help. Between them they managed to flip Jack onto his front, before Mike managed to grasp something on the technician's belt. Ripping it away with a spark and a flash, the legs stopped flailing.

"Is he alive?" Claus looked down on them as Mike flipped the unconscious body back over, putting his ear to Jack's mouth.

"Yeah, he's breathing"

"I've got a pulse" Ling was holding a wrist

"So what happened?" Claus was looking puzzled once again

"Must be like the ARD - got taken over somehow" Mike surveyed Jack's legs, both of which were surrounded by what looked like a fine scaffolding of metal struts, hinged at the ankle, knee and hips. About every 10cm up the scaffolding a connector ran between the metal casing and the leg inside, directly fused to the bone in Jack's paralysed limbs.

Jack had lost the use of his legs when he was a teenager. Growing up in a rural American community the young Jack fancied himself as something of a showman in an otherwise dull part of Iowa. When the automation of the car transport network made its way from the big cities and highways to his small town, Jack had thought it a good idea to arrive at his high school on the roof of his now citynet controlled car. He certainly made a entrance, as the car swerved in front of the school to avoid one of the younger children running out in front of it, throwing Jack off the roof to the curb, where he broke three vertebrae in his back. Four months later new legislation was passed to ensure that all cars were fitted with sensors in the roof to detect "unauthorised passengers"; the so called "Jack-switch". For some reason he appeared to look on this as a source of pride, rather than shame, but that was Jack for you.

The automation of his legs was state of the art at the time, directly fused to the severed nerves in his back in order to allow him practically the same range of movement as any healthy person. In fact, they were capable of giving an even greater range of movement if not limited by the controlling software. Jack had long attempted to persuade Mike to help him hack them in order for him to "leap over the odd building", but as much as he annoyed Mike, the elder American had no desire to see the younger killed in some new ridiculous stunt or other.

With a moan, Jack started to come round. Claus had gone to get a glass of water for him, but the taps weren't working, forcing him to bring one of the few soft drinks in the beer fridge which he passed to Mike who was cradling Jacks head and shoulders. Ling, meanwhile, attempted to patch up an ugly looking gash on his forehead.

"You ok buddy?" Mike held the can against Jack's lips "Drink a little of this"

"Ugh, there no beer left?" Jack's voice was quiet, but he sounded like himself

"Not for now, maybe later. What happened down here?"

"I'm, er, not sure. Was trying to identify the MOP infiltration, when my legs started bugging out"

"Bugging out?" Mike put the can down

"Yeah, I was getting some weird tech data from them, then I lost all ultranet access. Before I knew it I was sprinting down the warehouse. Must have smacked my head on one of the shelves"

"Sounds like an infiltration"

"That's not the weirdest part" Jack attempted to sit up, but Ling held him down before applying some more surgical tape to the head wound

"Then what is?" Mike was frowning, half listening to Jack and half considering some of the nagging implications from the infiltrations of the ARD and the technician's legs.

"The speakers on the control unit" Jack pointed to the small device that Mike had ripped off his belt and thrown to the side "You know, the ones that sound that fucking alarm if I try to run too fast around town"

"uh-huh" that alarm had saved many a pedestrian from stepping out in front of Jack in full flight on the busy Berlin side-walks.

"Someone was laughing as I was being dragged round the warehouse, sounded like a kid"

"So what do we think is happening?" Ling had finished with the first aid and turned to look at Mike "Those techno-anarchists again? Slippery little fuckers"

"Could be, but this feels bigger than that. They've never really had the balls, or organisation, to try anything as like this before" Mike scratched his head "We won't know until the networks get back up. You got anything yet?"

"No. I'll have to check in to the embassy in person"

The embassy. The mention of it made one last nagging doubt fall into place in Mike's head "Fuck", the others all turned to look at him. "Ling, what sort of protection does your embassy have?"

"You know that Mike, your agents are sniffing round it enough, a Dragon XKF"

Mike shuddered. The Dragon series of mechanised infantry were the Chinese take on the MOP. But like much of their activity in the second cold war, the competition with the American's had brought about the attitude of copying what they do, but bigger and with more weaponry. The Dragons were in effect bipedal tanks. Almost three metres tall, they bristled with chain guns, missile pods and grenade launchers.

They were also practically useless on the modern battlefield

Their bulk cost them manoeuvrability. While an MOP could move within a building, or across rugged terrain at high speed, the Dragons were pretty much limited to flat ground, outside of all but the grandest buildings. While outside in open space a Dragon was more than a match for even the heaviest armed MOP, it was vulnerable to flying drones as well as more traditional track based tanks and mobile guns.

These vulnerabilities had seen the Dragon quickly retired from front line service. They were now more commonly assigned to defensive duties, or maybe crowd control - it took a particularly determined angry mob to face down a Dragon. Most large embassies had at least one Dragon to protect them and in Berlin it was no different.

"And does the Dragon have a kill-switch override like your gun?"

"Of course. We won't be caught undefended"

"But it is an electronic override, that's the point"

"What's the point?" she was becoming exasperated

"If you can easily override it, then so can whoever is infiltrating our hardware"

"I, er. Shit" Ling stood, eyes glazed as she again attempted to contact the embassy "I need to get over there"

"For sure. I'll come with you. Jack, you ok to try and open up a line with the folks back home?"

"On it, just give me a hand to the command centre, maybe the e-table will have a more stable connection than our IR"

"Good plan. Claus, you coming with us?"

"I, er, suppose I'm meant to stay with you" Claus was beginning to hate his job monitoring the American.

A door at the rear of the warehouse led into a small parking lot, the early evening sunshine causing the three of them to squint on emerging from the gloom. Ling ran to her car, Mike to his, accompanied by Claus. However, the American couldn't even get the door open; with the networks down he had no means of communicating with the vehicle. He had previously had an official car with a manual override, but it was confiscated by his superiors after numerous complaints by his German hosts for various traffic offences. Mike suspected that Claus might be involved as the German always looked slightly terrified when Mike switched to manual.

Ling, however, was having a little more success, she had actually managed to enter it, but was busy punching the steering wheel when Mike got across to join her.

"Not working?"

"I can't get an interface up. Could only get in the damn thing cos I forgot to lock it"

"You have an override on it?"

"Hmmm, not sure, never really has cause to use it before" she began prodding and prying at the dashboard. After a few seconds she had managed to dislodge a small plastic panel, revealing a control pad and small screen. "Ah-ha" but she stopped after pressing a few buttons "But what is to stop them taking control of my car once I get it going?"

"Probably nothing, but if that happens you can just shoot into the engine block or tyres. Even if we only make it half way to the embassy, it beats walking it all"

Ling surveyed the American who had been leaning over her to look at the control panel. Maybe if he walked a bit more, then he wouldn't be so fat. But he had a point, losing control of the car was less of a concern than losing control of the Dragon. She continued her efforts with the override.

It took a couple of minutes, but the hybrid electro-gas engine flared into life with more of a pop than a roar. "Excellent, let's go" Mike jogged round to the passenger door and slumped in, Claus clambering in to the rear seats. But the car didn't move. Ling just starred at the manual controls that had emerged from the dashboard. "What's the matter Ling?" Mike questioned

"I, er, can't drive, er manual" she looked uncomfortable. Ling hated revealing weakness, but she had just never had cause to learn to drive a car manually. It was no longer necessary to have a license to drive in the age of the centrally controlled transport networks; sophisticated artificial intelligence controlled the vehicles, ensuring safety and streamlining journeys to ensure maximum efficiency. Traffic jams were practically a thing of the past with the human element removed. Most cars didn't even have manual controls, although it was more common in diplomatic vehicles. Distrust between nations ensured a desire to exert control if needed be; Ling's gun was one example, the car another.

Mike couldn't help the snigger that emerged, but he quickly choked it down, "Shift then" and she complied. The gates to the compound had been left open, and so Mike took them onto to road that led down from the highway and through the industrial estate the warehouse was on. They saw the smoke before they got to the highway, but it wasn't until they got to the on ramp that they were able to make sense of it. It was as if a giant had been playing skittles. Cars, lorries, coaches and everything in between lay strewn across the eight lanes of the highway. One or two dazed looking passengers stumbled around the wreckage, or attempted to free those still trapped inside.

"I don't get it" puzzled Claus from the back seat "Even if the citynet went down, the traffics' safety systems should have brought everything to a halt safely. Not like this"

"Must be like back at the warehouse, someone took it over" Ling surmised, although still looked confused

"But why do _this_? People are hurt"

"I have no idea" Ling shook her head

"Should we stop to help" Claus was now pressed up against one of the windows

"More people are going to be hurt if that Dragon gets loose" Mike's gaze was fixed straight ahead, as he attempted to pick a way through the chaos.

As they made their way into the centre of Berlin they started to see other traffic moving within the wreckage. Claus gave another of his curious yelps as the autobus smashed through an overturned delivery van to their right. Mike gave a curse, and pressed hard on the accelerator. The diplomatic car was not really designed for performance, but gave enough of a surge to avoid the bus, which careered past them and into a shop front with a crash. Claus starred back at the ensuing fireball as the gas tank of the bus ruptured. But Mike was still focussed on the road ahead as the moving traffic was getting more frequent. However, most of it appeared to be unmanned; presumably hacked from the drives and garages of the populous as they stayed in to watch the shuttle landing.

"Maybe we should stop?" Claus turned forward to talk to the big American "This doesn't look good"

"You kidding me? This is where we have a little fun" Mike said through gritted teeth, leaning forward, gripping the wheel tight "Reminds me of back in the day, when men raced rather than the 'bots"

Ling shook her head but kept silent, not wanting to provoke another tirade about how things were better when the American was a boy. But equally she didn't disagree with him; they needed to get to the embassy. Fast. Instead she unholstered her gun. The window control was offline, but gave little resistance to the gun butt, glass sparkling in the sunlight as it fragmented behind them. "Did your real racing men have this?" her gun barked into life, the front tyre of the car that was starting to draw level with them disintegrating, the vehicle thrown into a wild spin which Mike swerved round.

"No, but I kinda think it should have" Mike flashed her a grin, but quickly turned back to the road as two other cars clashed in front of them with a metal rendering screech. The one on the right lost control, rear ending swinging out as the car span 180 degrees, before sliding off the road and crashing into a bus shelter, glass and steel exploding around it. The remaining car swerved from one side of the road to the other in front of them. Ling's first shot did little but put a small hole in its boot, but the second took out a rear wheel, causing the car to lurch into the central reservation and grind to a halt, sparks flying. Mike laughed, this was almost fun. But they were also almost there; entering the central business district. Mike rounding a jack-knifed lorry to turn down the bridge that led across to the embassy on the opposite bank.

The embassy surrounded in smoke and fire, that was.

"Woah" Claus had lent forward between the two front seats "Are we too late?"

Ling strained to see through the smoke "Not sure, we need to get closer" and with this she turned to look at Mike in exasperation who was bringing the car to a halt about 100 metres short of the embassy.

"We're sitting ducks in this if the Dragon is still around. Best to move up on foot, hope whoever is controlling it doesn't see us" the American explained, cautiously opening his door and stepping onto the road. Ling uttered a curse under her breath, but followed his lead all the same. Claus seriously considered just sitting tight in the car, but with a gulp and another shudder, he followed the other two.

Despite the smoke and fire, it thankfully wasn't too difficult to work out where the Dragon was; the flashing lights and sirens helped a lot. Whoever was operating it obviously wasn't going for stealth. The three from the American warehouse carefully picked their way down the buildings opposite the embassy, pausing to duck behind abandoned cars or newspaper stands when suitable cover presented itself. Eventually they worked their way to a position facing the main entrance of the embassy, the Dragon stomping a fiery path a little way further down the street. The entrance vestibule had collapsed under the assault from the Dragon, fires burning around the wreckage, shards of glass still falling from the windows close by. The whole front of the building creaked, jagged holes ripped in much of the structure. Mike felt for the people that had been inside the building at the time of the attack, but at the same time was hoping that the Dragon had used up its entire missile complement.

"Ok, so Mike, you back me up" Ling instructed; her patch, her plan. "We go straight in and head down to the armoury. I trust a military man such as your self knows his way around a shoulder mounted pulse canon"

"You guys have a heavy weapons armoury?" while the embassy looked much like any other office building, the fact that it had a fully equipped armoury actually didn't surprise Mike that much when he thought about it

"Of course. We get some of the shoulder mounted equipment and head back up. Take out the Dragon, then we look for survivors. You with me?"

"Makes sense. Just how well armed are you guys?" American intelligence knew that the Chinese had some weaponry within Europe, but not as much as Ling was hinting at.

"We have a moderate stockpile in order to be able to properly protect the interests of our homeland"

"You sound like a promotional e-cast"

"So you want me to talk more in your style? Well how about this _get big gun, make stuff go boom_" this said with a sneer

"Hi, er, guys, what should I, er do. Stay here?" Claus interrupted. He was actually shivering now

Ling turned to look the German in the eye "I need more than that Claus. We need the Dragon to still be around when we get back from the armoury, no telling the damage it will cause if it moves downtown"

"I'm not sure I quite follow" Although the German kind of did. The central business district where they were now wouldn't have had that many people in it when the shuttle crashed, but further downtown people had congregated together in the bars and restaurants in the spirit of #standtogether. With the transport and communication networks down those people would be stranded right in the path of the Dragon.

"Put simply, you're bait" Mike butted in, but he was looking more at Ling than Claus "You're gonna get him killed" this said to the Chinese agent

"I suspect his instinct for self preservation will win out. Maybe he'll find another table to hide under" Claus shrank at the slight, but Ling continued "We can't have the Dragon loose any longer. More people than Claus will suffer otherwise"

"You're sending him to his...." Mike was getting angry

"I'll do it"

"....death, what?" Mike turned to look at Claus

"I said I'll be bait. Ling is right, more people will suffer if I don't. Just, well, please be quick" It wasn't quite that a steely determination had entered the German's eye, more a wobbly self loathing, but it was enough to make him stand.

To make him run towards the Dragon.

Ling watched the German disappeared into the wafting smoke, before she turned back to Mike and shrugged.

"Crazy son of a bitch" Mike was shaking his head "Let's go get something to go _boom_ then"

Ling smiled a little, "Follow me" and they set off towards the embassy

Claus thought he should probably have a plan as he cautiously edged his way through the eddying smoke. He was sure the Chinese agent would have a plan in his position, likewise the American soldier. But he was a civil servant and this was so far out of his comfort zone it was practically on another planet. The siren from the Dragon was definitely closer, and the light from the flashing lights cast eerie shadows through the smoke, but he couldn't see it yet. There was a crash to his left as another building collapsed, sending a fresh wave of smoke and dust over the German. His eyes watered as dust and grit swirled around and he stumbled forward, tripping on a piece of masonry spilled into the street he fell onto his hands and knees.

Clambering back to his feet, Claus ineffectively patted at his suit, trying to get some of the dust out. Looking down at himself and his shoulders slumped. The jacket ripped by the ARD and now dirty scuff marks on the knees. Wondering whether he could file the repair bill in his expenses claim he looked back up.

The Dragon was right in front of him.

The shock of the smoke parting and the Dragon looming overhead caused Claus to take a step back in surprise, again tripping on the masonry, this time falling onto his backside. The machine had its back to him, holding a car aloft in a crab like robotic pincer. It reminded Claus a little of the Godzilla films he'd seen as a boy, before he realised that was Japanese and started vaguely wondering if he was being racist in some way. He shook his head, now really wasn't the time for pointless introspection. He needed a plan. What would Ling and Mike do? What did he know? Well, the Dragon hadn't noticed him yet. Part of this could be down to it facing away from him, but surely such sophisticated hardware would have rear facing cameras or sensors? It was also moving kind of erratically, as if slightly drunk. So what did this mean? That maybe whoever was controlling it didn't quite know what they were doing. That gave Claus a little hope, that just maybe he might get out of this alive. But then he looked at the Dragon again; even with erratic movement and a lack of awareness, he was still about to pit himself against a five tonne killing machine. Shit.

The Dragon was starting to move away from Claus, the car it had been carrying idly tossed into a small shop on the corner of the road. Claus got to his feet, picking up the masonry chunk that had tripped him twice already. Jogging up behind the Dragon he started yelling, "HEY! HEY YOU, YOU METAL, er, MONSTER". He inwardly cursed at his lack of imagination in the name calling stakes. The Dragon, perhaps similarly unimpressed, continued down the road. Claus hurled the masonry chunk, but it was too heavy and he too weak, it landed on the ground with a thunk about five metres in front of him and another 20 away from the Dragon. Shit.

Claus was loath to get much closer, especially within swiping distance from the robotic arm or stomping distance of the heavy looking legs. So how could he get the damn thing's attention? His eye fell upon the shop that the Dragon had thrown the car into. The car was on its back, bonnet poking out from the shop front, left wheel still spinning slowly. But that wasn't the interesting part; the shop was, a fireworks shop. Finally a plan starting forming in Claus' mind and he sprinted towards the shop, before carefully clambering round the car and broken glass that separated him from the main body of the shop. It didn't take him long to find some impressive looking rockets, grabbing them and stuffing them in a plastic bag he'd found. The shop next door was a tobacconist, where Claus found a cigarette lighter and a bottle of fizzy drink.

Back on the street and the Dragon had moved further away. Emptying the drink onto the floor as he ran, Claus chased after the hulking machine. Closing the distance between them back down to about 20 metres, Claus set the plastic bag of rockets down. Pulling one of them out he propped it into the now empty bottle, lighting the touch paper. Trying as best he could to hold his face away, he aimed the bottle rocket vaguely in the direction of the Dragon. With a whoosh and burst of smoke it took off. Claus coughed through the smoke while trying to follow the path of the rocket, before a flash and a bang off to the right of the Dragon showed him that his aim was pretty poor. Another rocket placed in the bottle and another whoosh. This one was too high, twinkling in the dusk as it exploded. But the Dragon carried on. Two more rockets and Claus was losing hope, the Dragon frustratingly myopic. The next rocket was the worst aimed yet, shooting off at completely the wrong angle and hitting a bin further down the pavement. But it ricocheted, pinging back off the bin, looping up and over the Dragon, before Claus heard the pop of it exploding.

The Dragon stopped.

Claus' breath caught in his throat, as the Dragon appeared to contemplate the smoke trail left by the firework. The machine then slowly turned at its articulated waist to follow the trail, which was starting to dissipate in the breeze. It turned to face the, now dented, bin, before turning fully to look at Claus. It was at this point the German civil servant then realised he didn't have a plan for what to do now. So, in a fit of surprising bravado, he flicked two fingers at the Dragon. And ran.

Ling was right that his instinct for self preservation would kick in. He realised that running back down the open road in plain view was asking for trouble. Well, more like asking for a guided missile up the backside. He jinked to the side of the road, around an van lying on its side, just as the first crash of the Dragon's footfall echoed off the buildings. He was no athlete, more a blur of arms and legs which didn't seem to result in the burst of supersonic speed he had kind of wished for. The shops and offices on this side of the street all seemed to have been shut up for the shuttle landing, and if Claus had any spare breath he'd have sworn. Across the road was the entrance to a shopping centre. It too had been closed for the celebrations, but the metal grille across the door way had been caved in at one corner, black scorch marks indicating it as the recipient of some Dragon attention. It seemed desperately far away to the panting German, but looked like his best shot. Back across the road he turned, the thump of the Dragon's footsteps turning into a crash of disintegrating concrete as it skidded to change direction after him.

The tiny corner of Claus' brain not concerned with telling him his lungs were about to collapse gave a little thanks for small mercies that the Dragon hadn't yet started to shoot at him. Hopefully it had expended its ammunition on attacking the embassy and surrounding buildings. Not that it couldn't rip him into pieces without ammunition, the thought of which spurring Claus on across the road.

The hole in the gate to the shopping centre was going to he a tight fit for the slightly rotund German but Claus didn't want to risk slowing down. He instead attempted to duck down through it, and would have made it it his already ripped  jacket hadn't snagged on one of the sharp  metal edges. It jerked him back as it caught, forcing him to try and shrug it off rather than mess around trying to unhook it as the Dragon bore down. The jacket was left hanging as he continued into the gloomy shopping centre, the Dragon hardly breaking stride  as it crashed through the gate in pursuit.

It was one of those typical shrines  to consumerism that the designers had thought sensible to build like a maze, presumably working on the basis that lost shoppers are more likely to buy plastic tat. Claus started to slow down as he got deeper into the mall, partly as it was getting harder to see with only the emergency lighting on and little natural light, partly as the Dragon sounded a little further back and partly as he was fairly sure his lungs were about to exit his body via his ears.

Ducking down behind an ornamental potted plant, Claus attempted to take stock of his predicament. The plus point was that he was alive. If the Dragon had any ammunition he'd be dead. Staying low, Claus moved through what had been the shopping centre's food court. He slumped down against the inert body of one of the automated service modules, a wheeled device that would shuffle through the seating area clearing tables and serving drinks. He needed to try and figure a way back outside so Mike and Long could find/rescue him. The Dragon had lost him somewhere in the menswear quadrant and the occasional rumblings from that direction indicated that it was still in that general area. Maybe looking for a nice hat to set off its outfit? This didn't quite seem right to Claus. Not the stupid thoughts about what the Dragon would look like in a hat, no, rather why it hadn't tracked him back down yet.

He cast his mind back to those heady days when battle machines weren't trying to kill him, back when he'd spend many an evening sat drinking with Mike and Ling - anything to avoid going back he to mother - as they vied to impress each other  with tales about  how great their nation's respective military hardware was. It had always amused Claus to listen to them joust,  how in their early days they had been at pain of military tribunal for discussing tech with the enemy, but as they each became more disillusioned with their  respective lots (and more trusting of each other Claus surmised) they became more liberated in their conversations. This meant that Claus knew a little about the Dragon, enough to be puzzled why it wasn't using its full sensor suite to track him down. Not that he was complaining, of course. Coupled with its erratic movement on the street, and the episodes with the ARD and Jack, it seemed obvious that whoever was in control of the Dragon wasn't, well, totally in control. Some kind of hacking, he figured, and while right now he didn't really have time to worry about who might he responsible, it did this him renewed hope of escaping. Although there was one other slight area of nagging concern. Even if the hacker only had limited control and couldn't use the sensors to, in effect, see through walls to find Claus, why didn't they just.....

The wall opposite him exploded into a jumble of  concrete, metal and  dust as the Dragon ran through it. The sprinkler system spluttered into life, causing Claus to slip as he took off from behind the service bot.  He banged painfully into the side of a table, although the pain was quickly forgotten as a glance back saw  the Dragon headed straight for him. Where the fuck is the exit? Even the native German speaker found the signs confusing, not helped by the gloom and water mist that filled the food court. He'd maybe had 50 meters head start on the Dragon when the machine smashed its way through the far wall, but that distance was reducing fast as Claus struggled to make his way around the plastic furniture while the Dragon barrelled its way straight through, a tidal wave  of chairs and tables building around its legs clattering and smashing against each other as they were kicked along. Claus attempted to keep changing direction to try and lose the machine like he had done previously, but it seemed like the operator was getting more comfortable piloting his or her charge; understanding that in this metallic beast they didn't have to play by the traditional rules of hide and seek, that rules - and more importantly, walls - didn't apply to them.

The corridor Claus was running down was definitely sloping upwards. Bad news for his again protesting legs and lungs, but it also meant that he was heading back to street level and escape. Almost the entire area of the corridor behind him was taken up by the hulking form of the Dragon and the multitude of detritus it had collected in its pursuit, none of which appeared to be slowing it down at all. The machine was also making an odd noise. To start with Claus had struggled to make of out over the din made over the machine's movement and his own breathing, but in the closer confines of this corridor the noise was clearer to hear above the other sounds.

Laughter

It was coming from the Dragon's crowd control tanoy and while interrupted by occasional bouts of static was still unmistakable. Just like Jack had said back at the warehouse, it sounded like kids, teenagers maybe. What the hell was going on? Whatever it was, they seemed to be enjoying tormenting Claus. And that annoyed the usually mild mannered German. Gritting his teeth in exertion he turned sharply into a large shoe shop, the Dragon a little slower to make the same turn, entering the shop via the wall rather than door. Claus knew the shop, it had a large window onto the street through which he had occasionally paused at to look at fancy shoes that he'd never be able to afford. Now in the shop he had no time to look at footwear, his concentration absorbed by the window on the far side.

The window with the metal security blind firmly closed.

Fuck

He turned sharply once again, this time the Dragon smashing through a pillar as it turned behind him, triggering a fountain of foul smelling lumpy liquid to erupt from the waste pipe contained within. Claus was headed back towards the shop entrance, but was fast beginning to realise that he didn't have the energy to keep his frantic dash up. While each change of direction just about kept him ahead of the less manoeuvrable Dragon, it was at a further cost to his already sub standard stamina. Time to try something different.

He stopped dead

The Dragon's momentum took it straight past him, its grabber claw snapping at him as the machine flashed past, close enough to grab a corner of his shirt, buttons pinging off like popcorn as it tore. Something else for the expense claim Claus muttered as he began one last sprint into the shoe shop. Straight for the stream of sewage still pouring through the broken pipe from the ceiling. With that familiar clanking noise at his rear of the Dragon's loping stride telling him that it was back in the chase he half jumped half stumbled through the slurry. While his desire to breathe fought with his desire to gag, he dived to his right, shoulder flaring in pain as he landed in a sprawl. Rolling onto his back he watched the Dragon try to turn, but its feet slipped in the spreading pool of sewage while its front facing camera was obscured by the brown fountain. Inexpertly controlled,  the Dragon's legs looked like they were trying to run in different directions and it crashed to its knees, then onto its back as it careered into the outside wall. The machine had lost some speed in its tumble, but had enough momentum to bring the wall down. Right on top of it. Claus lept to his feet, burning lungs and painful shoulder temporarily forgotten. He scrambled over the pile of rubble that now encased the still twitching Dragon, scraping his hands as pulled his way up and over. He was almost back down onto the street when the grabber claw suddenly snapped up from within the masonry, like some horrid metal zombie trying to escape from its grave. It startled Claus enough to send him toppling backwards, winding himself as he landed with an oomph on the asphalt of the street. Snapping wildly the claw clanged into the floor next to him, then flashed up and back down, this this grabbing his leg as he frantically attempted to scramble out of its range. Claus yelped as the claw bit down, then jerked up, lifting him clear into the air, dangling like some sort of horrific shit stained doll. Yelling abuse, including a wide selection of the 413 swear words taught to him by Mike at cards, Claus kicked and struggled.

It is very rare that anyone is ever glad that their trousers fall to pieces in public. Claus became the newest member of that exclusive club as he dropped back to the ground with yet another oomph, the claw still swinging the tattered remains of his trousers like a crude flag of surrender. He slowly got to his feet, one shoe lost somewhere in the rumble, no trousers, shirt ripped open. Something unpleasantly slimey oozed down his back. He smelt so bad that he would have wretched, but he didn't even have the energy to do that. Feeling that standing was overrated, he slumped  back down, hugging his knees as a wave of nausea swept over him. Only the approach of footsteps kept him from curling up and going to sleep in the street. He squinted in the low sun, two figures, one large, one small, both lugging bulky objects on their shoulders. They both slowed to a stop as they got close to him, the larger one dropping his payload to the floor as he surveyed the scene.

"Well I'll be damned. Dragon slaying not a big enough challenge with your pants on?!" Mike moved to Claus and slapped him on the back. The resulting squelch caused the American to look down at his hand, "What the....EWWWW"

Claus tossed his head back and laughed