She punches the pilot’s forehead and he explodes.
Gore galore!
Chrono is in the vicinity as well, swinging his silver hammer at a group of Reapers and…
“Marauders?” I ask the sky.
Rocket: They’re here too. I guess I failed to mention that.
Me: Do they bleed, or are they spewing hot air like they did in Steam?
Rocket: I guess there’s only one way to find out.
“Good enough for me,” I say as I spray a round of bullets at a female Reaper, who’s pivoting left and right as she uses her AA Bar to avoid instant metal death.
Two can play at that game, I think as I activate my own advanced abilities and toss the grenaded frisbee into the air over the approaching Reapers.
All it takes is one bullet.
The frag grenade explodes over the Reapers, slivers of sharp metal raining down from the tainted heavens.
Figuring I should turn shit up a notch, and barely missing a swipe from the skull-faced senorita who has avoided my attacks thus far, I go with item 571, my Golden Goosinator Hack, and my favorite weapon attachment, the AUS hose gun, item 566.
“Here we go!” I shout as I aim the nozzle of the AUS hose gun at the Reaperita.
The Almost Universal Solvent hose gun melts the broad’s legs long before I can cut her into two and log her real-world location with my hack.
“Focus on the mechs!” Doc cries, more bullets spraying from his wowsie-wow bean shooter.
To the air I go using my steam-powered jetpack, item 567.
Since the Golden Goosinator is capable of spraying AUS, I figure I might as well balance the hackage out by equipping Hackie, item 554, who screams inside my head as soon as I’ve got the bastard trailing up my arm.
Feed me!
“Easy, Hackie, you’re going to get plenty fed,” I say as I zip into the air, slice through a pair of marauders decked out in head-to-toe steampunk regalia, flip, spray some AUS juice (ewwww) onto a couple of skull bangers below me, cut through another marauder much to Hackie’s delight, and finally land on the Sentinel-like head of one of the Reaper’s steamzillas.
I give the big, boilerly, steamed-out building stomper the mutant hack through the skull treatment, and ride that bitch down to the ground, only kicking back into the air moments before impact.
“I got one!” I make a beeline for the next timber to be felled by Quantum Bunyan.
Rocket: Screenshots! That was badass!
Sophia: Less show, more slay.
“Care to give me a ride?” yells Morning Assassin, who has flashdanced behind me.
I drop, and Aiden gets on, a Gary to my Ace, and we blast off to the nearest Gipsy Danger. Aiden launches off my back, just in time for the jet pack to get a little warm against his family jewels, and lands on its shoulder.
He runs on the mech’s shoulder like a ninja assassin with a blade at his side.
Instead of skewering the big metal bastard, he goes for a bazooka instead, launching a missile into what could be the mech’s ear.
Morning Assassin flashdances away and retursn pirouette-style on my back, pointing at the next Iron Reaper Giant. Something on the battlefield below catches my eye, and I realize in that moment that shit just got real.
“I’ve got to get back down there,” I call over to Aiden.
“Is it him?” he shouts back.
“Yup.”
~*~
One superhero landing later and I’m looking up at the man, the myth, the asshole.
Senior Godsick himself, armored up, no antlers but a Reaper skull on his face over his ugly kisser.
And I know it’s him too by the way his Reaper gofers have gathered on the outskirts, forming a perimeter around him so he can strike his holier-than-thou pose.
“Any famous last words?” he calls down to me, his voice distorted by his Reaper mask.
Fires rage over his shoulders. More steamzoids appear in the distance, warding off attacks from Empress Thun’s battalion of griffins.
I can see Sophia, Doc, Aiden and Chrono to my left, their weapons – and claws, in Sophia’s case – aimed at the Reapers.
“How do you want me to handle this, Doc?” I call over my shoulder.
Doc: We have instant messaging for a reason.
Me: A little busy here, pal.
Doc: You asked me.
Me: I got this.
Doc: Then why did you ask me? You can be exhausting, you know that?
Rocket: Kick his dirty dog ass!
Me: Dirty dog ass? Rocket, you’re distracting me.
Sophia: This is where I’d normally say be careful of whatever tech he has, unless you want to end up like the bleached people.
Me: Thanks for the note of concern.
Sophia: Are you just going to stand there and stare at him?
Me: Staring? Dammit, Dr. Wang, I’m playing hardball here and you’re going to make me break character to argue with you, I swear…
Sophia: You should probably log out. We all should log out. There’s no telling what tech he has, and we’re close…
Doc: Not on this channel, Sophia. And since you asked my opinion, Quantum, I’ll give it to you.
Me: Waiting…
Doc: Give Strata your best shot so we can see what he is truly capable of. Do not get hit by any of his weapons. Sound doable?
Rocket: Easy enough!
Doc: I’m just saying, and don’t let this go to your head, if anyone can do it, it’s you, Quantum. Or me. I could probably do it. But I’m not the star of the show here. And while Mr. Godsick and I have some bad blood…
Me: I’ve got more bad blood.
Sophia: Do you two want to beat your chests as well? I heard that’s a great way to pump testosterone into an instant messaging system.
Rocket: I am beating my chest!
Me: That’s not the only thing you’re beating. Sorry, couldn’t resist.
Rocket: I’m laughing!
“Well?” Strata asks.
I glance up at Strata, glaring at the skull-masked CEO like he was the guy texting on his phone in the movie theater. “Sorry, I had a few more important conversations to have before I addressed your shitty, comic supervillain question. You know, we were buds long before you had your cadre of skull-fucked snot-nosed groupies. And I know there’s something underneath all the baggage and bullshit you’ve equipped over the last eight years that must realize how pathetic you are, your desire for power, your pettiness, and how this shit turned you to evil. But I’m going to say this…”
I wait for him to respond as both Hackie and the Golden Goosinator spread up my arms.
As I figured he would, Strata eventually bites. “Yes?”
“You were always the lesser man of the two of us, you never really had a way with words, and you’re a crap gamer. See you in hell, and I’ll probably end up kicking your ass there as well.”
I blast the living shit out of him, Hackie screaming in my skull as the blistering beam from my killer gun meets Strata, his outline visible behind the wave of energy that comes over him, filtering off his body only to reveal…
In the end, he’s still standing there, a little smokey, but virtually unharmed.
I can’t see his facial expression, but I know he’s got a shit-eating grin plastered across that twisted mug of his.
Rather than wait for him to retaliate, or the Reapers that have gathered to spring into action, my Golden Goosinator goes away and I hit the switch on Hackie that turns his blast to an icing agent.
I fire another shot at Strata as I bangtail it around the bastard, hoping to gain some leverage. He doesn’t freeze or anything; my shot fizzles out, his body protected by a thin, invisible shield.
The Meridian Circuit, I think as I return hacking to my list and go with a little cover fire. Item 313, my Heckler & Koch MP7 with suppressor and extended clip, forms in my hands.
Don’t need the suppressor, but the MP7 packs a punch, and I hit the AA as I run and shoot, alter
nating between Reapers and pot shots at Strata as I make my way to higher ground.
Aiden appears next to me, always the bro-migo, capping skull kiddos. Headshots the likes of which would make your avid gamer jealous, Aiden gives new definition to one shot, one kill, as he takes Reapers out one by one.
We’re doing the ‘I’ll fire over your shoulder and you fire over mine,’ which would prove detrimental if it weren’t for the fact that we’re in a VE dreamworld, the Proxima Galaxy our sweet mistress ready and willing to let our wildest fantasy violence dreams play out.
The two of us, our bromance in full swing, turn it up a notch when Aiden ducks and I roll over his back, land on my ass with my legs spread, and fire at a Marauder zipping toward us. Aiden flips over me, cartwheels one-handed to the right, where he kicks a Reaper in the chest so hard that the dude’s mask flies off, pivots left, and fires a shot point blank into the chest of a, well, very chesty Reaper.
If ever there were a Reaper pin-up calendar, this broad would have made the cut. But since there ain’t, and she’s on the bad side of good, she gets a hole the size of a bowling ball where her upper torso used to be. Aiden pumps another shot into her skull mask just before hurtling a small throwing knife right over my head, which jabs into the throat of a Marauder who has just landed.
We’re not the only ones orchestrating death. Doc and Chrono have paired up, Doc shooting while Chrono swings his hammers, the Red, White, and Blue Faun juiced up on AA like it was on tap at his local watering hole. Sophia is also doing her thing, mind-melting people, zipping around like Stinkerbell in Waringtla’s biggest latrine as she picks off Reapers.
As I hop from a few crumbled rock ledges, most of which were caused by the feet of one of their steamzoids, I quickly read through the messages from the rest of the team.
Doc: Watch your ass!
Rocket: Kick some ass!
Frances Euphoria: Be careful, Quantum!
My heart skips at this message; Frances is on, and I’d better impress her. After stomping through a Marauder stupid enough to land before me, I advance toward Strata, my Mega Man Mega Buster, item 390, charging.
I wish I could report back that I’m able to hand Strata his ass. Alas, just about the moment I’m ready to blast the bastard with everything Capcom has to offer, his freaking hand separates from his wrist, flies toward me, grabs me by the neck, and pulls me over to him.
“I’m looking forward to making you my slave,” Strata says as he presses the muzzle of an oddly shaped weapon against my forehead.
“Stop!”
The voice is youthful; I recognize it instantly as I hear the plea again.
“Stop, Dad!”
I try to look over my shoulder to match the face to the voice, and once Strata pivots some, I’m able to put a face to the voice. Luther Godsick stands in the center of the battle below, the kid looking pretty fly for a white guy in his golden armor that seems a few sizes too large for his body.
RevCo’s El Hefe keeps his suffocating grip on my neck yet lowers me some, his red eyes locked on Luther, a hint of sadness in the burning crimson orbs.
“Let Quantum go, and I’ll come with you!” Luther calls up to him.
Strata looks from me to his kid.
Frances Euphoria: Quantum!
Me: That’s my name, and don’t wear it out or I’ll make you buy me a new one.
Frances Euphoria: How can you joke at a time like this.
Me: I’ve found those are the best times to joke.
Doc: Cut the cute quips and do something to him.
Me: Can’t. Something about his grip is paralyzing me. Wish I had a cool explodey hand like Strata.
“You’ll come with me? You’ll log out?” Strata asks.
“And we’ll end all of this,” says Luther. “You are doing this for me; I will log out and you can leave Tritania alone.”
Doc: Are you planning something? Because if you are, now would be the time to execute whatever it is you’re planning.
Me: Luther isn’t going to give himself up that easily.
Doc: No shit, Sherlock, but he’ll be forced to if you don’t get away. Log out, dammit!
Me: Log out? Now wait just a damn minute, if anything, I’m going out with a bang.
Sophia: Really?
Me: Watch and learn, sister. Just need a bit longer…
Wiggle your left toe.
Nope, Uma Thurman’s line doesn’t work, but I can feel Strata’s power waning, likely because he’s focused on his kid.
As Godsick and his son continue to discuss the details of Luther’s release, and as Reapers start to gather around Luther, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, ignoring the fact that the Knights of Non Compos Mentis have appeared behind them, the Battling Brits chomping at the bit as they sneak up on the Reapers who have lowered their guards – I execute Plan B, AKA Plan Kaboom.
As soon as I’m able, I slip one hand behind my back and equip my suicide bomber jacket, item 300, and item 405, my case of toxic stink bombs, just for shiggles.
Strata hardly notices until Mrs. Hughes’ Goodest Boy goes boom boom, both of us going up in a cloud of smoke, fire, and blistering stank.
Chapter Eight
“I need to get back in there!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Steamboy, your Proxima Galaxy access has been temporarily discontinued,” says a robotic voice.
I still have the NV Visor over my noggin, which leads me to believe that I’m still in the taxi that Doc ordered for me.
The strange sensation in my stomach confirms it, as the taxi is currently lowering to the ground, and even though a warning on the inside screen of my NV visor tells me that I shouldn’t take it off, I do anyway, ignoring nausea, glaring out the window and daring the sun to say something.
If I just had a little longer, if I could just log back in…
The bastard and his godlike powers. I’ve got a surprise waiting for him; my gift of kaboomski was just the icing on the cake.
“Why can’t I log back in, dammit!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Steamboy, your Proxima Galaxy access has been temporarily discontinued.”
I punch the back of the driver’s seat.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Steamboy, your Proxima Galaxy access has been temporarily discontinued. Please do not assault the vehicle.”
And why the hell is the taxi calling me Mr. Steamboy?
Me: Rocket, why the hell can’t I log back in?
Rocket: Sorry, Q Bug, Doc told me to restrict your access until you land. Safer that way.
Me: So he can get all the glory?
Rocket: Not a lot of glory left. Strata logged out after your little boom boom act, as did the rest of the Reapers. Frances and Sophia are doing as much damage control as they can. Chrono and the Brits are helping too.
Me: Just like that, huh?
Rocket: Just like that. They destroyed Polynya and left, which I guess is a warning sign to Tritania and anyone who opposes them. I don’t know. I also don’t know what would have happened if Strata had taken Luther.
So many questions.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Steamboy, your Proxima Galaxy access has been temporarily discontinued.”
“I know damn well it has been temporarily discontinued!” I reach for my commando cane, unsheathe it, and get the urge to treat the front seat like a voodoo doll. A couple of breaths calm me, but not by much.
Me: And why is the taxi calling me Steamboy?
Rocket: It’s your codename because you have a bad temper.
“I don’t have a bad temper,” I grumble as the aeros lowers to the ground in a very Doc, very nondescript area.
I get out of the taxi and slam the door real hard. The trunk pops open so I can get my luggage, just as the robotic voice from inside the vehicle reprimands me. I ignore it, grab my carry-on, get a good grip on my sword-stick, and limp to the front door of what looks like an airport hangar.
That’s because it is an airport hangar, and of course Doc would have an airport h
angar available somewhere in Colorado. Hell, I have no idea where we are, a problem quickly remedied when GoogleFace picks up my mental query and tells me that I am somewhere outside Boulder, Colorado.
Real creepy that it can do that, but rather than tell the AI monitoring my thoughts to get stuffed, I mosey on into the hangar to find Sophia still logged in and Doc logged out, Arnie bringing him an iced tea.
“How about you, Quantum? What do ya say to an iced tea, partner?”
“Hi, Arnie, and yeah, fill ‘er up.”
“You bet your ass I will!”
“I’m surprised you didn’t come in kicking things,” says Doc, shooting a look at me.
“And what good would that do? I keep trying to tell everyone I’m a changed man, a better man than I’ve ever been before. Why doesn’t nobody believe me?”
“Gee, I don’t know. That sounds like a question for your therapist, not your CWO.”
“I thought they were one in the same.”
I glance at Evan’s body, which is lying on a gurney with cables attached to it. Doc’s goat, Sally, makes a noise, stands from her little padded spot, circles, and sits back down.
“Does Sally need to go outside to poop?” I ask.
“Do you need to go outside to poop?” asks Doc, clearly offended.
“Well I usually go inside, but if there’s a hole in the ground you want me to use…”
“The point I’m trying to make is, Sally is housetrained, she’s a good girl too, and if she needs to make fertilizer, she’ll let me know.”
“Sheesh, what’s gotten into you, Doc?”
He throws his hands in the air. “One false move with Strata, one false move, and we could be in some serious trouble. Now, I know that your style is to go in there and just be this badass gamer with an infinite list of killer items, but we’re going to need some strategy if we want to take him out.”
“That’s why we’re here, Doc.” I take a seat on the couch pressed against the wall. Doc’s set up is pretty much the same as it was in his little food trailer: a couple of holoscreens, a big table, some hidden weapons, a slew of NV visors and Proxima-related tech.
“Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t expect them to come at us like that so early in the game. But he’s getting scared.”
Apotheosis Boom (The Feedback Loop Book 8) Page 10