Forgive me for the aside, but I feel it’s worth mentioning the difference between “cover” and “concealment.” Cover, in the context of having people actively shooting at you whether with guns or weird probably magical things, is a barrier that can actually stop a projectile that’s been aimed at you. Think the concrete walls of a bunker or a berm. Concealment on the other hand, is something that makes it hard for the enemy to aim at you well enough to hit you. Like a wall in a house. Rounds will go right through it, but you don’t know if you’ll hit or not. And then there’s what I currently have, “not a damn thing.”

  “How long will it take?” I shouted at Sandra, who had retreated to the far edge of the clearing. She had a stick and was poking at the ground.

  “It’ll be a while!” She shouted back. “It’s not easy trying to draw this circle from memory! Can you hold it off?”

  She didn’t even look in my direction as she scribbled in the dirt with her stick. I only gnced up at her for a moment, but based on the movement of her mouth she was either muttering a rather long incantation, or swearing like a sailor under her breath. Both would fit the current situation.

  I let off a burst of rounds from my current spot behind a tree, then immediately sprinted to a spot 20 yards away. I was halfway there when a shower of splinters burst from the back of the tree, peppering the spot I had just left. No cover and no concealment. The only positive is that whatever it was seemed to need to stop before shooting at me.

  “I’ll do what I can! You might want to hustle though!” Another few rounds shot towards the thing, and another tree bursting as I fled. Have I ever mentioned that I hate sprinting? Yeah, I really hate sprinting.

  If anything I was reminded of the term “drawing aggro” from MMORPGs. Not that I ever pyed any, but it was a commonly enough used term that even someone like me was aware of it. And that was my roll; draw aggro while our party’s spellcaster worked on a spell. Wait, aren’t I a spellcaster as well? Why am I being forced into pying a tank? Oh, right, because most of the magic I know is petty stuff used to get back at cssmates who annoy me.

  Based on how it’s moving, I doubt it’d be put off by a case of indigestion. Something that makes a metallic “thunk” sound probably won't be upset by a stomach ache. Likewise, causing milk to spoil really wouldn’t help out much here. Throwing fireballs is out of the question; it worked in the fantasy world we found ourselves in during the st incident, but it might be a bit beyond me right here, at least for the moment. I really should have put more effort into more practical spells. At least shooting it seems to help. Maybe I really am meant for the more caveman like role of party tank.

  You know you have me here to help, right? Liah thought towards me, miffed at being left out of my internal debate.

  I don’t want you shooting at it as well. Making you draw fire like this would be too much for you. I really don’t want her getting hurt. And her current form is a much smaller target even if the creature did decide to lob a few rounds her way. And the thing, currently at 200 yards, seemed to only be attacking me for the moment.

  I mean with magic! We may not be the best at fancy ritual magic like Sandra, but you’re forgetting a few things. Brute force isn’t the only thing you’re good at.

  I am decent at it though. I paused as I yet again shot at the thing and fled to yet another tree. If I kept this up the forest here would be toast. It was already starting to resemble Belleau Wood with all the shattered trees. I had switched pretty fast to just doing single, aimed shots at the thing. I’d be burning through ammo too fast otherwise. No exciting gun battle, just shooting and moving before it killed me back.

  I need to think more creatively. Its movements are janky, it seems to need to steady itself, and when shot it lets out a dull metallic noise. What does that sound like to you? That’s right, a robot. Sure, if this was sent by the immortal alchemist we’re supposed to be stopping your first thought would be something supernatural, but immortal means years and years to worm their way into the deepest crevices of the country. And deepest crevices of the country means DARPA bck projects!

  If we’re going off magic I could realistically do, well, while people of my persuasion were known for bringing storms. Hail, lightning, heavy waves at sea enough to sink ships… is not likely to happen. But maybe there’s some way I could generate enough static to mess with electronics.

  Sounds good. I should be able to help with that. Liah listening in on my thoughts as usual. It does make things much more convenient, since I don't have to shout.

  Okay, so controlled breaths. Easier said than done with some weird hooded figure going for a Terminator impression slowly advancing on me. I can only assume this is the best GE has to offer, so if this works I can at least know the taxpayers won't know all this money of theirs got wasted on me. Feeling for that energy at my core, I impressed my will on it, sending it out into the world. With Liah as an intermediary, I could feel a current in the air. If it was that strong here, I can only imagine what it’d be like around the figure.

  “Did it work?” I asked the cat next to me aloud, pointedly ignoring how her fur was puffed up from static.

  A fsh of motion from the figure streaked towards me, that I dodged by the skin of my teeth. Nope. The figure sped up, no longer doing the slow, relentless thing. IT was still only a brisk walk, but a brisk walk from something that wouldn’t go down when pelted with bullets is really not comforting. Maybe we should have fled at the start?

  It was about 50 yards away now. Shooting and dodging was really not going to work for much longer. Sighing, I let out another burst. As the banging noise bred out from my suppressor which, from all the shooting, was starting to glow a bit, the figure staggered.

  “Fuck yeah!” It’s finally showing some reaction. Now, If only I wasn’t on my st mag. Goes to show I really didn’t pn things out, at this range I’d really want to go cyclic. Maybe if I mag-dump, that’ll buy me enough time to go through the gear for everyone elses mags. I really should have pnned this better from the start.

  Here it goes…

  Suddenly, words in a nguage that sounded familiar but incomprehensible rang out from behind me. A gust of wind and a bright light rushed past me, knocking over the figure just as it was getting into the edge of the clearing.

  Looking behind brought a view of Sandra, panting as if she had run a marathon. Smoke rose from the ground in a circle, whirling about her feet in patterns that resembled written nguage. I’ll be honest, I kind of wished I looked that cool.

  “I think it’s safe to say it’s down. Should we check it out?” I really want to see if I managed to do any damage to it. Call it competitive spirit, but I at least want to know if I did something.

  “You go ahead.” Sandra gasped out. “I’ll just take a bit of a rest.”

  I dug through the pile of gear for another mag first. Can’t be too careful. As I slowly approached the fallen figure, rifle at the low ready, I noticed I could see a gleam through the tattered bck robe that covered it. Definitely metallic. Eat that Military-Industrial Complex! I took down one of your fancy bck projects with a regur civilian-ish AR-15. Except not really, given the giggle switch and the fact this is literally federal property.

  Giggling at the thought of bck budget dolrs being wasted, I slowly lifted the hood of the figures robe out of the way with the muzzle of my rifle. Hmmm.

  “It’s made of brass…” Odd design choice. Almost kind of old-fashioned.

  “That expins why the static didn’t work.” Liah answered, having changed back into human form. I was just afraid. Not of the figure itself, but of a potential genre-shift. Because brass means…

  I drew a knife and cut away the bullet-riddled remnants of the robe. The figure was covered in brass, and pockmarked with dents. It was heavy, but I managed to flip it over. And there it was.

  On the back was a vent, slowly leaking white smoke. No, leaking steam, Next to it was a recessed square knob, like the tuning peg on a harp. And slowly, consistently, it was moving, like a spring winding down.

  “A clockwork automata. We were attacked my a fucking clockwork automata. Fantasy was one thing, but steampunk? At least it’s something actually functionally steampunk, rather than just ‘glue some gears to a hat, put on some goggles, and call it a day,’ but why the fuck are we doing steampunk now?”

  “The briefing did say they were an 18th century alchemist, is it that surprising he’d have something like this floating around.” Sandra finally worked her way over to the figure, though she was looking pretty haggard.

  “I know you’re pying devil's advocate, but let me compin at least a bit. I was thinking things would be a bit more rational. You know, like monsters and other spooky stuff. Or maybe misappropriated stuff from the deep-state. Not clockwork and steam.” Liah put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Welp, today just got much longer.”

  I grabbed out my phone and dialed a number from memory. It picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello, this is the undromat, how may we help you?” An innocuous phrase that was practically cliché. I’ll be honest, as much of a chore this is, it's kind of cool, like a corny b-movie.

  “Yeah, this is one of your customers, the library. We have a load we’d like you to pick up. It’s heavy though.” I answered.

  “Okay, we’ll send someone to your location.” Then they hung up. Liah and Sandra looked at me like I was crazy.

  “What? The boss got this set up just in case anything happened. I can’t just up and ask for sketchy pickups outright, there needs to be a bit of tradecraft.” I tried to expin.

  “Nobody would be fooled by that.” Sandra said.

  “Would too. They actually do my dry-cleaning. They’re rather good at it.”

  Leaving at that, I sat down to wait for the chopper that would hopefully be soon to arrive.