The metallic ping of a sniper bolt shot out through the air, piercing Mitch’s ears. Goddammit, I said hold your fire. Mitch glared at Chu, who just pointed down to the second floor at the smoking rifle barrel poking through the window. Blue Two had landed a shoulder shot on Red Code, sending him reeling back on his heels. He fell over a weathered stack of shipping boxes, spinning back towards the center of the floor.
“Still blocked from my angle,” Dozer whispered into her mic. “Almost there. Keep it up.”
“Blue Five, let loose,” Blue One yelled. “Show this guy what we’ve got.”
Five was already running at full speed, sticky bomb in hand, screaming at the top of his lungs. Red Code backed away but Five weaved past him, instead attaching the bomb to the nearest barrel and rolling across the floor.
“Take cover!”
The barrel’s explosion set off a chain reaction—seven or eight blasts, one after the other. A tidal wave of fire splashed across the floor, sending Red Code flying like a rag doll, landing face down, right in Nefarious’ sights.
“Blue Fire, peel back,” Mitch yelled, pointing his Razor rifle down at the ground floor. He popped up from his crouched position, the rest of the team following his lead, weapons at the ready.
“Nefarious Five—fire everything you’ve got!”
FORTY-ONE
The Second Red Battle
THE SECOND RED BATTLE RAGED, like a three-alarm fire growing towards a fourth. The all-out assault from up high—pouring down like relentless, steel-cased sleet—joined Blue Fire’s onslaught as they secured their positions, regrouping, continuing their attack. Red Code was in full retreat, scrambling for the cover of a small munitions hut. The structure was smaller than a woodshed, bolted into the wall, welded into the far corner of the warehouse. It wasn’t much, but Mitch couldn’t blame Red Code for choosing it—in the non-stop whirlwind of battle, it was the only shelter the Chinatown Docks had to offer.
“Mitch, hate to throw something else on the fire here,” Punch yelled over, “but my bio monitor is going off like a goddamned alarm clock. I’ve got twenty minutes left. Maybe it’s time to bring out some of your new Legendary status tricks?”
“Yeah, c’mon Mitch,” Dozer added. “Quit toying with him, finish him off.”
“We stick to the plan,” Mitch yelled over his shoulder in Fuse’s direction. “Fuse—we need to blow the lid on his cover. You got anything in mind?”
“I do, in fact,” Fuse said, already scouring through his inventory. He’d assembled a pile of items laid out at his feet, mixing a cocktail of explosives, wires, tripwires, and other ingredients into a makeshift ball of horror. He produced a modified sticky bomb tied to two grenades and a magnetic base, complete with a small parachute perched on the top like a cherry on a sundae. Fuse held the device high, tugging at the corners for loose ends, before looking over to Mitch with raised eyebrows.
Mitch nodded back. “Looks good.”
“Made it myself,” Fuse said, holding it out past the rail with gentle fingertips. He tossed it softly into the air, letting the air fill the parachute, stepping back like a proud momma bird watching her fledgling take its first flight.
The bomb floated down, swinging left and right but following the pull of gravity’s anchor. The non-stop chorus of gunfire and explosions went deaf to Mitch’s ears as he fell under the bomb’s calm, drifting, hypnotic spell. A few seconds later, the magnets clanked to the roof of the shed.
“Everyone, take cover,” Fuse yelled, turning his back and crouching into the fetal position.
The explosion sent fury and heat and shrapnel flying everywhere, mostly sparing the Nefarious team high in the rafters, but turning the main level into a powder keg piñata, filled to the brim with mayhem. As the smoke cleared, the hall fell into silence. Both teams watched and waited, hoping for good news.
“Where is he?” Punch asked over the comm. “Did he escape?”
“No way he got out,” Dozer said, reloading and pointing her rifle back into the smoke cloud.
“Blue One, do you have a visual?” Mitch asked over the comm.
“Nothing yet,” Blue One replied with a crackle. “Still pretty smoky down here. Maybe a heads up next time you float a bomb down, though?”
“Shut your hole, kid,” Dozer said. “Kicking ass don’t give no warning. Welcome to the next level.”
Mitch peered over the rail, watching as Blue One and Blue Three snuck one barricade closer to the shed. The smoke, thick and black, wasn’t giving up any answers.
“He’s a goner,” Blue Three said. “Can’t imagine anything could survive that.”
“That’s what you get for messing with Nefarious,” Punch yelled over the channel, striking a pose with one foot poised on the railing, his rifle on his hip.
“I don’t believe it,” Blue One said, standing from his crouch, his voice rising, turning almost giddy. “We were here—we were part of it. Red Code is dead. Red Code is dead and ... we were in the fight.” He turned to Blue Two, flashing a thumbs up. “We’ll make the history logs. This is big—bigger than Skirmish has ever seen. And all thanks to Mitch … to Spitfire.”
Mitch felt his pulse falling back towards Earth, his eyes still alert for signs of life. I hate to say it, but maybe the kid’s right. Maybe they’d done it. Maybe Red Code was just a pile of pixels. Maybe Skirmish was going to be just fine.
“Did someone say big?” The voice rang through the room, clinging to the rafters, echoing in Mitch’s ears. A voice that had grown too familiar, the only voice in the world he didn’t want to hear. “Fantastic speech, kid, but I’ve got something big for you right over here: a big, fat, throbbing news flash. And I’m sorry to say, the news ain’t good today. Wah wah. Too bad, so sad.”
A pair of muzzles flashed through the smoke, sending a wall of bullets through the main floor of the Chinatown Docks. The Blue Fire team scrambled for cover—ducking, weaving, falling to the ground.
But it was too late.
BLUE THREE: KILLED IN ACTION
BLUE FIVE: KILLED IN ACTION
Mitch slung his rifle to his shoulder, screaming, pulling the trigger with everything he had. Even with the rest of Nefarious joining in—bullets and blasts and flamethrowers—every shot ricocheted right off Red Code, like hail pinging off a windshield.
BLUE TWO: KILLED IN ACTION
BLUE FOUR: KILLED IN ACTION
“How does it feel?” Red Code asked, strutting towards Blue One who was now huddled in the far corner. “How does it feel to be soooo bad at this game that I didn’t even bother to drain your win wires? That just by looking at you, I knew that you had nothing to offer old Number One up here.” He tapped at his helmet, the three slashes across the visor glowing, pulsing with bright red light. Stepping past the final barrier, he raised his rifle, aiming it down at Blue One who reached up for mercy. “How does it feel to know you were nothing more than just in the way?”
BLUE ONE: KILLED IN ACTION
Mitch locked his jaw as he watched Blue One fall dead to the ground. His fingers clenched into fists. “Enough,” he yelled down.
“Well, hello gorgeous, I almost didn’t notice you way up there,” Red Code sang. “Oh, my dear Spitfire. What would I do without you? It’s always been about you, you know? About you and me. That and your annoying little team of misfits. Misfits that somehow all get along, no matter what, because you’re all friends to the end. Well, here’s the good news: the end’s here. The end is now.” He paced the floor, kicking Blue Two’s limp shell of a body out of the way. “And now that the kids have gone to bed, we can break out the wine coolers and start playing the big boy game ... take these training wheels off and give ‘er some gas.”
Red Code took a three-step spinning jump towards a shipping container, like an Olympic hammer thrower, snatching the corner of the massive steel shell and grabbing it with a single hand. Mitch watched the container fly up and into the air—headed straight up to the catwalk. It hit just under Punch’s feet, sending the
team flying as the steel railings and flooring folded like a wet paper napkin beneath their feet.
As Mitch felt his stomach retreat up into his throat, he caught a glimpse of what was below him—no more floor, no more railing. Just three red slashes across a helmet, staring up at him. The team fell, beams and metal falling with them.
Mitch grasped but only found thin air. He landed hard, his avatar cracked over a metal corner, falling behind a pile of metal. His health fell to 60% straight away. He couldn’t hear the others—didn’t know where they’d landed, had no idea if they’d survived the fall.
“Heroes are dropping like the summer’s hottest mixtape,” Red Code laughed, his voice now boiling over, cracking at the edges. “You’re welcome, Nefarious Five. You wanted a shot at the title? You got it. You wanted a piece of me? You got it. No more of this hiding-in-the-rafters bullshit. No more tricks. Just you and me.”
Mitch peered out through the sea of metal, watching as Red Code strutted by, stalking the grounds. Mitch checked his mission status and breathed a sigh of relief, seeing all of Nefarious still online, but hurting from the fall. Dozer at 55% health, Chu at 65%, Punch at 70%. Fuse was the worst at 35%, but still viable, still on an active comm channel. Mitch saw pulsing green indicators showing each of their locations—Fuse was the closest to Red Code, clear on the other side of the warehouse.
“C’mon, Nefarious Five!” Red Code screamed. “It’s time to finish this!”
FORTY-TWO
Harm’s Way
MITCH WIPED the virtual blood dripping past his eyes to get a better look at his map, rising to a crouch. The position indicators for Punch, Dozer, and Chu were each within ten, maybe fifteen feet—close enough to reach out and almost touch, but hidden back behind walls of twisted metal. Fuse had landed clear on the other side of the room, back behind the remains of the corner shed. Mitch could hear Red Code’s crunching footsteps echoing through the room, but the map wasn’t giving up much help about a specific location.
“Nefarious, maps up,” Mitch whispered over the comm. “Find a way to me if you can.”
If we get enough firepower—concentrated firepower—maybe we can take him down. Maybe we can find a flaw in his defenses.
After half a minute, Chu’s face popped out from behind the corner of a hulking slice of steel flooring, just a few feet from Mitch’s feet. She stepped over a limp foot—the crushed remains of one of the Blue Fire members—and took a place next to Mitch, throwing him a silent nod. Punch and Dozer followed, entering the small hiding spot from different directions, covered in dirt, bruises, and exhaustion.
“Fuse—what’s your status?” Mitch whispered.
“No path to you,” Fuse’s voice was marked with static over the comm. “And my gear is in rough shape. But I have a visual on Red Code. He’s directly in line between you and me.”
Mitch sat back, studying the level’s layout, the pattern of the pulsing lights. Team members on either side meant they could catch Red Code in a crossfire if they played their cards right, that is if they could manage not to shoot each other into Swiss cheese. Mitch didn’t feel lucky enough to roll the dice on a frontal assault—for that strategy, they’d need to fire with extreme precision. With all the debris, it’d be easy to lose track of Fuse’s position, and his health was too low to take that chance. There was an answer, hidden somewhere in a mix of classic combat strategy, crazy ideas, and cold, hard calculations. But with Red Code pacing and the smoke still thick in the air, Mitch’s head was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to squeeze out a coherent thought—a surprise stroke of brilliance hiding in the back of his brain, waiting to be found, just needing to be dusted off. But no thought stepped forward to raise its hand.
“Mitch, the team is powerful,” Chu said. “But the team will not get us out of this. You now possess Legendary status. Stop thinking with the team in mind … you must start thinking about what you can do.”
“She’s right,” Dozer whispered. “Doesn’t matter if its heavy fire or explosives or sniper shots—your skills are now better than all of ours put together. We’d just be getting in your way.”
Mitch knew they were right. He’d never been one to push himself forward, to be the first one in shooting. His focus had always locked on how to use a collection of players to find the best answer. Today, that answer—the only chance they had—was a one-man show.
“Find your crazy, dude,” Punch nodded. “Go get him.”
Mitch closed his eyes tight, channeling years of sleepless nights and lonely mornings. The unanswered questions that had stacked up in his head. Today was the day they could all go away, all with the help of unlimited Skirmish power right in the palm of his hand. He brought up his status screen, arming himself with a Neutron Beam Level 1000 in his left hand, and a double-stacked Firefly Rocket Launcher in his right—two weapons he’d heard whispers and rumors about on forums, back in the day, but had never imagined actually holding. With a full bag of blue ion grenades hanging off his belt and newly acquired tactical chainmail, he guessed he could beat any Skirmish enemy he’d ever seen within seconds.
He was ready.
“Listen, this is awkward,” Red Code said, chuckling between footsteps. “While I can’t hear your thoughts here in Skirmish like I could in the other worlds, I can hear, like, everything you guys are saying. I just hate to be that guy and eavesdrop on a private convo, so I figured since we’re all in this room together—wherever you little turds are hiding—maybe, instead, we could all have a little sit-down and talk this over like adults?”
Mitch cursed under his breath.
“Listen, Spitfire. Mitch. Can I call you Mitch?” Red Code asked. “This Skirmish world—it’s all you’ve got. It’s your baby, and I’d never take it away from you. I’m more than happy to let you stay, but for that, there’s going to be a catch. God, why is there always a catch, you say? Well, today’s catch is a little teensy-weensy bit of bad news. Listen, honey, you can keep playing Skirmish, but you have to do it up here.” Mitch could hear Red Code rapping on his helmet with a loud knock, knock, knock. “Your data can live right up here with ol’ RC. In my brain, living on, forever. That’s the good news. Bad news is that you won’t be you anymore. ‘Cause Spitfire will be gone-er-ooski. Which is a bummer, I know. But think of the good times we’ll have! You’ll be part of something bigger. Part of something way more important than your pitiful little life back in some shit-hole trailer in Nowhere, California.”
Mitch winced, his body frozen.
“C’mon, Spit,” Punch whispered. “Do your thing, man.”
“Your silence speaks loud and clear,” Red Code said, the crunch of his footsteps going silent. “So, let me offer you a little sweetener to the deal. If you come with me, I’ll make sure you get the bestest roommate in the whole world. Someone that really gets you.”
The roof of the team’s metal cave flew through the air, spinning like a split-finger fastball across the room. It slammed into the far corner with an ear-splitting crash, tumbling down to the ground, crushing the stack of crates below like they were paper mâché. The group scattered in different directions, but Mitch held firm.
If he was going to make his stand, there was no other chance. There was no other arena. Time was up, and this, Mitch told himself, was his time. Still huddled low, he checked his ammunition levels, took a deep breath, and jumped up, both barrels ready to roll.
“Mitch!” Dozer yelled. “Stop!”
Mitch found the team scattered, holding positions in different corners of the room, all frozen in place. Dozer, with a fresh-armed shotgun at his left. Punch, two pistols in hand, on his right. And Chu, who’d somehow snuck across to the far corner, poised high on a stack of crumpled metal, her sniper rifle aimed and ready.
But it was the last member of Nefarious that made Mitch’s jaw drop. Red Code held Fuse, palmed in his hand, suspended a foot off the ground.
Oh, God. No.
He w
ished he’d never quit, wished he’d never opened Mac’s message. Wished he could hit rewind and take back the whole damn thing.
Fuse struggled, grunting, swinging at Red Code’s outstretched arm, but it was no use. There was no scenario where this turned out good.
Mitch knew the truth—that it was all his fault. He’d had his chance to save the team, but chose to settle his score instead. A score that was his, not theirs. He’d brought them back into harm’s way, and harm was about to take its first big swing back.
Mitch gripped his new arsenal with both hands but felt his arms fall down to his sides. Even with all the firepower in Skirmish, with Fuse dangling in Red Code’s grasp, Mitch was out of options. In a world where Mitch was the best player in the game, he’d just been beaten. Again.
“Take me,” Mitch yelled. “Forget about Fuse. I’m the one you want.”
“Oh, Mitchy Mitch,” Red Code said with a glee-filled chuckle. “No cuts, no butts, no coconuts. I’m gonna get to you, sure. But you’ll just have to wait your turn.”
Fuse’s body was still, suspended in midair. Mitch couldn’t tell if he was frozen in panic or at peace with the world. Maybe, somehow, he was feeling a few shades of both.
“Hold still, Fuse,” Mitch yelled. “I’ll get you out of this.”
“My situation would indicate otherwise,” Fuse said, his voice calm and cold.
“Put him down, asshole,” Punch yelled.
Mitch took a single step forward as Red Code yanked his arm back, pulling Fuse behind him.
“Tsk, tsk,” Red Code said. “No cheating.”
“Mitch,” Fuse stuttered, his hand swinging helplessly at Red Code. “You can ... kill him.”
“Quiet,” Red Code said, giving him a shake. “Don’t lie to yourself, and don’t lie to your best friend either. This is the guy that left you for dead, remember? After I left him for dead?”
Mitch’s memory flashed back across the past few days, back to the beginning of the whole mess. All the way back to DeadBlood, where he’d found Fuse, surrounded by ogre bears, swimming in the calculations of timing his powder kegs just so. The best friends are old friends, he’d said. And the cold, calculating son-of-a-bitch was right.
Side Quest Page 25