Ignored, Homer had crept forward during the fight and was sitting practically right at the trooper’s feet. The trooper placed the butt back against his shoulder and started to take aim at Digger’s head but before he could squeeze the trigger Homer grabbed him by the ankle. Homer’s face was calm again. The trooper stiffened. Behind the mask covering his face, the trooper seemed to become calm as well.
“What are you doing?” The second trooper, on the ground, said.
The man Homer had touched swiveled and faced the trooper Digger had kicked to the ground. The other man was getting up slowly, assuming the situation was under control. The first trooper aimed and fired into the chest of the second one. Crying out in shock, the trooper was knocked off his feet a second time. Bullets rattled off his armour and then a burst went under the lip of his helmet, into the man’s chin. Gore splattered all over the inside of the facemask and leaked out of the helmet as the trooper’s head whipped back.
Moving like a puppet, the trooper walked back onto the street and took aim at the next closest man in black armour. He fired and bullets chattered off that trooper’s armour. Stunned, the trooper stumbled back. The hypnotised trooper continued marching down the street, firing at the truck with the grenade launcher on its back.
Digger was dizzy from the blow he’d taken to the head. An explosion ripped through the street behind him, buffeting him with hot wind. Past and present had lost all meaning. At that moment Digger was back at the incident that had seen him forced to go on the run from his own country. The attack on the base, explosions and bullets ripping through the camp from outside their walls. Digger had been sleeping and then, when his mate, Second Lieutenant Chris Wilson woke him up, something had been inside him, taking control of him. Enemies became friends, friends became enemies. And now, having seen what he’d just seen, Digger knew exactly who was responsible.
“Th-that was you, inside that bloke’s head.” Digger said.
Homer gave his partner a shy smile. Life seemed to be returning all the time to Homer’s face. Digger, however, could only stare in horror. His heart was pounding and his breath was short as he looked from Homer to the man he’d just mentally overtaken, sending him out to fight his fellow troopers like a kid setting loose a windup toy. Digger could see himself superimposed on the man. Animal instinct screaming in his chest, he saw the faces of men and women he’d known, soldiers he’d shot, over the confused troopers the hypnotised trooper was attacking. Just like that he was back there, feeling the gun in his hands, the heat, the smells, the blood in the air and the screams.
“Fucking mutie! It was you inside my head!” Digger roared, “Inside my head, making me kill them!”
Digger still had his knife in his hand, and the smile on Homer’s face faltered and died. Since entering the game the battle of life and death had given Digger the focus to keep looking and moving forward. Part of the reason he had stayed in the mercenary life was that he’d needed an excuse to keep exercising his training and give his demons purpose. It had allowed him to keep going even with what he’d seen Homer do with his mind alone, throwing people or paralysing them, or folding them in on themselves as he’d done to Ellis. But it was only barely in check and now the floodgates opened. The big Australian tackled Homer. Homer seemed surprised but didn’t resist as Digger forced him to the ground and pressed his wicked knife against the boy’s throat.
“Try to get inside my head when you don’t have one of your own!” Digger said.
Meanwhile, Layla and Tommy had been laying down covering fire for the others. Their bullets were almost useless against the armoured troopers and trucks, however, in spite of their earlier success. The pack mule was down but trying to right itself. The hourglass-shaped EMP device on its side seemed to be intact but the robot’s position was exposed and vulnerable. They couldn’t access any more of its ammo but Tommy had seen the guard taken down near Digger and Homer’s position.
“Cover me!” Tommy said.
With Layla spraying bullets at the grenade launcher truck, Tommy took off in a run, staying low. Another grenade whistled by, exploding down the end of the street. Pistol in hand, Tommy ran to the black-clad body that had been betrayed and shot by the hypnotised trooper. He was dimly aware of Digger, back turned, on top of Homer not far away, but he was focused on his target.
As with the other troopers, the dead man had several grenades attached to his belt. They were colour-coded, bright rings painted around the tops of the dark cylinders and names printed down their sides, ‘FRAG’, ‘STUN’, and ‘INCENDIARY’. Tommy stole all three but was fixated on the incendiary grenade. Another grenade went off nearby, blasting them all with debris, but Tommy tucked his helmeted head low. He moved back to where he was in sight of his partner, Layla.
“Layla! Incendiary grenade!” Tommy yelled.
Tommy pitched the grenade toward her, its pin and spoon still in place. Layla let her P90 hang off her shoulder and caught the cylinder with her one remaining hand. Tommy ducked and turned to seek cover where Digger and Homer were holed up. It was then that he saw Digger was holding a knife to the young boy’s throat.
“Whoa, Digger, what the-, what the hell are you doing?” Tommy said.
“Inside my head, got to kill him or he’ll make me kill all of you.” Digger said.
In his mind’s eye, Digger saw Tommy as Second Lieutenant Wilson, blood leaking down his face. Other visions crowded his brain. He saw blood on his hands and felt himself taking and loading a rifle automatically, like a machine. Bullets from his gun tearing into men and women he’d regarded as friends. His feet pounding the earth, hands clawing their way up the wall that surrounded the base. Sirens screaming behind him as he clarmoured over it to freedom.
“Digger, man, stop! Cut it out, this isn’t you!” Tommy said, “The kid is your partner, he’s not making you do anything!”
Digger’s knife drew a trickle of blood from the side of Homer’s neck. His arm was stiff and shaking. Something was stopping him from making the cut but it wasn’t the boy’s powers. Two sides were warring inside his head as he struggled to make sense of where memories ended and the present began. It was a losing battle for his sanity though, as his heart rate and adrenaline rose and created a seething mass of rage and confusion inside him.
“Digger! Stop, or I’ll have to shoot you!” Tommy aimed his pistol at the back of Digger’s head.
Suddenly, knife to his throat, Homer reached out and gently put his hand on Digger’s forearm. His face was calm, just like when he had touched the trooper. Digger went rigid. His knife came away from Homer’s neck and he fell to the ground, writhing, as Tommy watched on in total bewilderment.
Incendiary grenade in hand, Layla moved low through the chaos. Smoke and pulverised rubble filled the air, and debris carpeted the street. The gunners on the two remaining trucks were firing with abandon. Short bursts from the fifty cal machine gun tore apart cars and other hiding places that the remaining mercenaries and contestants were using for cover, but the truck itself hung back. Camera drones swarmed overhead.
“This would be a lot easier if I still had both goddamn hands.” Layla said.
Even though she was still fighting, there was no way Layla could throw a grenade as far or with as much accuracy as she could have done with her mechanical left arm. Layla had used the same type of grenade on the last season of Slayerz. It would be the perfect thing to take out the grenade launcher. Having only one shot, however, she had to get closer.
The trooper Homer had mentally overtaken was marching straight at the grenade launcher truck, firing. Layla had no idea why the clone would be suddenly on their side. Without questioning it, Layla used the distraction the hypnotised trooper provided to dart inwards. The man controlling the belt-fed grenade launcher didn’t understand either. After a few moments of being forced to duck low behind the hulking weapon as bullets sprang off the metal barrel, they wheeled around and fired back. The armour-piercing grenade hit the hypnotised trooper and erase
d them in a thunderous blast. Pieces of black armour and body parts sprayed the length of the street as the mind control victim was vaporised. Layla felt sorry for them, not knowing why they’d changed sides, but the confusion let her get within throwing distance of the truck.
“Welcome to the highlight reel, boys.” Layla said.
One-handed, Layla was forced to rip the grenade’s pin out with her teeth despite knowing, outside the movies, such a move hurt like hell. She tossed the spoon and jammed the red button on top of the grenade. Even wearing a protective glove, Layla couldn’t risk letting the incendiary heat up in her hand as she might have done if she had the superhardened porcelain plates of her artificial hand to hold it with. She hurled it immediately upward in a high, floating arc. The grenade became hotter and hotter as it floated through the air, its sides turning white-hot and glowing. When it came down and struck the side of the MK-19 grenade launcher the grenade welded itself in place.
“What’s that?” Someone yelled.
“Grenade!” Another said.
The trooper behind the grenade launcher saw the glowing cylinder and went to run. The walking truck staggered sideways as panic in its bed caused the driver to try and see what was going on. Before the gunner could make it, the grenade exploded with a fiery flash. The blast was blinding, sending a swirling cloud of flame into the air, and the grenade launcher was turned to molten slag. As the blast reached the ammo, the remaining grenades were fried and erupted as well. Layla took shelter, diving into a small crater in the road. Secondary explosions ripped the armoured, four-legged truck completely apart. Shockwaves filled the street along with shredded pieces of the vehicle and the men who had been on board. Windows shattered and hailed through the air.
Further down the road, Tommy automatically took cover as chunks of truck fell from the sky. A piece of one of the truck’s legs crashed to the sidewalk beside him. Digger was lying on the ground, writhing as if having a seizure, and didn’t seem to notice the explosion at all. Homer looked calm, and ignored the blast and debris.
“What did you do to him?” Tommy asked.
Mute, Homer of course didn’t answer. Based on the kid’s reaction, Tommy wasn’t sure if he should now be pointing his gun at Homer instead. Digger’s knife lay discarded on the ground. Homer’s hand was still resting on Digger’s arm.
Inside Digger’s skull, electrical activity flared across both hemispheres of his brain. Broken synapses repaired themselves. Pathways relating to memory and emotional responses that had been shut off for years or twisted beyond recognition became straighter and normalised. Under Homer’s hands, the human brain and all of its mysteries was malleable as a hunk of clay. There were benevolent uses for such an ability as well as malevolent.
Lying on the rubble, completely unaware of the world around him, Digger continued to relive the night that haunted him. He saw events unfold in far greater clarity than ever before. There had been no battle outside the walls, no bullets flying or explosions going off. It had all been in his head. He’d been sleeping fitfully after being awake and running hard for more than forty-eight hours straight, having returned to base from a combat mission gone awry. Wilson had woken him, not sounds of battle. In his sleep, Digger’s cries must have been loud enough to worry him into making the foolish mistake. Digger kept his combat knife under his pillow, hand wrapped around its handle. In a delirium of exhaustion and panic, thinking he was being attacked, Digger whipped around and opened Wilson’s throat from ear to ear, down to the vertebrae, before either man knew what was happening.
Blood covering his hands, the event caused Digger to snap. His training took over. Loading his weapon mechanically, Digger cut a swathe through the base as he escaped, thinking they were enemy combatants who had come over the walls. Four fellow soldiers, including Wilson, were killed and half a dozen more injured. Still delusional, Digger had escaped over the wall of the base and run. He had no idea how he’d gotten away except that command had probably been unable to figure out what had happened until long after he was already gone.
The Australian hadn’t come around to sanity until he found himself wandering the desert wastes in the blazing heat of the next day. By then, memories of what was real and what was only imagined was a confusing mishmash. His broken mind, desperate to believe, had convinced himself that the battle was real and some kind of mutant they hadn’t come across yet had controlled him into doing the things he’d done.
Digger came to on the ground, his spasms stopping. To Tommy Nguyen’s surprise he sat up and looked around. Homer was sitting beside him, his smile calm and beaming. Around them the battle was raging even after the explosion of the grenade launcher truck.
“It was me, Jesus, it was all me.” Digger said.
“Are you okay?” Tommy asked.
Digger thought about how to answer. For years, subconsciously or not, he’d bore the guilt of what he’d done. Now that he saw it clearly, he didn’t know if the PTSD and exhaustion, the madness, that had really caused that night to happen made him more or less responsible than when he believed he’d been controlled like a puppet. Homer had swept his mind clean in some ways, however.
“I’m-, I think, yeah, shit, I’m okay.” Digger said.
In the cabin of the third truck, a hologram of Zachariah Hawthorne appeared. The first truck had crashed into the bank building, its bed cratered by a fragmentation grenade. The second had been completely destroyed, all that was left where it had been standing was a smoking crater and some twisted pieces of the undercarriage.
“What are you doing? Kill them!” Zachariah said.
“Sir, they’ve already taken out the other two vehicles!” The driver said.
“You’re in an armoured truck!” Zachariah said, “Besides, help is on its way.”
The swarm of camera drones showed Zachariah exactly what was happening. Smoke filled their lenses in some patches but otherwise he had a bird’s eye view, from a whole flock of birds. Towers looked like a true battleground now, cratered and broken, sown with ruins. The last walking truck picked its way through it on four spidery legs. The massive gun on its back continued to thunder, punching holes through remaining portions of cover.
“I wasn’t being controlled.” Digger said, “The night that forced me on the run and into mercenary work, I killed four of my own offsiders, other soldiers, because I snapped. Some combination of PTSD and training-, I snapped, and I killed them all.”
“You sure you’re alright?” Tommy said.
“Surprisingly, yeah, I think I’ve known the truth on some level the whole time-, that it was never a mutant but I was lying to myself.” Digger said, “Homer here screwed my head on straight. I mean, I still got to swallow that pill but-, I think I can handle it. It’s like I’ve been rooted in the head for a long time and Homer here-, I don’t want to say he cured me, but he put a few things straight in the old brain box.”
Layla left the small crater she’d used for cover, stooping over and moving almost like a tripod. Pieces of the grenade launcher truck covered the ground all around her. The gun on the remaining truck was trained on her and huge bullets punched apart the road. She rolled, looking for the downed pack mule. One more incendiary grenade could be enough to put an end to this fight. The remaining troopers were scattered.
Suddenly, one of the nearby buildings erupted. Huge pieces of glass, furniture, twisted bits of metal and concrete were launched into the street and blocked the road. Like something out of a monster movie, the scorpion tank arrived on the scene by exploding through the office building, smashing and swinging with its two massive arms. It surged into the street, wreckage pouring off its back. A cloud of grey dust towered above the battleground. The minigun on the end of the scorptank’s tail whipped around wildly.
The help that Zachariah had told the final truck was on its way had arrived. In the control centre, he watched with delight. Although the scorptank had meant to be restricted to City Center, he had sent it a new directive to blow through
one of the walls with its hulking laser cannon and come get the rebel contestants and their accomplices. Now, they were effectively pinned. The truck and remaining troopers occupied one end of the street and the scorpion tank now blockaded the other, in the direction the group had originally walked down.
“Oh, fuck!” Layla said.
The way the scorptank had dramatically revealed itself gave Layla and Tommy flashbacks of the Abomination they had faced last season. It still wasn’t as horrifying a monster as that Abomination had been but they seemed to be even more screwed. Rounding on the tiny humans, both the scorptank’s primary weapons were raised, laser cannon recharged and glowing. Miller was still tucked inside the annex of the busted ATM where she’d hidden, cradling her bloody arm. She stared, stunned, at the appearance of the walking tank. Behind the scorptank, the building it had tunnelled through teetored and collapsed. The shock from it falling shook the street like an earthquake. With DFN limping, DFN and Echo scrabbled away from their hiding place as the scorpion tank loomed and rubble showered from the sky.
Digger’s head jerked, wincing as if he had a hangover, as the roar of the building coming down filled the street. The cloud of billowing dust and debris blanketed the block. The third and final truck was still coming, heavy machine gun firing, and rounds tore apart the corner of the building covering Homer, Tommy and himself.
“We-, we need to go! Run!” Tommy said.
“For fuck’s sake, Homer, can you take care of that already, please, mate?” Digger said.
Oversized helmet bobbing, the boy peeked out toward the scorpion tank as it bore down on them. Bullets whizzed by his head from the walking truck. Something about Homer had changed since he’d taken out Ellis, he was growing more confident and sure in his abilities. Rubbing his hands together, Homer walked into the street. The four-legged truck picked up speed toward the remaining mercs and contestants, mounted gun roaring.
Homer clapped his hands together and some kind of force whorled through the smoke and dust. Pieces of rubble and trash levitated off the ground. With a soundless roar, the truck was picked up, its legs kicking. The only noise was the banging and screech of metal as the truck seemed to tear itself apart in midair.
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