by Reapers
“Ain’t that a bitch,” I say as the trumpet sounds.
Chapter Eighteen
The Knights and Chrono respawn in the locker room to find Veenure sitting on the bench, reading a leather-bound book entitled How to Talk Thulean Gooder.
“Find a good place to study?” I ask with a sly grin.
“Just killing the time until you guys win.” She snaps the book shut and it vanishes in a puff of purple smoke.
Frances Euphoria: I have to go now. I’ve opened a private chat screen so Rocket and Sophia don’t see what we’re saying.
I turn away from the others, who are recapping to Veenure how we finished off our last opponents.
Me: Good, I had a lot of fun last night.
Frances Euphoria: Me too. You’re getting your stamina back.
Me: I’ll take that as both a compliment and as a dis.
Frances Euphoria: It isn’t a dis – you are still technically recovering, not to mention the attack a few days ago in the hotel and your concussion. Don’t be too critical of yourself, most people take longer than a few weeks to fully recover from a digital coma.
Me: I’ve got a hard head, always have. Rollins is six feet under by now – my sympathy meter hasn’t twitched since Monday.
Frances Euphoria: He was cremated.
Me: Even better. Give him a little foretaste of his ultimate destination.
Frances Euphoria: So no regrets?
Me: What is with you on this? If he hadn’t tried to kill me – kill me, Frances, he’d still be in Godsick’s Home For Little Wanderers slamming chips and snack cakes and Soylent Cola down his neck! So really, let this go.
Frances Euphoria: Good, I’m glad to see you’re dealing with things in the worst way possible.
Me: What’s wrong with forget and forget?
Frances Euphoria: It’s supposed to be forgive and forget.
Me: There’s nothing to forgive him for. Anyway, enough of that, now that we’re alone, I wanted to tell you something.
Frances Euphoria: Yes?
Me: Be safe, all right?
Frances Euphoria: You know that I’ll follow extraction protocol.
Me: Yeah, but what I’m saying is this: if things get rough, let Arnie take the brunt of it. He’s a Humandroid; he can die and be replaced. You can’t.
Frances Euphoria: That’s sweet?
Me: I’m not going for sweet, I’m going for practical. You’re all I got, well, I have my Pops in Ohio, but after him, it’s you.
Frances Euphoria: So I’m like family?
Me: Something like that. Although that makes our hanky-panky a bit questionable.
Frances Euphoria: The fact that you call it hanky-panky also makes it questionable.
Me: I wanted to call it horizontal refreshments but I thought that sounded crude.
Frances Euphoria: We could probably just call it sex.
Me: Yeah, or making love.
Frances Euphoria: Is that what we’re doing?
Me: Well, you’ve backed me into a corner here in a damn Proxima World – I have no idea what we’re doing, but I like it, and I like you, and I’m not into labels right now, but …
Frances Euphoria: Not into labels is so old school. Everyone is into labels now, even if the label is not labeled.
Me: I don’t see your point.
Frances Euphoria: I didn’t think you would.
Me: Regardless, Be safe today – don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Frances Euphoria: No problem there ;-)
Me: This won’t take long. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I finish here.
Frances Euphoria: Don’t kid yourself. You’ll need to actually meet the king if you win and then you’ll need to meet Empress Thun.
Me: Great … a bunch of NPCs with mammoth-sized egos telling me what to do.
“Quantum,” Sophia says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I tell her, “give me a minute.”
“You don’t have a minute.”
Me: Sophia is chomping at the bit – I’ll see you later. Be safe, and maybe I’ll take you to that buffet across the street tonight.
Frances Euphoria: Let’s just order in again.
Me: Done.
“How can I help you, Sophia?”
She shoots me a curt smile. “Your first solo match starts in one minute. I thought I’d brief you.”
“I get it, I get it – do what I do best.”
Aiden flashes me a wolfish grin.
“There are four fights, and you need to win all of them.”
“Understood.”
Veenure says, “We lost a round in the group tournament, this is why … ”
“I said I got it. I’ve been paying attention ladies, trust me.”
“Good!” says Sophia, “Tell me some more rules then.”
“There’s only one rule – don’t die.”
“And your firearms,” says Chrono, “you can’t use those.”
“Actually, I can.” I scroll through my list and equip item 578, Doc’s life vest. “This bad boy … oh.”
Rocket: I’m taking screenshots!
I look down to see a fluorescent orange vest, the type a kid would wear on their first trip to the lake. It’s decorated with a swimming goose in a life vest and sailor hat with a word balloon over its head that reads Who’s ready for safe fun? “Nice one, Doc – it’s an actual life vest. I get it now.”
“OMG!” Veenure sputters, “That thing is so you! That is perfect! That looks so ridiculous!” She laughs hard enough to fall off her bench.
“Says the frail with purple hair, a tie-dyed bucket hat and face tattoos.”
“That’s too funny!” Sophia is hands-on-knees laughing now.
Chrono steps over to me and flicks it. “What does it do?”
“It lets me use firearms without taking a life bar penalty.”
His eyes widen and the grin disappears. “Now that is cool, really cool. I’d love to reverse engineer it, make it look cooler.”
“Sorry, bub, it’s proprietary.” I slip my thumbs under the vest and give them my proudest, chest-spread-wide pose.
More laughter from the Knights.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. This eye-searing, stylish safety garment is what’s going to win us the solo rounds – this and my almost god-like combat skills and vast array of custom Pokerizers.”
Veenure says, “You’ll also have the element of surprise – your enemies will think you’re a freak for wearing that!”
“All right,” I tell them. “You’ve had your fun – I want all of you to watch how much cooler this place would be without turn-based combat and more firearms. Capiche?”
“One more thing,” says Sophia.
“Yeah?”
“Your magic bar – I know you never pay attention to it, but in this type of scenario, it will work as an additional benefits bar.”
“A what?”
Rocket: An advanced abilities bar, just like Cyber Noir.
“Thank you Proxima gods, thank you.”
~*~
I spawn on the field with my bright orange life vest on and a single hand behind my back, barely registering the sound of the crowd mocking my gladrags. The gates open across from me and a smorgasbord of a creature steps out, the face of a man, the body of a lion and the wings of a dragon.
I scroll through my list as the monstrosity slinks in my direction. It drops its head and the human face laughs coldly. The ugly bastard bares its teeth – three rows all sharper than Chicago Cutlery. It lifts its barbed scorpion tail over its head in the ready to strike position.
Rocket: It’s a Manticore!
Sophia: I thought they were extinct …
“You look like an idiot,” the Manticore says with a baritone voice.
“This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend,” I say as I select item 381, my M-1 Garand with a 16-inch bayonet, already loaded with an eight round clip of armor piercing ammo. I shoulder the rifl
e and center the sights on at the creature’s forehead.
Rocket: Where is that quote from?
Me: Ask Doc.
The Manticore snorts. “Fool – that will damage you far more than it will harm me.”
I fire three rounds; the creature springs left, narrowly avoiding the shots.
“Your life bar … ” The Manticore grimaces, ruffles its beard as it snarls.
I charge forward, bayonet first. The monster lifts into the air and I hurl my rifle like a spear as I scroll behind my back to my Casey Jones Hockey Stick and my tommy gun, item 242 and 247 respectively.
Advanced abilities activated – damn, it feels good saying that – the business end of the hockey stick hits the ground and I use it to flip into the air slow-motion as I point my tommy gun at Tarkus’ worst nightmare. Bullets galore – they spray out of the weapon, creating ripples in the air.
Time speeds up and I land on the other side of the Manticore. The bullets tear into its left wing and the monstrosity shrieks. I follow up with a hockey stick to its back; the Manticore’s tail is on me like white on rice. Its barbs connect, taking a ten percent slice of my life bar. It does its own advanced abilities attack and I’m not able to stop it – the creature lifts me with its talons, uses its good wing to vault into the air and volleyball spikes me to the ground.
Rocket: That was crazy!
Sophia: Don’t let it kill you!
Me: Jeez, coach – any other good advice, like win?
The creature charges me, mouth open and ropy saliva streaming behind it. Suddenly, it dislocates its jaw and comes at me like a hate-filled front-end loader.
I equip item 531, an authentic, signed Tom Brady partially deflated football filled with nitroglycerine. AA bar again – time slows down just enough for me to dive out of the way. I pull my arm back and let loose a cannon. Sure, it wouldn’t make it into the end zone, but that’s not what I’m going for.
Time speeds up and the football splits the uprights that are the Manticore’s massive incisors. He gulps, swallows, and blasts a rapidly expanding cloud of pink mist and flying Manticore innards out of both ends.
Me: That’s blood, actual blood!
Rocket: Regular combat rules are suspended! This shit is like Mortal Kombat XXX.
Me: The Pornhub.com version?
Rocket: !!!
No time to finish that conversation. The Manticore advances on me; its fractured jaw drags on the ground. The creature’s eyes are bloodshot now, it’s life bar at 45%. The sphinx-like monstrosity takes a shot of its own AA, connects with one of its razor-clawed paws before I can dodge, and boy do I feel the pain. My life bar flashes, drops 25%. I flip backwards, tackling the bastard as my brass knuckles, item 229, appear on my right hand. I’m just about to sink one into his noggin when something gets me by the neck. My arms drop to the side as the Manticore holds me in the air by its tail, a foot away from its Arse Face.
“I will kill you now,” it trumpets – or at least it tries to; it actually sounds more like a kazoo.
Item 73 to the rescue. A pair of Halo M6Cs materializes and I unload all one hundred-twenty rounds right into its face. That more or less does it for the beast’s life bar. It drops me, tries to stagger away to save the 3% that remains.
Doctor Quackenbush’s Patented BolOcto Projector appears in my hand, item 69. I fire the net gun and pin the dying bastard to the ground. The Manticore tries to fight it off, but he’s almost out of steam.
I hear the boos and cat-calls from the crowd in the stands, but their opinion means nothing. King Coromon still hasn’t made his appearance, even though this tournament is supposed to be in his honor. Wonder what’s up with that?
“Finish me … ” the Manticore gurgles, “ … finish me!”
Rocket: FINISH HIM!
“I was planning on it, pal,” I tell both of them as I equip my industrial grade bolt cutters, item 42. I snap the bolt cutters a few times just to test them.
Sophia: What are you doing?
Me: Ask Chrono if he wants Manticore teeth and claws.
~*~
Yeah, it’s brutal, but Chrono said that Manticore claws make great gifts and who am I to ask questions? Besides, he really did us a solid by joining us in the tournament.
Sophia is not amused. “You shouldn’t have done that!”
“What? You said things can’t actually die here, or at least you implied that.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, plops down on the bench with a huff. “It was cruel and unusual and disgusting and I just don’t like it. It makes us – makes me – look bad.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah – it’s all about you. What happens now?”
Veenure says, “Well, now you wait for the next round, which should be in two minutes. This will give you time to heal up.”
“These claws are particularly excellent!” Chrono enthuses, as he and Aiden examine them. Aiden holds one up to the light and turns it to examine sharp end. “The teeth are especially good as well.”
I look around at my teammates. “Do we have any healing potions?”
Sophia seizes yet another opportunity to highlight my slackness and demonstrate her superiority. “You’re restored to your full hit point after each battle during the solo rounds. YOU SAID YOU READ THE RULES!”
“Easy, lady. So you’re telling me I start each battle fresh?” I ask with a grin.
She rolls her eyes. What happened to the Sophia that was crying in my hotel room earlier, seeking comfort from yours truly? That’s the problem with mentally unstable people, they’re unstable.
No one speaks, so I take it upon myself. “The fact that my life bar rejuvenates after each match definitely changes things; I was erring on the side of caution. Guess there’s no reason to do that any longer.”
“Nope,” says Veenure, “do what you were put on Tritania to do.”
“Just be careful,” Sophia says. “If you die, we have to find a different way to get to Ultima Thule. This is the fastest way by far.”
“Relax,” I tell her, “your old buddy Quantum is in his element.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
~*~
I spawn on the battlefield. The crowd looks the same – the giants on one side, non-giants on the other – and there are a few more clouds in the sky, but other than that, it’s still pretty clear. I catch my image on the Doritos XXXL Jumbotron. Sure, I look like a buffoon in my life vest, but I’m not out here to impress ‘em with my classy duds. Being able to use my bang-bang shoot ‘em up accoutrements is worth the fashion faux pas.
“Who’s ready for safe fun?” I ask as I crack my knuckles.
The gates open across from me and a midnight blue dragon twists into the air, its white wings accented with turquoise lines. It increases its speed and drops down in front of me. Mirror is easily five times larger than this Velociraptor with wings, but the creature chomping at the bit in front of me is no small fry. Mean looking snout on this one too.
Sophia: A Thulean!
Me: A what?
Sophia: The rider!
Me: That’s what that is?
Rocket sends me an image of the rider – a saurian hotbody with pronounced, evolutionarily unlikely mammiferious attributes. She’s tall, maybe eight feet easy. Her mother must have been a Na’vi, her father a lumberjack. Her skin is pale green and segmented instead of scaly; her ears are webbed like batwings.
They come in close and the rider rattles off something in Thulean. The dragon grunts; turquoise smoke curls out of its nose.
“Great, more of the blah-blah pretend-talk.”
Sophia: She said, Doka duchaka!
Me: You know, just repeating what she said without translating it isn’t any actual help.
Sophia: It means prepare to die.
The dragon screeches and flaps backwards into the air. Its wings come to its sides and it spirals up. I equip my FIM-92J Stinger, item 523 and throw it to my shoulder. The weapon locks on, and I let ‘er rip. The drago
n doesn’t even try to dodge, and the warhead blasts its insides to puree.
Rocket: You just hit a dragon with a bazooka!
Me: Parsing. Technically, it’s a Man Portable Air Defense System.
Sophia: ‘Man Portable’ is sexist!
Me: Really? How do you say that in Thulean?
Sophia: Sexist or man portable?
“Dammit Sophia,” I mumble as the dragon hits the ground hard, bounces once, and liquid dragon goo spurts from various of its orifices. It’s deader than the Colonel’s Cajun McNuggets, but the rider’s not immediately evident. I drop the launcher, wave away some of the smoke and the crowd boos.
Rocket: You should have called Mirror!
Me: That would have been cool, wouldn’t it? A dragon fight with guns a’ blazin’ would have been epic, but I’m trying to get this over with because there are two more to go afterwards. Now be helpful and tell me where the rider is, I see that she still has something left on her life bar.
Rocket: Behind the carcass. She jumped off at the last moment but sustained blast and impact damage.
I casually make my way around the smoking carrion, whistling and wondering what barbeque dragon would taste like. Probably like gator bites, I conclude as I see the woman lying on her side. She’s in a fantasy Princess Gina getup with fancy boots that coordinate with her friggin’ tiara, if you can believe that. I’ll bet she’s got a matching purse in a closet somewhere, too.
I equip item 21, my sawed off shotgun. I’m just about to punch her ticket to the next world when something wraps around my throat and squeezes hard.
My life bar dips as the something tightens even more.
Rocket: What’s happening?
Me: Not this again. What’s with the neck, people?
The Thulean drags herself to her feet, glares at me as she says, “Dundrekcha, yhai krakhnava chai ni konoshlo!”
Sophia: She says that she’s going to kill you with her… ghost limbs? Konoshlo? The translation is ghost limbs or ghost bones!
Great – more spooky magic pixie o’ death shit. I equip my old favorite, item 33, and wave the big, bad Bowie in a figure eight. The Thulean cries out and lets me go – instantly.
My Reaper skull, item 551, appears on my head. “There you are,” I tell the infrared image that follows. Two large limbs jut out of her back; one of the limbs reduces its size as it returns to her body.
