Red fills Reed's vision. An older woman waves signs, pointing people to their exits. She has grey hair, and the veins on her body are pronounced. Her Life Engine gives off a light blue glow that coats one of her arms. Reed always preferred the light from the Ryerson-engine, it contrasted nicely with the eyes of its users. Those purple, hazy eyes had been terrifying at first when people started getting them. Many of his friends had adopted engines for work, but he’d always believed them to be blasphemous. The Old Testament said we were created in God's image.

  Still, he had to admit the new church's teachings were convincing. They preached that these engines were a gift to humanity. Before he could ponder further, he was called forward as they shuffled people into the bunker.

  Finding his usual spot in the bunker, he could hear the low whisperings between people. Most were speculating on when this incursion would end. A few whispered to their own about who might be invading this time. Many people, including Reed, had found the leaked data about the creatures invading Earth. The creatures were just as, if not more, intelligent than humans. This too was an unholy line of thought, but it felt natural. Why else would humanity always be on the backfoot? It reminded him of grand stories he’d heard of the old Europeans invading the Americas. But back then, they were doing what God intended, spreading His ways. These creatures were not.

  Reed tried to listen in on a conversation about the latest Inkwell-engine design, but he kept getting distracted by the noises outside. Everyone seemed so at ease nowadays with all the gunfire and the rattling of engines. He remembered when the first Life Engine had whirred to life. He’d gone with the men of his church, all of whom had reserved seats to witness its first ignition. They had bought their seats to snub their noses at the nonbelievers who didn’t believe salvation would come. Those people, he believed, would never make it to heaven.

  Now, he was admiring the eyes of someone using the very engine he had dismissed so many years ago. That first engine had been loud, extremely primitive, but it made sense. The combustion engine still felt new to Reed, even though it had been sixty-some years since it debuted (if his memory served him right, which it didn’t always). The engine they demonstrated back then was so different from the ones he and his father had worked on. His dad, an automotive expert, insisted Reed learn the trade, claiming combustion engines were the future.

  _Oh, how wrong you were, Dad,_ Reed often thought, especially after that first Life Engine roared to life. The engines shared similar technologies, but the key difference was the fuel, and the force it could provide. That first Life Engine wasn’t optimized, it still used outdated tech and only lasted a few cycle turns before blowing up. But the power it released was out of this world.

  The engines Reed could hear outside were still loud, but those were combat engines. Reed wasn’t privy to their names or the tech behind them, but he remembered them as absolute machines. The one outside sounded like it was misfiring, an old-world automotive term, though many such terms had carried over. Reed liked keeping up with tech, even if part of him detested it.

  The misfiring engine’s hum grew louder. It began to sound less like a hum and more like the roars he’d heard before. He couldn’t tell if this was due to proximity or some other unknown tech. At first, Reed stood to investigate, pressing his ear against the wall. Others in the bunker gave him strange looks. He knew how poorly non-believers were viewed these days. Everyone had put their faith into the men and women who powered these machines.

  But he knew better. He had seen what those machines produced, not just as byproducts, but what they made of the people who wielded them.

  The engine’s offbeat thrum reached a crescendo, loud enough that everyone began listening. It felt close, _too_ close. Dust shook from the walls as they vibrated, and the whole building felt unstable. To Reed’s left, a mother cradled her children, who showed no fear. No, they had been properly conditioned to believe in those out there fighting. The schools ensured faith in humanity and in the engines they wielded. Only the older generation, those born before the engines, still had doubts.

  As the dust thickened and cracks formed along the walls, Reed’s palms began to sweat. This wall was all that stood between them and whatever battle raged outside. The moment the wall started to give way and crumble, Reed looked around, and realized a little too late that he was the only one still standing close. Everyone else, including the mother and her children, had either run or huddled near the far wall.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Everyone, save one child. The same child who had shown no fear of the battle. Reed saw the child’s mother curled on the ground, unaware her child had wandered off. Yet the child now stood beside Reed, smiling up at him, as Reed frowned down.

  “Don’t worry, mister! The Iron Hearts always prevail!” the kid shouted over the roar of the engines. He yelled like he needed to hear it, even if it came from himself.

  Reed suddenly felt a strange respect for the kid. He didn’t seem to blindly believe in the engine wielders, or “Iron Hearts,” as he called them. He was simply trying to have faith.

  The dust finally settled. Just Reed and the nameless child remained by the shattered wall. Together, they got the first glimpse of the Iron Heart lying on the ground. It seemed his Life Engine had taken the brunt of the impact. He appeared only lightly injured, but his skin had turned a sickly pale.

  The other figure, his opponent, stood about twenty paces away, unmoving. Then, the man croaked:

  “That Kyrian… it won’t attack you. Don’t worry. It’s only after specific blood types.” The man wheezed as he tried to rise. As he moved, his engine whirred back to life, and more color drained from his body.

  “Just move away. Run to the next nearest exit. Backup will come. Don’t worry.”

  Reed was stunned. This man was a true hero. He felt shame, shame for having once turned his nose up at those who wielded these engines. And then it hit him, he was standing so close to one. A combat-class engine. For the first time.

  His awe shattered at the sound of footsteps. Two sets. One, the slow, methodical steps of the Kyrian. The other came from right beside him. The child.

  The boy approached the Iron Heart. Before Reed could stop him, the kid was already on his tiptoes, trying to place his arm into a compartment labeled **SPARE**. Before Reed could piece together what it meant, the man groaned:

  “Your blood won’t work, kid! Get back inside, now!” The Iron Heart now genuinely feared for the child’s life.

  But the kid just mumbled, “I already took the test. I was born with sundered blood. I _know_ this will work.”

  The man's face lit up slightly, some color returning. His blood was being spared, replaced by the kid’s. The engine roared out of sync, but it roared nonetheless.

  “If you’re gonna be so brave, then what excuse do I have to stand back?” Reed stepped forward and began checking the engine like he’d seen done before. He quickly located the equivalents of spark plugs and injectors. One plug was loose. He tightened it and sealed the fuel injector near the spare-hand hole, moved the kid’s hand aside, and inserted his own.

  He had long known his blood was compatible. Everyone took the test. Most, after testing positive, adopted a civilian-class engine for work. Not Reed. He’d never wanted one.

  But now, in this moment, he couldn’t let a child be braver than him.

  The familiar pinpricks pierced his hand, needles from every direction. He felt his strength drain. And then, almost on cue, the engine roared with new ferocity. The fix helped, but even Reed could tell this machine was on its last legs.

  With a low hum, the engine hit a rhythm. The man stood fully now, distressed but grateful.

  Reed walked the child back into the bunker. That was the extent of their help. Now came the front-row seat to the battle.

  The Kyrian, seemingly satisfied with the Iron Heart’s recovery, picked up its pace. Once in range, it lifted its arm. Its cloak slipped, revealing a twisted form, an arm shaped like a drill. It began to turn slowly, then accelerated as it fell toward the Iron Heart.

  The man focused. Reed saw gears shift on his body. A red glow pulsed through tubes along his limbs. His legs moved. Pistons fired. The man vanished from the drill’s path.

  With a gloved fist pulled back, Reed noticed a smaller engine on the man’s arm feeding off the larger one, converting power into pure momentum. Something at his elbow glowed red as the fist rocketed forward.

  The fight moved too fast for Reed to follow. Even after the repairs, the Kyrian had the upper hand. It moved with equal speed and wielded its drill effortlessly.

  Eventually, the Kyrian seemed to lose interest. It tucked its arm away and simply walked off. The Iron Heart let it go, he was on the brink. Then, as the Kyrian vanished around the corner, six more Iron Hearts arrived. Some glowed red, others yellow, and one deep blue, not the light blue Reed had seen earlier.

  All six panted, despite their powerful engines. Some looked nervous.

  “Where’s the Kyrian?” the first Iron Heart asked.

  After a pause, the original finally responded, “Sir Leon, sir!” His faint yellow hues flared back to life.

  “It must’ve sensed you. All those engines, and a boiler, no less.” He nodded toward the one with the deep blue hue and sighed. “Good thing you came. This was almost a disaster. Shame we couldn’t take it down. Kyrian parts are worth their weight in gold, more when intact. But... it’s for the best.”

  The seven Iron Hearts, some of them women, to Reed’s surprise, though he’d heard of female Iron Hearts, talked among themselves casually, dropping their pretense.

  Then Leon turned and looked at Reed and the child.

  “And what to do with _you_ two?”