Kill Switch: Final Season

by Sean E. Britten

  It was like the vehicle had been hit by an invisible wrecking ball, smashing into the front of the truck and heaving it off the ground. Split apart, turning inside out, ribbons of machinery spewed into the air. The troopers inside and on the back of the truck didn’t fare any better. They were crushed or ripped apart by the invisible force that pancaked the truck and sent the wreckage crashing back down onto the street. There was no explosion but shrapnel and bits of the vehicle scattered for half a block. Homer let his hands drop back to his sides.

  “Holy shit.” Tommy Nguyen said.

  “Yeah, give it a minute.” Digger said.

  Unsteadily, Digger got back to his feet. He wasn’t sure where the newfound confidence in Homer’s abilities had come from, unless it was from experiencing them firsthand. Somehow he felt no fear as the boy turned to face the scorpion tank. Looming, hundreds of tonnes of metal and weaponry, the scorptank tilted almost quizzically. Homer seemed to be assessing, deciding another brute force blow wouldn’t work against the scorptank’s much thicker armour.

  Right hand making a fist, Homer raised his arm in front of him as if in a gesture of defiance. The scorptank bore down on him and the anti-aircraft minigun on its tail started to spin, aimed directly at the boy. Homer appeared totally calm. Channeling his energy, Homer opened his fist and at the same moment the scorptank disintegrated.

  Digger and the others stared as the scorpion tank came apart in thousands and thousands of pieces. The explosion, such as it was, wasn’t violent. It looked exactly like when Homer had taken apart the camera drone earlier in the game but on a much larger scale. The scorptank separated into individual components, from car-sized plates of armour to gnatlike swarms of miniscule screws and circuitry, all hovering in midair as if on display. Each of the six legs and two arms of the tank were splayed out into dozens and dozens of jigsaw sections. Pieces of the tail curved up behind the disassembled scorptank. Digger could see individual brass cartridges, and the bullets separated from them, spiralling up the length of the tail and turning slightly in place, the links that would have made up the belt of bullets orbiting between them. The same stunned expression spread across all the members of the group as tonnes and tonnes of machinery turned silently in the air.

  Homer let his hand drop to his side. Just as suddenly as it had split apart, all the individual pieces of the scorptank dropped. Huge, curving plates of armour banged and thudded as they hit the ground. Smaller components, tens of thousands ranging in size from as long as Digger was tall to microscopic electronics, hit the ground in a single mass. There was a smash, bits spraying in all directions.

  “That’ll do, Homer, my old mate.” Digger said, “That’ll do.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “DIET MEAT™ SPHERE!”

  “So small!”

  “DIET MEAT™ SPHERE!”

  “No nutritional value!”

  “DIET DIET DIET DIET DIET DIET DIET DIET DIET!”

  “You will be malnourished from eating!”

  “DIET MEAT™ SPHERE!”

  In the control room, cameras captured the scorptank being pulled apart by an invisible force, individual components spreading and turning in all directions. The room was silent. They watched automatic replays from different drones as the disassembled scorptank fell to the ground.

  “Holy shit.” Zachariah said.

  “That’s it, I’m out.” One of the techs stood up.

  “Me too.” Another said.

  Techs, producers and other workers throughout the control room vacated their workstations. The first tech pulled their headset off and tossed it across the room. Others followed suit, dropping their headsets or pulling employee placards up and over their heads. In a single mass they poured toward the exit.

  “What are you doing? You can’t leave! The show must go on!” Zachariah said, “You’ve got contracts, the studio will sue you into oblivion if you leave!”

  “The escape train runs a kilometre outside the wall, sir.” A producer said, “You should come with us, there’s plenty of room since all the security clones are dead.”

  “Cowards! Traitors!” Zachariah said.

  Ignoring him, the technicians and others left, heading down to the lower levels where a single train and tunnel was buried deep in the earth, waiting to take them outside the walls of the arena. The control centre was abandoned apart from Zachariah. Multitudes of screens and the holographic map in the middle of the room glowed, casting dim, overlapping colours across his face as he looked around in desperation.

  Up on the surface, Digger, Tommy and the others were recovering from their shock. Pieces of the scorptank were settling and rolling loose from the heap. The scorptank’s machinery, weapons and armour were in so many thousands of pieces it would be difficult to recall its original shape. Homer seemed no worse for wear following the explosive use of his powers.

  “Holy shit.” Layla said.

  DFN and Echo emerged from behind some rubble, covered in dirt and a few bloody scratches after being caught by the building collapse. A thick cloud of dust hung over the ruins. Layla was staring at Homer with open shock. Digger and Tommy emerged from the alley where they’d been hiding, Tommy also staring. Bolt, meanwhile, sat up from the crater where he’d been thrown, knocked out after nearly being caught by a grenade blast.

  “Anyone get the number of that truck?” Bolt quipped, “Hey what happened did I miss something?”

  Miller staggered over from the ATM alcove where she’d been hidden, holding her arm. Blood was running down the limb and splattering large, round drops on the ground.

  “What was that?” Miller said.

  “A Slayerz world-first, I think.” Tommy said.

  “Slayerz has bitten off more than they can chew, again.” Layla said, “Just like the situation with the Abomination last season.”

  They righted the pack mule and it stumbled on its feet unsteadily. The EMP hadn’t been damaged in the blast or the fall and was still in working order. Layla removed a first aid kid from the supplies and passed it to Miller.

  “Here, physician, heal thyself.” Layla said, “I’d give you a hand but I’m already one down.”

  “I was going to ask-,” Miller said, “Digger said you were dead.”

  “Not his fault, from where he was standing it must have looked that way.” Layla said, “Fortunately, some parts of me are more expendable than others.”

  “Long as you’re alright now.” Digger said, “Alright, get it? All right?”

  “Nice try, but I already used that one.” Layla said.

  Bolt circled around, studying the wreckage of the two trucks that had been active when he’d been knocked out and then at the huge pile of spare parts Homer had created out of the scorptank. Echo Three looked from the scorpion tank remains to Homer and back again. She fingered the large metal holes that ran down the left side of her skull.

  “They poked around inside my brain for months, maybe longer, trying to get a glimmer of power like that.” Echo said, “Promise you, if I could have done that they would’ve regretted it.”

  A few troopers might have gotten away in the chaos toward the end of the fight but they would be no more threat. Digger came over and helped Miller remove the rest of the armoured sleeve covering her injured right arm. Under the sleeve, blood painted her arm from shoulder to fingertips in red. Jamming a gunlike object from the first aid kid into her arm, Miller fired it. Painkillers and a coagulant entered her system and the bleeding stopped almost instantly.

  “So can someone explain to me what the fuck we just saw, over there, and there?” Layla said.

  “My boy Homer here coming into his own, got those spooky brain powers.” Digger said, “Miller said the injectors he was carrying around before were-, what? Some kind of anti-drug thing. They must have had him on something that kept his powers down but now it’s wearing off, big time.”

  “Your head on straight, soldier?” Layla said.

  “Never better.” Digger said.
>
  Digger helped Miller clean and bandage her arm, as she had done for him earlier. Watching, Homer yawned and ambled over to sit on a curved piece of scorptank armour the size of a park bench off to one side.

  Only one of the three walking trucks wasn’t completely destroyed. Layla and Tommy popped its hood, Layla looking wiped.Taking a couple of thick electrical cords, Tommy stripped the ends and created a pair of makeshift jumper cables. He wired one end to the truck’s battery and the other ends attached to some circuits in the leftover stump of Layla’s mechanical arm, wired to her internal mechanics. Reaching over the dead man in the driver’s seat, Tommy sparked the engine. Layla jumped and then looked relieved.

  “Oh yeah, that’s the ticket.” Layla said.

  Once Layla seemed recharged, and Miller had bandaged her exposed arm, they gathered near the wreckage of the scorpion tank. Echo, DFN and Bolt had dusted themselves off but were streaked with filth and blood. Homer watched, sitting on the piece of armour without looking overly curious.

  “So, what do we do now?” Miller asked, “I’m not sure what else they could throw at us? More animals? Suicide bomber drones? Do we keep going?”

  “Don’t give them any ideas.” Tommy said.

  “Way I see it, we have two options, and I’m not giving any more orders so we’ll take a vote.” Layla said, “We can keep going, get to the wall and take the transports back to safety. Or, we go back to the central section, break into the control room and finish the job.”

  “I mean, no matter what we do, the season is pretty much wrecked.” Digger said, “I don’t know if the show is going to come back from this.”

  “It’s the job we were paid to do, we’ll split the creds with all of you.” Layla said, “My vote is that we go through with it.”

  “I’m with you.” Miller said.

  “Me too.” Tommy said.

  “I can barely walk, but if I can help I’m still in.” DFN said.

  “Me as well.” Echo said.

  “I mean if everyone else is going and I could probably outrun any trouble you guys get into then I suppose I’m in too.” Bolt said.

  Digger looked over at Homer, since the boy couldn’t speak for himself. His own head was clearing after Homer had rewired things. Digger was still himself but there was a fog he hadn’t been able to identify, that he’d just grown used to, now lifting off his thoughts. He felt like he was looking at Homer with new eyes and not just because the boy continued to reveal new abilities. Homer seemed to nod just slightly, eyes wide and earnest.

  “We’re in too, something tells me you’re going to need us.” Digger said, “Need my mate Homer at the very least.”

  The group looted the bodies of the fallen troopers for weapons, ammunition, and grenades. Digger recovered his knife and UMP45, reloading it. Homer’s best weapon was his brain, anything else he was given would have just gotten in the way. Layla was without chest armour since the scorptank had fused the set on her torso but she recovered a black flak jacket that would at least offer some protection.

  “Alright, ramblers.” Layla said, “Let’s get rambling.”

  The eight of them headed across Towers and back to City Center. The tunnel they had used multiple times earlier was closed but the blasted area the scorptank had created to get between sections was passable instead. Divided between mercenaries and former contestants, the group looked ragged and were covered in injuries. The ruins were deathly silent. Rubble got underfoot as they continued through the buildings scarred by the nuclear blast, and by old and new battles.

  The middle of the arena, where Layla had left the civilian mech pilot with the broken hand, was a wasteland created by the FatBoy nuke. The pilot was nowhere to be seen. In the exact centre the central control building had been completely vaporised. Surrounding structures and rubble had been pounded into dust. All that was left was a boxy, entirely metal structure that looked like a bomb shelter or maybe a bank vault, with a heavily reinforced door. To have survived a direct nuclear blast, even a miniature one, the structure must have been incredibly tough. It was surrounded by a wide circle of glassy concrete that had been melted by unimaginable heat.

  “That’s it, we can hack the controls wirelessly.” Layla said, “Unless Homer would like to be a gentleman and get the door for us?”

  A whirring sound came from yet another of the black, armoured drones they had seen earlier, circling closer. Hologram emitters sticking from its sides flicked to life. Zachariah Hawthorne appeared under the drone, glowing. He slicked his hair back across his head.

  “You think you’ve won, don’t you? You think it’s all over for me? For the show?” Zachariah said.

  “Pretty much.” Digger said.

  “Yeah, well, there’s one last-, final, total, defense you don’t know about!” Zachariah said, “It wouldn’t have been in any plans you could’ve bought or stolen! A neutron bomb, buried under six feet of concrete right at the main entrance of the control building, right where you’re standing! It’s our ultimate failsafe. I’ve got the only trigger for it right here and when I use it I’ll be totally safe down here but on the surface it’ll kill every living thing the fucking length and width of the entire arena!”

  “He’s got a nuke.” Layla said.

  “So do we.” Digger said, “Homer?”

  Homer knelt over slightly, placing his hand flat on the pitted ground. The neutron bomb had been dropped in a pit when the control centre was being built and then completely covered in wet concrete. Homer concentrated and there was a rumble under their feet. Fissures started to form and then huge chunks were forced up, out of the earth.

  Covered in clinging spikes of concrete, the neutron bomb erupted out of the ground, raised by Homer’s hand, and floated above the crater. Grey dust gusted from the hole, forcing the others to shield their eyes. The bomb was a giant, pill-shaped device contained in a boxy frame. It hovered over the broken section of concrete, turning slightly. Homer opened his fist and just like the scorptank the bomb broke into pieces and fell apart.

  “No more nuke.” Digger said.

  Homer stood and reached toward the control centre’s entry. His face showed concentration but little to no strain. The door, heavily reinforced, must have weighed several tonnes. It bowed outward as if under enormous pressure. Suddenly ripping free with a deafening shriek of metal, the door came out of its frame and was sent flying past the group. Homer cast his arm around and the door flipped and thumped across the dust, landing several dozens of metres away.

  “No more door.” Layla said.

  “Better than Open Sesame.” Digger said.

  Inside was far cooler and cleaner than the wasteland of the arena. The eight of them entered, battered pack mule lagging behind them, and descended through the complex. Taking the stairs down what felt like miles, they found a complex network of underground hallways. Every room and corridor was completely abandoned. Homer now led the way. The others, in spite of his protection, kept their weapons raised. As they found their way into the large, round room of the control centre, a gunshot echoed through the complex and made them duck. The bullet winged wildly off one wall.

  “You think it’s over? I’m in control here! This is my show and the show must go on!” Zachariah yelled, “This show doesn’t end until you’re all fucking dead!”

  Zachariah was alone in the massive room, surrounded by empty screens. The holographic map in the middle of the room looked sterile and lifeless. He was carrying a large handgun in one hand and a camera in the other, both pointed at the doorway. Zachariah fired again and the round ricocheted off the wall near the doorframe. Layla raised her P90 and fired back. The bullets curved around the man and shattered several screens behind him. His personal force field was still somewhere on his body and still active, just like when he’d visited Digger in prison.

  “I’m untouchable!” Zachariah said, “This is my show!”

  Homer reached out and both the gun and camera were torn out of Zachariah’s hands. T
hey shot across the room toward Homer. The gun fell apart in midair before it reached him, leaving a scattered trail of bullets and bits behind it. The camera, however, swung around and hovered in the air so that it was pointed at Zachariah instead. A moment later, the small device that was producing Zachariah’s protective field flew out of his pocket and fizzled, breaking apart as well.

  “What the-,” Zachariah started to say.

  Digger aimed his H&K UMP and fired a single round. The bullet punched through Zachariah’s right leg just above the knee. Leg folding underneath him, Zachariah screamed in pain and surprise, and fell to the floor.

  “Here, hold this.” Layla said.

  The eight of them filed through the doorway into the control centre, followed by the pack mule. Hanging her P90, Layla heaved the EMP device off the side of the mule one-handed and then shoved it into Zachariah’s hands as he raised himself on his left knee. Lost, the head producer simply grabbed it and held it up for the soldier. Blood pumped out of his leg and pooled across the floor. Layla adjusted the controls on the side of the hourglass-shaped device.

  “What’s the story?” Digger said.

  “Game over.” Layla replied.

  A pulse was sent through the control room, the underground complex, and the rest of the arena. Every electronic device it touched died instantly. The signal being sent to satellites orbiting high above the planet, and screens all around the world, died. For several moments, feeds of billions of people were blank. People for the Ethical Treatment of People, having sent the team of mercs, were poised to jump on the signal. Heavily pixelated images from previous seasons of Slayerz started to scroll across TVs and other feeds. With the violence and blood blurred out, the pictures focused entirely on the faces of victims frozen in agony.