Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Stubs Soon!

I woke up, and I knew I wasn’t dead, because while it certainly wasn’t heaven, it didn’t quite seem like hell either.

I was on a table inside a warehouse. There was a young woman leaning over me. She had long hair pulled back from her face, a scar on her cheek. She wore a long blue overcoat over a uniform, not one I recognized, and of all things, a huge sword over her shoulder.

What the hell was going on here? Why was I not paste under a dozer?

The guy with her was your typical glasses-wearing little pencil neck. He seemed worried. "Automaton, can you hear me? Are you able to function?"

“What the fuck?” I said out loud.

My voice sounded odd. I held up my hands. Why weren't they squished flat with the rest of me? They were thick and meaty, but they looked intact.

Only they weren't mine. Gone were the bruised knuckles from that bar fight two weeks ago. Where were the calluses from working the excavator controls late into the night until I had blisters rising all along my palms? These weren't mine. These were pristine. Brand new. Thick and meaty, but smooth as a baby’s. This was nuts.

Then I looked down. Yeah, okay, I was naked in front of a couple of strangers. That was pretty weird. But I had two legs. Two legs! What the heck?

I lifted my right leg off the table and rotated my ankle. All those toes! Bare like a baby's bottom and not scarred the way they would have been if my leg had still been attached. That IED near Kabul had seen to that. Last I'd seen my right leg, it had been a pulverized chunk of meat fit for nothing but hamburger. I only got a quick glimpse of that horror, then I woke up days later in the hospital one-legged.

What the hell was going on?

The girl stepped back. Her eyes widened, and not because a big naked dude was laying in front of her. She was only looking at my face anyway.

“Alexander, what's wrong? What happened to him? Why is he using profanity?"

"I told you, Angelica. The brain of a golem just can't handle this much.” The geek was shaking his head. “We asked for too many skills. Who knows what it did to the thing’s mind.”

"Who the fuck are you people? Where the hell am I?"

I tried to sit up. There was a restraint across my chest, a two-inch-wide leather strap. I grabbed at it and tugged. The wide strap snapped like a rubber band.

What the hell? How was I so strong?

They both took a step back, but I was focused on the girl. Only a vague flicker of worry crossed her face. No real fear. Her reaction, plus the sword and scars made me really wonder. Who was this chick?

Wait, where was I?

"Hey, how did I get here? Where the hell is here?"

"We don't have time for this," the girl said.

Ok, she was definitely the one in charge here. She was wearing an old-style uniform. That heavy wool like you see in World War I photos. Long trench coat. Belt. It was only vaguely feminine, but it was definitely tailor-made specifically for her. Pretty nicely too. She was small, but her attitude was big enough for two. "See if we’ve got any kind of skills loaded in that thing at all. I'm going to go check on the chargers.” She turned and strode away, leaving me with the man called Alexander.

"Who is she? Who the hell are either of you people?" I swung my feet over the side of the metal table and slid down. I took a step with my right leg, reveling in the feeling. I had two feet. They were both naked, but I had two legs!

Nothing here made any sense. We were in a vast hangar. The lights flickered weirdly; the smells were wrong. Hulking pieces of machinery stood all around against the walls, but the shapes were — wrong. Not tanks or planes or even construction shit. I took a closer look at the nearest one.

It was a robot. A giant fucking robot, sitting hunched up on itself. “No way,” I whispered. Those had to be arms wrapped around big metal knees.

The other wall held a rack of guns bigger than a car. Well, that made sense. I mean, if you had giant robots, you had to have big fucking guns, right?

I laughed out loud. This was just too weird. "Alright, look. You guys gotta tell me the way back to Kansas, because this is just nuts. Do I have to see a wizard or can I just click my heels three times right here?”

Alexander peered up into my face. “Do you... did you get anything? Do you have any skills?"

I Just looked at him. “Skills? What?” Was this some sort of bizarre job interview?

“We need you to help us. To be the crew.” To himself he muttered, “What is wrong with this thing?" but I caught every word.

"What thing? You mean me?" I thumped a thumb against my chest. "You tell me what's wrong. I have no idea what the fuck this place is or what the hell's going on.

“We’re —” he started to say before shaking his head. “Look at me, talking to a golem like it's a person.”

“Hey dipshit, I AM a person. So watch how you're talking to me. Show a little respect. Seriously, man. I'm a little confused, is all."

"You're a flesh golem. You don’t get ‘confused’.”

I folded my arms. I had been pretty fit before but holy shit, I had biceps as big as my head. Assuming my head was still normal size. I didn’t have a mirror. “Now we’re getting somewhere. And a flesh golem is?"

"A giant fake person?” He apparently expected me to know this stuff, like I was just being momentarily forgetful. “Strong? Used for menial tasks? Programmable for whatever job we need?"

“Right. Of course I am. And you're the King of England.”

“England? This is Poland.” Now Alexander looked really confused. He shook his head. “Look, I need to know what skills took, while I see if this machine has enough energy for another try.”

He pointed at something behind me. It was right out of freaking Frankenstein. Big brass machine, giant knobs, red-and-black dials, the giant lever that you pull down and say, "It's alive!" and all that shit.

He stepped over to the machine and stared down at a big dial. “I need to know what your skills are because I need to see what else I can program in a short amount of time. Ah, crap.” He interrupted himself to swear. He wasn’t very good at it. “Damn it. There's no anima left. I don't think we can get another golem out of this thing.” He looked over at me. “Looks like you’re all we’re going to get.”

Just off to the side of the Frankenstein machine was a big set of metal shelves like they use in home improvement stores. On each shelf, a big pair of bare feet stuck out from under a tarp. It looked like a bunch of cadavers stacked up, only not refrigerated.

They had that same pasty skin as me.

That same oversized, meaty, muscular looking build.

I looked down at my feet, then over at theirs. Big, clean, no marks on them. Two per stiff.

One of the shelves was empty.

No fucking way.

“No fucking way! You got me off of that thing?”

"What?" The guy turned and looked at this rack. "Yeah.” He acted confused by the question. "Look, we haven't got time. Can you drive a truck?"

"Oh yeah, sure. I do that all the time."

"Other heavy equipment? Cranes?"

"Yep, yep. No problem."

I was looking around the room as I spoke. Aside from the giant robots, the enormous guns, the Frankenstein machine and the corpses, there was a truck.

It was like something you'd see NASA use to haul a rocket out to a pad. Only steampunk style, all curvy and Art Deco.

It was huge. Twice as wide as a big rig semi and even longer. It reminded me of a land-train I had seen once. They had an old derelict of one on the base at Yuma. Huge tires, bigger than a man is tall, a cross between those big mining trucks they use out west and a sleeper train.

“You want me to drive that?”

“Yeah.” The man sighed and ran a hand across his forehead. He took one last longing look at the mad science machine and then faced me. “Alright, look. You’re all we are going to get so let’s get loaded up.” He pointed at stacks of gear. “We have to get out of here before the Russian army comes back.”