I turned toward the exit and froze when a loud click echoed from the door just before I reached it.
As I drew my pistols, the door swung open to reveal two figures. Their eyes widened in surprise when they saw me inside the armory with my weapons raised.
A gray-haired man with a thick metal collar around his neck stood in front of another Krym’parke. The blinking lights on the device around the man’s neck made me think of those movies where a villain threatens to use an explosive to blow off a prisoner’s head if they try to escape. The alien behind the man wore a skintight beige shirt and brown cargo pants with a utility belt covered in pouches and handheld devices.
Robert Wilson (Gunsmith Level 11)
HP: 90/90
MP: 150/150
Rahrn’t Eh’pyxe (Slaver Level 35)
HP: 720/720
MP: 820/820
The old man threw himself to the side, which gave me a clear shot at the alien who had only just begun to pull out its own weapons as it recovered from my unexpected appearance.
The alien stood well within my range for Hinder, and I activated the Class Skill along with a cast of my Frostbolt spell. The jagged shard of ice slammed into the chest of the Krym’parke at the same time as I opened fire with my pistols. Gunfire echoed loudly in the enclosed armory, and the alien staggered back from the impact of the pistol rounds.
Blue-black blood spread from the wounds across the alien’s torso and leaked through the round holes in the alien’s tight-fitting muscle shirt. Driven back against the far wall of the hallway by my attacks, the alien managed to draw its own weapon and returned fire with a beam pistol.
The energy burned into the sleeve of my jumpsuit, but the armored fabric held up against the attack. I still took damage from the shot, but I had come out ahead on the exchange. If the alien kept its distance and continued this fight of attrition, I would win.
I stepped forward until I stood in the doorway of the armory and fired until my pistols were empty, then I changed them out for a loaded pair from my Inventory. The alien blinked in surprise at my seamless weapons swap, and a look of panic crossed its face as it drew the same conclusion I had about the eventual end of the fight.
While the damage from the beam pistol hurt me, the burns were mostly surface level since each shot had landed on a different part of my body and only charred my skin in the spots where my earlier skirmish had left my armor sliced open. I could push through the pain to continue my attacks.
On the other hand, the Krym’parke’s chest was a bloody mess. The projectile rounds I fired were doing internal damage and breaking bones within the alien’s torso. Even now, it struggled to keep the beam pistol aimed at me.
The alien looked around frantically, then paused with its head turned slightly to the side as it saw something in the hallway just outside the door. It was the same direction that the gunsmith had moved to get clear of the fight, and I realized the old man must still be on the ground.
The alien looked back at me and showed its fangs in a maniacal grin.
Not good. I had to stop it before it could act on whatever idea it had just come up with.
I lunged across the hallway even as the alien reached for something at its waist. I dropped my pistols and latched onto the alien’s hand as it fumbled to pull a device clipped to its belt. I kept the alien’s wrist locked in place with one hand and drew my knife with the other. Pinned to the wall, the alien tugged on the device but lacked the leverage to overpower me.
I realized that despite the difference in our Levels, I was more than a match in any single attribute for most Basic Class foes. Since they typically received fewer attribute points per level, most Galactics would focus on a single attribute that played to their Class abilities. Though my attributes were more spread out, my overall attribute totals would be at least close to matching the specialized total for a Basic Class up to double my level.
The alien reacted to its predicament by placing its pistol next to my ear and firing directly into the side of my head. I screamed as the stench of burning hair and flesh filled my nose. I twisted my head away so that the energy beam seared its way across the back of my head instead of the side.
I dropped my shoulder and rammed it forward without releasing the alien’s wrist, slamming into the alien’s already wounded chest. The Krym’parke gasped, the wind knocked out of it by the impact, and the pistol fell out of line with my head.
In the moment of respite, I followed up the body blow by stabbing my knife into the side of the alien’s head. The tip of the knife found the ear canal and bone crunched as my knife sank to the hilt. The alien jerked in my arms, but I pulled out the blade and stabbed again until the slaver went limp. Only then did I release my grip on the dead alien’s wrist and allow the corpse to sag to the floor.
My knife slid free with a disgusting squelch, and I stumbled backward as the adrenaline rush of combat faded. I dropped to one knee beside the dead alien and wiped my blade clean on the cloth of its pants before returning it to my sheath.
While I could have used Cleanse to remove the blood from the weapon, I preferred the old-fashioned way and instead used the saved Mana to cast Minor Healing on myself before I gingerly explored the blistered side of my head that still radiated heat and throbbed in pain. Little more than a charred flap of flesh remained of my ear, and a line of burned flesh the width of the beam pistol barrel ran around to the back of my head.
Movement in the hallway beside me pulled my attention away from my wounds, and I looked over to find the gunsmith crawling to his feet. I saw pain in the old man’s eyes, but his gaze was fixed on the dead alien as he limped over and dropped to his knees beside me. He reached over to the device the alien had attempted to grab before being slain and pulled the boxy item free of the belt.
I pulled out and drank a health potion as the man fiddled with the device, lights blinking across the surface of the silvery box. Then the box gave a beep, and the gunsmith froze with a look of utter panic on his face. A second later, the collar around the man’s neck gave a metallic click and unlatched.
The man sighed with relief and dropped the box to pull off the collar. He flung it at the corpse with an expression of revulsion and spat at the corpse.
“I owe you my thanks, young man,” the gunsmith said as he rubbed his throat. The skin was red and raw underneath where the collar had sat.
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
“I’m Robert,” he said, hand extended toward me.
“Hal,” I said, giving the outstretched hand a firm shake.
“I take it you’re not with the owners of this fine establishment,” Robert said.
“No,” I replied with a shake of my head.
Robert nodded and slowly pushed himself to his feet. “I’m sure glad to have that slave collar off my neck.”
“Slave collar?” I asked. “How does that work?”
Robert pointed at the thick metal ring that lay on top of the dead alien. “You do what they say, or they press a button and your head goes pop.”
“That’s the first time I’ve seen something like that.”
“They’ve got them on the kids too,” Robert said.
“What kids?” I asked sharply.
“They’ve got a bunch of kids stuffed into the cells upstairs. Ain’t hardly none of the original prisoners left.” Robert pointed upward and shuddered.
“Sounds like I’m going upstairs then,” I said.
The old man considered me in silence for several seconds.
“Why would you do that?” Robert finally asked. “Everyone is out for themselves these days.”
“I won’t claim to be much different.” I met the old man’s gaze. “But I’ve got a quest to free the kids, and I mean to see it through.”
The gunsmith nodded. “Gimme a sec. Let me get armed up, and I’ll tag along.”
He turned away from me and went into the armory.
I scooped up the slave collar and control device, stori
ng them in my Inventory before I shoved the entire dead alien into Meat Locker, then I stood back up. The worst of my injuries faded as I heard the old gunsmith cursing about missing weapons through the open armory door behind me.
I had no plans to reveal myself as the culprit.
While the gunsmith got ready, I prepared myself. I reloaded the weapons I had used throughout the last fight. Once satisfied with my weapons, I checked over the state of my armored jumpsuit. Though now charred in several places, it hadn’t really picked up too much more damage since my fight with the butcher. It was looking pretty ragged, but it remained serviceable enough for now.
By the time I finished prepping my gear, the gunsmith still puttered around in his workshop, so I leaned back against the wall to wait and kept an eye out for any movement in the empty hall.
After a couple more minutes, the old man walked out of the room with one of the police-issue AR rifles slung over one shoulder with a sling strap and a sidearm holstered at his waist. He gave me a once-over and then nodded.
“Most of them aliens took off in their ships not too long ago, so we might have time to get the kids out of here if we hurry,” Robert said.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Three floors up,” he replied. “That’s where the kids are kept. Above that is a housing floor for the aliens, then a level for their gear and maintenance equipment for their ships.”
“Sounds like you got around here a fair bit,” I commented.
“Somebody had to fix their crap,” the man replied. “They were mostly too lazy to maintain their own equipment when they had someone to do it for them. Besides, I had a babysitter.”
He gestured toward where the alien had fallen, then frowned when he saw the body missing. Only blood spatter on the walls and floor remained to mark the slaver’s demise.
“I took care of the corpse,” I said before the gunsmith could ask about the missing body.
The old man nodded, but the frown remained, likely since the slave collar had disappeared too.
“Ready?” I asked, drawing a pistol from a holster.
“Let’s go,” Robert replied.
The old man swung the weapon off his shoulder and readied it with the clear competence of someone with years of experience. Either the old man was a veteran, or he had regularly practiced with his equipment. Probably both.
I turned my back to the man and headed toward the stairs. If he was going to shoot me in the back, I’d rather know now, though I didn’t think he would. I thought I was a fair judge of character, and I got the sense that the gunsmith was looking to pay back the aliens who had enslaved him.
I opened the door to the stairwell and led the way as we climbed to the higher levels of the prison.
Chapter 29
Fortunately for my health, my judgment of Robert held, and my back remained without bullet holes by the time we reached the level where the kids were held.
I stepped out of the stairwell and found myself in a gated corridor that functioned like an airlock to limit access to the rest of the floor. Unlike the previous floors, this one very much looked and felt like a prison.
The butcher’s keycard let me through the security gates, and Robert followed with his rifle raised. The gunsmith hadn’t swept me once with the muzzle of his weapon as we crept down the hallway, and I had to admit that I was impressed so far. I just hoped he could shoot as well as he moved if we ran into anything.
Once through the security gate, the hall split with one corridor at a ninety-degree angle to the right and the other stretched out straight in front of me. At the end of the hall ahead of us, the corridor turned right. A glance down the right-hand hall showed that it turned left, which meant that the floor plan for this section resembled a square.
A map of the floor next to the security gate confirmed my guess on the layout. Cells lined the outside wall of the hallway while the center of the floor held an exercise area, laundry facility, a small kitchen, and a prisoner cafeteria. With the entire level a self-contained facility, prisoners never needed to move between floors. In theory, at least, that was how it would have worked before the arrival of the System.
In reality, the smell of unwashed humans assailed my nose the moment we left the security gates. My nose wrinkled in disgust, and I looked at Robert, who appeared unfazed by the stench. The old man glanced at me with a blank expression then turned to cover the open hallway to the right without a word, daring me to comment.
I kept my mouth shut and moved forward to glance inside the nearest cell. My unasked questions about the condition of the floor were answered by the sight.
The cell contained a bunk bed, a small shower, a sink, and a toilet. In the space designed for two adult prisoners were a half dozen kids who spoke to each other in hushed whispers. The children were of mixed ages and sexes, as if whoever had imprisoned them had never bothered to sort them out, but they were all younger than eighteen.
The six youngsters fell silent when I stepped to the door of the cell, then they instinctively shrank back in dread. Confusion replaced worry when they gave me a closer look, seeing that I wasn’t an alien or a uniformed officer, but the sight of the children recoiling in fear seared itself in my mind even more than the overcrowded and unsanitary conditions.
“Where’s the control room for the floor?” I asked as I turned away from the cell, my voice little more than a growl.
“This way,” the old man said over his shoulder as he started down the hall.
He led and I followed, turning to check the hall behind us every few paces. I avoided looking into the other cells. We reached the end of the corridor and rounded the corner to the next section of the hallway.
Robert halted before we reached the next intersection and waved me up against the wall. I planted my back against the bulkhead and made sure our backs were clear before I looked up ahead.
Just past Robert, the solid metal door indicated the entrance to the control room. Armored glass made up at least one wall of the room and explained why the gunsmith had me hugging the wall.
Beyond the control room lay the intersection where the corridor wrapped back around the square of this tower, then another set of security gates separated the cell block on this floor from the next tower. The offset layout of the towers, like matching colors on a chessboard, prevented the cells around the outside walls from sharing an exterior wall with another cell.
Robert motioned me to the door, and I pulled out the stolen keycard as I slipped past him. The gunsmith stacked up behind me with one hand on the door handle when I paused with the keycard in front of the lock. I glanced at Robert, and he gave me a confident nod. I nodded back and swiped the keycard past the lock’s reader.
The door clicked and Robert swung the door open, which allowed me to charge through. The Krym’parke inside the checkpoint lay back in an office chair tilted at a dangerous angle with hands folded behind its head and feet up on the edge of the console that sat under a wide bank of monitors. If the alien hadn’t been napping, it would have watched us move through the halls on one of the many screens.
Certlk’n Af’ryve (Slaver Level 36)
HP: 730/730
MP: 840/840
When I stepped through the door, the Krym’parke cracked open one eye as if mildly annoyed by the interruption to its nap. Then the alien jolted awake at the sight of my leveled pistol and swung its feet off the desk.
Before the alien’s feet touched the floor, I fired with my pistol and kept moving into the room. I cast Frostbolt when I cleared the doorway, and Robert opened fire with his rifle from behind me. Our combined attacks slammed into the alien as it tried to stand against the force of the incoming projectiles. It failed and only managed to tumble backward when the tilted office chair tipped over.
The alien landed on its knees, and I activated Hinder before it could do anything else. Its reactions slowed even further. The alien never even pulled a weapon before it collapsed as the last of its health evaporated u
nder the barrage of gunfire.
Robert rushed to the console the alien had used as a footrest and quickly typed at a keyboard while I checked the body. A holstered knife and beam pistol were soon stashed in my Inventory, but I found nothing else useful.
Robert pressed several buttons next to the control console, then he rushed out of the room. The old man moved surprisingly fast, and I hurried after him.
Out in the corridor, the cell doors had all swung open, and several children bravely peeked out of the cells.
Robert ignored them all and darted through the security gates that led to the adjacent prison tower. Whatever he had done with the control room console to open the cell doors had caused the security gates to open at the same time.
I followed him through to the next cell block, where the hall was filled with children who had left the cells. They quickly retreated from our path, and Robert ignored them as he pushed through the throng. He continued through the hallway, through another security checkpoint, and into the next cell block.
Robert began looking at the kids about halfway through the next hall. He glanced from face to face, as if searching for someone specific.
“Mickey,” Robert yelled. “Mickey, where are you?”
“Poppop,” cried a voice from a nearby cell.
A young boy dashed into the hallway and rushed toward Robert. The old gunsmith swung his rifle onto his back and dropped to his knees to wrap the boy in a bear hug. The boy couldn’t have been older than twelve.
Michael Wilson
HP: 50/50
The two clung to each other desperately, even as more children stepped out into the hallway. I walked over to the pair and gently shook Robert by the shoulder.
“We need to go,” I said. “It probably won’t be long before the rest get back.”
The gunsmith pushed himself to his feet and hoisted his grandson onto one hip when the boy refused to let go of his neck.
Fist Full of Credits: A New Apocalyptic LitRPG Series (System Apocalypse - Relentless Book 1) Page 39