you leap just as the creature surges towards you, grasping a rough outcrop on its head and clumsily swinging yourself onto its back
before you is a jumbled jigsaw of scrap metal to cover the fragile pistons and wires below it
the roars and screeches of the beast echo around you, creating a ringing feeling in your audials
you mercilessly dig your fingers into the clutter of wiring, feeling yourself driven by a deep-set fighting instinct
once you feel your claws entangled within your prize you pull as hard as you can, pulling with a maneuver as savage as the beast itself
there's a shower of sparks surrounding you as the cords come loose and you throw them all aside
the beast rears its ugly head and screams piercingly but your grip holds on the plating and wiring
your higher thought processes seem to have shut down entirely, giving birth to a new subroutine unknown to you
a fit of rage consumes you and you block out every obstructing thought - your single concern is this monster under you and the task of taming it
and tame it you have, for as the ripped wires pile and scatter around you, the beast collapses and gives a final whirr of its motors
you dismount and survey the creature as order restores itself to your brain and you feel your head clear of its barbaric motives
the beast, it seems, is dead for now - in both senses of the phrase.
