I woke on the forest floor to a vibration that made the pine needles dance like static on a television screen. The town below was being devoured. From our vantage point, I could see the local hospital tilting into a towering sinkhole; gas stations were erupting into plumes of orange and violet fire as the earth buckled under an unseen, artificial weight.
"Richard, get up!" Amelia’s voice was a tectonic growl. She was already standing, her leaf-and-vine armor rustling like a thousand dry wings in the wind of the tremors. "It’s not the earth. It’s him. It’s one of the machines from the basement!"
She didn't hesitate. She stepped out of the tree line, her bare, titanic feet cracking the asphalt of the main road as she entered the town. I scrambled onto my bike, pedaling through the chaos, dodging falling power lines and navigating around the frantic townspeople who were frozen in their pajamas, caught between the horror of the sinking ground and the fifty-foot goddess emerging from the smoke, the street in front of her exploded in a geyser of dirt, asphalt, and twisted water pipes. A robot erupted from the earth—the CTF-685001, but scaled to a horrific, 40-foot height. It was shaped like a immense, armored beetle, its hull caked with the dark soil and limestone of the town's underside. Its eyes were two massive, almond-shaped diamonds that glowed with a piercing, cold blue light.
Amelia Rose’s bright blue eyes narrowed until they were slits of sapphire fire. "I'm not letting it take this town!" she roared, her voice drowning out the police sirens. "I am not a victim anymore!"
The robot lunged with a mechanical hiss of pressurized hydraulic fluid. Its right claw retracted and slammed forward, transforming into a spiked, metallic boxing glove. It caught Amelia squarely under the chin with a force that sent a visible shockwave through the air, blowing the windows out of the nearby bakery. She flew backward, her 50-foot frame smashing into a three-story office building. The sound of shattering glass and splintering support beams was a top tier symphony of destruction. BOOM! Dust, wood, and shredded leaves from her armor filled the street like a thick, grey fog.
The robot loomed over her, its blue eyes turning a predatory, glowing red. Amelia’s rage ignited. She thought of her mother’s garden—those delicate pink bushes—now being crushed by this metallic intruder. She scrambled to her feet, her black shirt stretching its fibers to the absolute limit as she lunged forward. She grabbed the robot's spiked arm with both hands, her muscles corded like steel cables. She planted her feet, cracking the road into a spiderweb of ruins, and twisted.
SNAP!
The sound of the towering hydraulic arm shearing off was like a thunderclap. Orange hydraulic fluid and white-hot sparks showered the street like macabre fireworks. Amelia didn't stop; she balled the severed arm into a hunk of jagged scrap metal and hurled it back into the robot’s face with a pitcher's deadly precision. CRACK! One of its diamond-blue eyes shattered into a thousand glittering shards.
The machine wavered, screeching in a high-pitched frequency that made my ears bleed. Amelia tackled it, the combined weight of the two titans leveling a nearby warehouse. She pinned the metallic beetle, her long wavy black hair falling around her face like a dark storm cloud. She jammed her towering thumbs—the strongest tools she had—directly into the robot's remaining eye-sockets, the glass crunching into fine powder. With a final, tectonic heave, she gripped the robot's neck and tore its head completely off the torso.
SCREE-OOOOM.
The body went limp, erupting in a violent explosion of yellow sparks and oily black smoke. As the robot combusted, Amelia stood in the center of the ruins. A crowd of survivors huddled under the marquee of the local theater, their faces pale and illuminated by the fire. They weren't screaming anymore. They were staring up at her in a silence that was heavier than the explosion.
Amelia looked down at me, her chest heaving, her bright blue eyes searching for my brown eyes in the darkness. She was the savior of the town, but as the first news helicopter appeared on the horizon, its searchlight locking onto her 50-foot, leaf-clad form, we both knew the secret was finally, truly dead.
I stood there in the middle of the ruined street, looking up at her. She looked like a goddess of nature reborn in a world of steel. When she reached down and offered me her hand, her colossal palm flat and inviting, I knew that no matter how big she got, she was still my Amelia.