Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Age of Iron
Chapter 3
Council
“I’m telling you, the deer over-exaggerate everything.”
Steampunk and Rayzorblade trudged down the hills towards the towering walls that surrounded the fort in which they made their home. The walls were two feet thick, cracked and crumbling, dead vines grew up the sides, parched by the drought. Two tall iron gates opened wide, like some sort of old rusted pair of arms, beckoning all to enter. They were as old as the wall, just as thick and plain, with only a few decorative swirls etched on the rusting and dirtied metal. The sun had barely risen in the pale salmon sky, casting a glow on the two who were returning from patrol.
Rayzorblade’s shoulder plates were continuing to squeak with every step, earning him some annoyed glares from Steampunk as they walked through the gates. Rows upon rows of simple, rectangular, crude concrete buildings stretched down the length of the fort, a few taller buildings lie around the edges of the camp. Each building was home to some sort of experiment, their name, identification code, and division etched on a grimy metal plate next to the lonesome doors. Ramps led up to the doors, and inside each bunker was straw for sleeping, a feeding machine for those who could not feed themselves, and intelligent equipment that could repair and oil armor when needed.
“What do you mean?” Steampunk asked as dust kicked up from their hooves as they walked slowly towards the blaring loudspeaker that was calling all division leaders to the meeting area in the center of the camp. The voice on the speaker was most definitely deer, as they could tell from the strange accent when he called out in horse-speak. He sounded annoyed and impatient. “Well, you know. They’re calling you and all the other leaders for a meeting and they won’t even say why. Just like the whole incident with the rotting potatoes last year.” Rayzorblade smirked at the memory, and Steampunk couldn’t help but let out a short, gruff chuckle. “Don’t remind me.”
Around them, the other division leaders were beginning to filter around the corner, and as they neared it, Rayzorblade offered a goodbye to Steampunk, turned on his heels and trotted towards his bunker, his shoulder squeaking all the way. Steampunk looked around him, a grim, bored look in his eyes. Cervines, canines, hyaenidae, equines, bovines, and even a few felines inhabited this one camp. Gifted with the intelligence from the injection they had all received upon arrival at the facility, they could all communicate freely, although different species had a difficult time fully understanding one another. Predators also possessed the intelligence required to not kill or hunt every prey animal they saw, instead waiting for feedings to be delivered to their doors.
Stempunk, leader of the Infantry, arrived at the circle next to his Equine comrades. There was Layla, the stern leader of the aerial assault division, a dapple thoroughbred mare with shining leg armor and two tall shoulder plates that curved backwards, and between the two spires there floated a large purple sphere, rotating slowly in the air. Connected to the plates there were two long arm-like projections with long fingers serving as high-tech wings, folded up above her. The leader of the bombing and gassing squad, Smaug, a snarky Akhal-Teke stallion of whom was covered completely in deep green-black silicone-like material save for the black metal face plate and breathing filter covering his nostrils. There was also Reagan, leader of the Judas squad, of whom had the task of capturing the enemy’s attention in battle. He was a short, plump Haflinger with a kind disposition and silver-and-teal armor. Upon his helmet there were two smooth teal horns, curving away from his face and towards the ground.
“Vell look who it is.” Smaug piped up in his thick Russian accent, a devilish grin on his unnaturally elongated mouth. The corners stretched all the way under his eyes, due to the disintegration of tissue beneath. He lashed his long blackish serpentine tail in glee at the thought of being able to annoy Captain of the Infantry. Steampunk merely ignored the cocky stallion, instead playing attention to the company of deer before them as they all bickered and yapped in their strange dialect.
As Smaug carried on about some sort of bird he had seen, Layla promptly roared at him to shut up, her ears pinned and teeth snapping at his stretchy suit. He yelped, snarling, attempting to strike at her. Reagan flicked his ears nervously, mumbling, “You two shouldn’t be fighting…” Steampunk raised his head, thoroughly annoyed by the two, about to yell his displeasure when another voice blared over the noise. It was the piercing, screaming bugle of an elk, stabbing into the ears of everyone present. Angry and surprised howls, yelps, neighs, and bellows all rose up in unison as they all attempted to silence the elk with glares and howls of pain.
At last the elk silenced his scream, and nodded solemnly, stepping back and letting a navy and gray armored whitetail buck step forward. Before he could speak, the angry infantry leader of the canine section spoke up. “Why have you called us in this early hour, Romulus? My team had been training diligently. Speak quickly, deer, before I grow hungry.” The black shepherd barked, ears perked and hackles raised as he sat. The buck nodded, as if not moved by the dog’s angry words, although the prey animal in him quivered. “In time, my good Bruiser, in time.” He raised his head and cleared his throat.
“Thank you all for attending this urgent meeting. Something has happened that we all must take very seriously, and I hope you all will listen with the utmost attentiveness.” Romulus began, looking very serious and solemn as he spoke. “Prototype 062-C has escaped the warehouse. Most of you know him as Cogs.” There was a wave of surprised mumbling that circled around the company. “Cogs? The senile old one? How did he get out?” Layla asked, ears swiveling and brow low. “Apparently the glass in the holding tank was too old. It burst under pressure.” Rolumus replied, silencing himself to let the others speak among themselves for a moment.
“This is an outrage; How could the humans be so careless?” Boomed the great lumbering blue wildebeest on the edge of the circle. He stomped his hoof angrily, tossing his head. “Dhor’uba is right,” Snorted the large black bull the stood next to the wildebeest. “why should we do anything, it is the human’s mess to clean up.” The whole circle then began to rally up with snarls and cries of disapproval and refusal to act, and the chaos slowly grew as those who knew they must search for the prototype began to fight with the ones who thought differently.
Steampunk watched the fighting, ears pinned in annoyance. Petty, brainless beasts. He stepped into the center of the circle just as a hyena was about to jump on a dog as they fought verbally, and opened his maw. From his throat came a deafening, low drone, somewhat like the sound of a large string instrument that the humans were so fond of playing. The noise was the fruit of the intense throat surgeries he had undergone, along with the deep reverberating voice his armor gave him. The sound oscillated feverishly between a roar and a drone, knifing into the ears of all present. It seemed as loud as a foghorn, and quickly converted yelling and biting into yelps and pinned ears.
With one last note, Steampunk shut his mouth. Disproval welled in his eyes as he glared in utter disgust at the beasts around him. “What are you all, mindless wild animals?” He roared, turning to make eye contact with every Captain present. “You are leaders, yet you act like the lowest ranking scouts. You are a disgrace, an embarrassment to this army and its troops. No wonder we are losing this war, the majority of our captains have reverted to unsocialized pets!” Silence followed his biting rage, and he stood in the center, head high and ears pinned, orbs scanning every face. He breathed in the smoggy air, letting it out with a snort. “Cogs is missing,” he began again, this time more calmly. “If the enemy captures him he could be at great risk. I’m not fond of the old man myself, but we cannot let him slip away.”
Murmurs of agreement went around the gathering, solemn nods and grunts of compliance. Seeing as no captain was taking true control, Steampunk began to throw out orders. “Bombing squads—you all guard the gates. We’ll have no use for you in this mission. That goes for you Judas’s and Medics as well. Infantries, we must search the highlands, every hill and canyon until we reach the mountain pass. Aerial assault units, take to the skies—“
The stallion was cut off by the turbulent sound of a man-machine, and all eyes looked up to the red sky as a helicopter zoomed by overhead. “It seems as though the humans are finally taking charge!” Layla called over the noise, blue-gray mane whipping wildly in the wind. “It would appear so.” Steampunk called back. “Oh- Aerials!” Steampunk yelled again, this time with a glint in his eyes. The beasts of the air turned to him expectantly, artificial wings and flying devices at the ready.
“Watch out for the copters!”
