Apotheosis Boom (The Feedback Loop Book 8)

by Harmon Cooper

  “Yeah, you're right; I feel like it's been awhile since I had to torture someone.”

  “We are not torturing him,” Frances reminds us. Ol’ Euphoria stands with her arms crossed over her chest. She's got a little blood on her cheek – a Reaper’s, not her own.

  Ray Steampunk is here too, in the opposite corner, his armor being polished by a steam-powered droid in a maid costume. Rocket is also here, his Shredder helmet now tucked under his arm.

  We’re in the main room of our guild quarters, which is currently being renovated yet again by Scotty, evident in the unnecessary scaffolding, buckets of paint and building plans currently held down by bricks. Outside, I can hear the clink and clank of Chrono’s blacksmithery, our Brazilian pal hard at work creating some stabby or slammy goodness.

  I haven't checked recently, but I know the Brits were building a stronghold out in the courtyard of our Guild. I know they had completed the lower levels, and now, as I take a step to the window, I see that the upper levels are looking... mighty gothic. “Say, Aiden, who turned up the gothic with the Brits?”

  “Let me go!” the Reaper cries out, his voice no longer muffled by his mask. The dashing young guy, who I’d bet good money looks nothing like his obese self in the real world, has legitimate tears in his eyes, his face puffy red, snot dripping out of his nostrils.

  Scotty's exercise gear is behind him, proof positive that we need to have a discussion on the usage of guild space, but seeing the gear gives me an idea.

  I approach the Reaper after I picked up the five kg kettlebell, which just so happens to be turquoise. I pull the guy’s hair back and look at him dead in the eye. “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you,” I say, to Aiden’s laughter. “Wait a minute, no it isn't.”

  With that, I bring the kettlebell back and drive it into his gut. He doubles over, crying in pain, dry heaving.

  “Quantum!”

  “Relax, Frances, it’s all part of the process.”

  “I agree with Frances.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you do, Ray. From California, right?”

  “Originally, yes.”

  “Figures.”

  As Rocket looks away, Aiden approaches the Reaper and pulls his hair back to let me do it again.

  “On the other hand,” I tell the young skull-humper, “we could just let you log out…”

  Rather than speak aloud, Frances fires off a message to me.

  Frances Euphoria: Please don't make me ask you not to torture him...

  Me: Frances, look away, and Sophia, I know you're watching this, and you should look away as well. Doc?

  Doc: Sorry, just getting some popcorn. I have some Dots around here somewhere, and I have Arnie nuking up a hotdog. Did you know they opened up a gourmet popcorn food truck next to my goat cake truck? It's really some good stuff.

  “But letting you log out would take all the fun out of this.” I drive the kettlebell into the Reaper’s stomach again. “It's going to be a long and fun afternoon.”

  “Please! Let me go!”

  “Yeah, yeah, keep whining,” I say, as I move over to more of Scotty’s exercise gear. I see a yoga block, but figure that won’t do any good. The yoga strap, however…

  I return to our captured foe with my yoga strap, bring it back, and whip the buckle across his face. Once I’ve done that, I come behind and loop the strap around his neck, pulling it back and displaying his throat.

  Aiden shakes his hand out, takes a step back, and comes in with a throat punch that makes even me cringe.

  “Shit! Please, stop!”

  “Aiden, do you have that Phillips-head screwdriver I once used to pry your nails off?”

  Rocket gasps. “Are you two serious?”

  Frances has already turned away by this point, clearly upset at our behavior. Sophia has gone all radio silence, and Doc is probably getting his hotdog right about now.

  Aiden shrugs. “It wasn't a screwdriver, it was a nail file, which I guess is slightly apropos. Anyway, I gave it to some broad I met in Devil's Alley.”

  Doc: One thing you could do would be to wrap him in Scotty’s yoga mat and then stomp the shit out of him.

  Me: Not a bad idea, Doc, but I think this egg is close to cracking.

  “But none of that matters right now. Howzabout you tell me how you knew we were meeting and I let you go? Real easy.” I place my hands on my knees and bend over in front of the Reaper, so we can now look at each other face-to-face. “Real easy.”

  “We honestly didn't know that you would be there!” the Reaper blathers. He’s sobbing so hard now that it's hard to understand what he's saying. There’s blood trickling out of his mouth, but his life bar ain’t looking too shabby, mostly due to the stats tied to his armor.

  Luckily, I excel in transcribing the words of people in agony. Chalk it up to my time in the Loop, and the days upon days I spent there either on the receiving end of torture, or proving that paybacks really are hell by going on the offensive.

  “I find that really hard to believe.” I start to bring my fist back. “Real hard.”

  The Reaper passes out, his chin practically snapping against his chest.

  “Shit.” I look to Ray Steampunk, who has an indecipherable look on his face. “You thinking what I’m thinking, Ray?”

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  “Yep, what he said, Aiden. Ice Bucket Challenge.”

  A quick scroll through my list and I arrive at item 177, my Haterade thermos filled with partially melted ice.

  “Where’s a good coach when you need him?” I joke.

  “I’m logging out,” Frances announces. “I will see you when you realize that torture has never gotten a clear answer out of anyone.”

  Sophia starts forwarding me studies that prove this, all of which I ignore as I dump the cold water on the Reaper guy’s head.

  He blinks his eyes open and cries out. “That’s so cold!” His lips quivering, he looks up at me just long enough to see the incoming thermos, which sounds cool as it cracks into his skull.

  “Enough, Quantum,” Ray Steampunk says. “You are making a mockery of everything we stand for.”

  “Yeah, yeah, maybe you’re right,” I mutter. “Look, Reaper, just tell us what we need to know, and you’ll be on your way back to mama’s basement. Just like that.”

  “I told you,” he sobs, blood and snot now covering his face like an Andrew W.K. album cover, “I don’t know anything! We were just told to watch the Empress’ garden and if people showed up, attack.”

  Aiden turns to me and says something that only I can hear.

  “Good call.” I equip my burlap sack of doorknobs, item 266, and hand it to him. Once he gets a firm grip on the sack, he strikes it a couple of times against the Reaper’s back.

  “I swear, I swear to God, I’m telling you the truth!”

  “What do you think?”

  Morning Assassin shrugs. “Usually your sack of doorknobs does the trick.”

  “All right, let me run your answer up the chain of command.”

  He gulps. “The chain of command?”

  Me: What do you think, Doc?

  Doc: I think the kid may be telling the truth. Which means I’ll have to finish this hotdog without televised entertainment.

  Me: What gives you that idea?

  Doc: Those cuffs that I gave Aiden allow me to tap into the wearer’s D-NAS. I rewound a little bit, and this guy really was patrolling the area, although they were doing so from afar, only using the portals to spawn.

  Me: Then why portals? Why didn’t they just jet over the walls or something? Or hell, boobytrap the place.

  Doc: When have the Reapers not gone for style over substance?

  Me: Good point.

  I clap the Reaper on the shoulder and he cringes. “Well, looks like you just got your Get Out of Jail Free Card, kid. Here’s the deal, Morning Assassin here is going to teleport with you to one of those cliffs that overlook the Endless Sea. You’re going to actually s
pawn falling into the sea, which gives you all of fifteen seconds to log out before you hit the water. We good?”

  “I don’t think…”

  Aiden places his hand on the Reaper’s other shoulder and they disappear.

  ~*~

  “Grab one of those chairs over there, Rocket. You sitting or standing, Ray?”

  “Standing.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Rocket grabs one of the chairs and brings it over to me. He brings another one over, sitting on it after he's turned it backward.

  “Yeah, you look like a real cool guy when you sit like that.”

  “I just wanted a place to rest my arms.”

  I snort. “You know, that’s a great pickup line, if you ever need one.”

  “Duly noted. So, what now? Frances is going to be pissed.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  Sophia: No she won’t. I’m still highly offended by what you and Aiden did.

  “And Doctor Wang will get over it too,” I say, raising my voice. “Since everyone is snooping on us anyway, I might as well say my piece. Ray, you sure are mysterious over there.”

  The God of Steam turns to me and speaks without moving his lips. “I’m thinking of a way to thwart the Reapers’ attack on Aramis. Unlike you, I’m not showboating and trying to torture a fool into confessing something he doesn’t already know.”

  “Hold your horses, Ray.”

  “You still have Mirror, correct?”

  I recall the sassy dragon with the reflective scales. She was a pain in the ass, but boy was it easy using her to get around Tritania. “Wait, did you say ‘have her’? It’s more like she has us, Ray. I mean, she’ll come if we call her, but that’s because we don’t call on her that often.”

  “An aerial strike it is, then.”

  “But we only have one dragon, and while she may be the surliest, sassiest, bitchiest, and crankiest dragon this side of...”

  “Um, Porthos.”

  “Thanks, Rocket. Well you get my point, Ray, and let me be Frank with you, ‘cause I'd rather not be Sally, no offense, Doc – I don't think we have enough firepower with just one dragon, and that’s including any of the baddest weaponry Dino Rider shit Doc would probably have installed on Mirror.”

  Doc: I loved Dino Rider when I was a kid!

  “We don’t need any more dragons.” Ray Steampunk approaches us as three pipes that weren't there before drop from the ceiling. The brass pipes twist together to form a suspended chair for him to sit in.

  “That's real fancy, Ray. I know for damn sure I’m not on good enough terms with the Empress to request some of her griffins. That broad and Yours Truly definitely have some bad blood.”

  “What if I brought some of my airships from Steam?”

  “Why didn’t you suggest that before?” I glance at Rocket just in time to see him do a mini fist pump.

  My sentiments aren’t far off. As long as we can get permission, introducing some airships to the equation could really take the Reapers off guard.

  Then again…

  “Something just dawned on me. If you can bring airships to Lametania – sorry, I’m workshopping it – why can’t they bring airships?” Rocket asks. “I mean, you can bring them because you know the Sage of Gotha, the NVA Seed, right? That’s how you’d do it.”

  Sophia: Through OMIB-porting. Mention OMIB-porting if you want to sound smart.

  “Through OMIB-porting,” I say.

  Ray sweeps some of his long brown hair out of his face. “I’m glad to see your vocabulary expand, Quantum. And yes, I can bring them through OMIB-porting, after a discussion with the NVA Seed. The Reapers shouldn’t be able to, but they are able to bring fairly large mechs, as you saw. I believe they’ve brought the parts separately and reassembled them here.”

  “Well, that seems like a loophole, but who am I to judge a world you helped create? All right, let’s get the word to the right people: we hit them from the sky, early tomorrow morning, ass crack of dawn if you get my drift, and we hit them where the sun don’t shine. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.” I stand. “We good here? Being around all Scotty’s half-finished projects is making me feel manic.”

  Steampunk nods. “I believe we are.”

  I wipe my hands together. “Great, ‘cause I got some damage control to do back at the homestead, and it’s going to take some flowers and probably some good manners too. Rocket, you can stay if you want.”

  “Can I go see the Sage with you, Ray?” he asks, suddenly star-struck. “I mean, Mr. Steampunk.”

  “Sure, Rocket,” Ray finally says.

  “You guys bring me a souvenir, okay? And if you run into a little commie cupid, tell that bastard he owes me a borscht recipe, or hell, a copy of the pee-pee tape. He’ll know what that means.”

  I bring my finger into the air; the logout button appears, and even though I knew it would be there, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Chapter Four

  The Big FE isn’t as mad at me as I think she should be.

  By the time I have logged out, she has already taken a shower and changed into a fresh pair of Dream Team duds, smelling oh-so-fresh.

  I guess I should call what she's wearing the Casual Friday uniform, because it isn't the tight-fitting black outfit we normally wear, the one that hugs her curves and stirs my groin like an egg beater.

  No, Frances is in a polo shirt with the phrase Dream Team stitched over her left breast. She’s also in a pair of hella tight jeans, some sort of amalgamation between sock and high heel. Never seen nothing like it, but most women’s clothing is like that. How they get into some of the junk they wear is beyond me, but I can’t complain, and as she starts unhooking me from my dive vat, all I can think about is how nice it would be to erase our past, start over, and get her out of her work attire.

  “Glad to see you again,” I say after she has removed the breathing apparatus from my kisser.

  “So, did you get the information you were looking for, by torturing?”

  “Who are you, Geneva?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean.”

  “Geneva Conventions, get it?” I tell her as I get up, reach for a towel, and painfully transition from suspended in vat goo to standing on my own two feet. “What? It was a decent joke. I swear, I got more in common with Rodney Dangerfield than anyone in this office. But to answer your question: yes, we got a little intel, but nothing worth sending to Edward Snowden or Wikileaks. And we somewhat solidified our plan to hit the Reapers in Aramis. Speaking of which, here’s one that should make your panties wet.”

  She raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Wrong way to phrase that, but it’s definitely got me hot and bothered in a good way. Ray ‘I Can’t Talk with My Mouth’ Steampunk is bringing in an Airship.”

  “From Steam?”

  “Yep, he’s going to pull some strings with the Sage, maybe grease a few palms, and once he’s done all that, boom, we’re cooking with fire. We’ll hit them early in the morning and it’ll be glorious.” I wipe more of the vat goo off my face and arms, get the urge to playfully whip the towel at Frances, and suppress this very dangerous desire.

  “In that case, I guess we should have a late lunch/early dinner, get a drink, and get to bed early.”

  “You had me at ‘get a drink,’ and I agree, the early bird gets the Reaper.”

  I turn to the showers, cringing as I’m hit by that same pain in my lower back. I look for my cane, and before I can scramble around like a cripple, Frances brings it to me. “You were looking for this?”

  “Yep, my commando cane, just in case someone attacks me in the shower. Not ‘cause I need it or anything.”

  “You sure are a tough guy, you know that?”

  “I try,” I mumble under my breath.

  ~*~

  Frances and I gather in the briefing room, enjoying the quiet. No Rocket, he’s still logged in; no Sophia, her ass is in Colorado; no Evan monitoring my PTSD and calorie intake; Doc's with all the r
eefer heads in Colorado; and Zedic, well, we all know what happened to him.

  As Frances and I wait for Doc's video feed to load up, I briefly recall all the shitbirds and bit players who have come into my life since I got out of the Loop. And I'm talking about the first time I got out of the Loop, not the second time.

  That second time shouldn't have happened.

  And there I go again, connecting the dots between memory and remorse. I can't think about the Loop without thinking about Dolly, the hotbody with luscious lips and curves for weeks; the way she looked at me when we were together and taking the night off, catching a flick at the drive-in, eating at one of the sushi joints in Chinatown, taking a midnight walk in Three Kings Park, a mugger in the wings waiting to taste a bit of lead from the bean shooter latched to my hip.

  The good old days? God damn them.

  The good ol’ days, the bad ol’ days, the battle daze.

  Everything blurs together.

  Frances sips from some diet soda, something that promises zero sugar, multivitamins, enhanced energy, no preservatives or artificial ingredients.

  Nah, that can't be the case.

  To confirm that that I haven't lost my mind, I grab the can and take a look at the ingredients. “No-artificial-organic-lab-grown contents, huh? What the hell kind of doublespeak is this, Frances?”

  “It's supposed to be good for you.”

  “So is the polar bear plunge, but do you see my happy ass jumping in some frigid water in January? January is good for only two things, if you ask me.”

  “And what's that?”

  “Beer, and snuggling by the fire. All right, maybe some football too, but like I've said before, I'm not the type of guy that wants to waste time watching millionaires knock each other around. What the hell is taking Doc and Sophia so long?”

  “It takes a while to get this set up,” Frances says. “You should know that, oh wait, no you shouldn't. You weren't waiting last time we got it set up, nor have you ever been charged with setting things up. In fact, you seem to just come in when things are already set up, never seeing all the stuff going on behind the scenes.”