MOAB � Mother Of All Boxsets

by George Saoulidis

  "What was that?" one of the Turks said and looked their way.

  Dammit! Pickle sat down and stayed very quiet, but she was certain she wasn't the one they heard. Killie wisely didn't step inside the warehouse, she was dependable but not that sneaky, and Cherry couldn't keep her mouth shut. So it was probably her that made some noise. There it was again. No, she was too quick to condemn the poor girl. The noise was from the broken door earlier, something had collapsed and made a racket. Pickle ran through her options right now. She didn't have eye-contact with the corridor they came through, so she couldn't gesture at her teammates. She could really use Teamspeak right about now. She needed to tell Hector to budget for the upgrades sometime soon. But this was not the time.

  Think, Pickle. What do you have available.

  She perked up.

  What she did have, was the better three-fifths of a jugger team.

  She broke the silence and shouted out orders. "Killie, drop the one on the left, make a hole for Cherry. Cherry, dash and untie Maria, she's thirty metres straight ahead."

  And as for her, she was already charging straight at the Turk on the right.

  "Huh?" the man said when he heard her shouting. He was holding a pistol.

  Pickle hoped her teammates were ready and had heard of her commands. She needed to rely on them, she'd be completely exposed if they didn't have her back. She grabbed a wooden lid from a crate and held it with both hands. She rammed the man with her entire weight, cracking the lid on his chest, splinters flying all over the place. But, he recovered even after a sudden blow like that. Of course the charge would have worked perfectly if she had snuck up on him, but she decided to sacrifice the element of surprise for the sake of strategy. Also, she was entirely exposed to the second gunman. She only hoped Killie had her back.

  Pickle slapped the man's gun away with the remains of the wooden lid. He cried out in pain, her strength wasn't something to scoff at. There was definitely something that cracked a bit in there.

  The man cried out in pain and kicked her away.

  Pickle wasn't ready for it and took the hit to the belly.

  The man cried out in pain, again.

  Pickle smirked. "You didn't expect my exoskeleton, did you?" She didn't wait for his reply, she simply bitch-slapped the man as he recovered, dropping him unconscious.

  There was noise behind her. She turned, fully expecting to see a gun pointed at her face. Instead, Killie was choking the other gunman, pushing him down on the floor. The poor man was turning red from the lack of oxygen, and had no chance in Tartarus of escaping Killie's grip.

  Satisfied by her teammate having her back, she turned and started to dash towards the middle of the warehouse, moving before her eyes could even register what was happening.

  Indeed, Cherry had heard her and was already next to Maria. She was trying to get her loose, and the third gunman was shocked at the sudden attack, but he'd surely recover very soon.

  As she ran, Pickle realised she wouldn't make it in time. She was no Cherry in running speed. And the Turk raised his pistol at unarmoured friend.

  "Dammit!" she hissed, running, her mind going a million kilometres per second. Think, Pickle, think.

  That's it!

  She turned to the side and fell full-force on a crate, bending at her waist. As her torso came down, she slammed the top of the crate, smashing it. She pulled out a pickle jar from the crate and threw it at the gunman.

  He saw it coming, pistol pointed at Cherry, and made a comical face as he tried to get away.

  The pickle jar smashed right in his face.

  "Ah!" the man cried out, the vinegar burning his eyes. He dropped the pistol and clawed at his eyes, trying it wipe it off.

  Cherry was even faster than Pickle. She tackled the blinded man, and Killie simply jogged close and finished the job, punching him three times to be sure he was down.

  Pickle kicked the pistol away into a dark corner of the warehouse.

  Maria's face was that of pure shock. "Pickle? Is that you?" she cried out.

  "Yes, don't worry." Pickle finished up untying the poor woman. "What happened here?"

  "How did you... They were trying to buy my store," Maria said, rubbing her bruised hands.

  "Let me guess," Pickle said, helping her up and checking her for other injuries. "You refused."

  "Yes. How foolish of me," Maria said softly, looking at the men on the floor.

  "Hey," Pickle said, turning her face towards her. "Look at me. You have the best pickle shop in town. I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

  The poor woman opened her mouth in stunned silence, then hugged Pickle, squeezing her tight. She cried in her arms.

  "It's okay, let it all out. This was a scary experience. We're gonna call the cops and you're gonna give a statement, okay?"

  Maria jerked back. "No! You don't know these people..."

  "Hey. Listen to me. You're gonna do as I say, alright? Trust me."

  Maria nodded furiously up and down.

  "Excellent," Pickle said and turned to Killie.

  She nodded and made the call to 100.

  Pickle turned to the broken jar on the floor. "Shame." She walked to the smashed crate and picked up another jar of excellent Egyptian dill. She smiled wide at Maria. "Hey, while we wait, can I tickle my pickle with your exquisite merchandise?"

  Maria turned to her, still in shock. "What? Of course, have as much as you like."

  Cherry covered her face and shook her head. "No, you shouldn't have told her that. Why, oh why did you give her permission to dive in?"

  Pickle didn't pay attention to her silly friend. She popped open the jar with a silly grin on her face and munched on the delicious pickles.

  The End

  Read more of the Cyberpink stories on https://cyberpinktournament.com

  The Cupcake Ingredient

  Cupcake was good at two things in her life, the sport of jugger and baking cupcakes. If you asked her which one she preferred the most, her reply would depend on her mood on that particular day. Sometimes, she’d crave for the quiet creation of baking on an oven, working the dough, a quiet contemplation while the smells wafted over her. Sure, it was all streamed live on her channel and people watched her and relaxed from their daily lives. They got tingles out of watching her bake cupcakes. They called it ASMR. Cupcake didn’t really understand what it was she was supposed to be feeling when watching back her own self baking and humming little tunes, but her fans felt something, ‘tingles’ as they claimed, so she didn’t mind. They were happy, they paid money for access, her owner was happy, her debt was being paid-off.

  Battle Bunny was her friend, her bestie, her BFF. She usually devoured most of the cupcakes she made, but never actually lifted a finger to help. Cupcake felt hurt about that a couple of years back but now she had gotten over it, her friend was contributing in other ways.

  Some days Cupcake was raving mad, angry at the unfairness of life, at her smothered hopes and dreams, at her owner who exploited her in every aspect of her life, at the world in general. She channelled that rage into hitting opponents very, very hard with a foam-ended quarterstaff, they called a q-tip. The sport was weird and objectified women, but she didn’t really mind. The alternatives to earning the money needed to pay off her debt weren’t as nice as playing a toughy sport. Sure, there was blood, and weirdly enough, it was pink, just like her cupcake frosting. And sure, there were injuries.

  But in general, the bad things outweighed the good. That wasn’t a typo, yes, it was a crappy life. But Cupcake was a sort of person that could find nice things in the gutter, who could forge friendships in a competitive environment of life and death, who, put simply, had a positive attitude in life.

  She enjoyed her life as it currently was with a casual smirk and a cheek full of flour. Battle Bunny leaned over the kitchen counter as usual, nagging her butt off. “I’m starving, feed me!”

  Cupcake slapped her bestie’s extended arm. “They’re still hot, wait a m
inute.”

  “But they smell so good…” Battle Bunny nagged, hopping in place.

  “Patience, Bunny,” she said to her friend. She poked the cupcakes to see if they were getting tight and then added the frosting. It was sugary and pink, just the way she liked it.

  Bunny stuck a finger in it and licked it before Cupcake could react. She tasted it with a satisfied grin, facing Cupcake straight up.

  Cupcake opened her eyes wide and she held the frosting shaper upright. “Why you…” She chased her friend around the kitchen with a palm full of frosting. “Come here, let me frost you!”

  “Um… How about no?” Battle Bunny laughed and ran around. She really was moving like a bunny, quick and uncatcheable, that’s what made her a good qwik after all.

  “Come here, I said!” Cupcade demanded, laughing.

  Bunny mocked her by licking her fingers with satisfaction. “It’s your fault for making them so delicious.” She ran back to the kitchen counter and snatched a cupcake, then jammed it in her mouth.

  Cupcake stopped in front of her and put her hand on her waist, her lips a straight line. “Your tongue is getting scalded, isn’t it?”

  Battle Bunny chewed, her eyes watering. “No…” she said, her mouth full. She took in a few quick breaths to cool her mouth.

  “You’re such an idiot,” Cupcake snorted. “You could have waited like two minutes.”

  Battle Bunny kept chewing with her mouth open, her cheeks full. “Again, it’s your fault for being such a good cook.”

  Cupcake glared at her, then went to get her a cool glass of water.

  Battle Bunny snatched it and gulped it down. “Oh, thank Demeter, I needed that.”

  Cupcake put on the kitchen glove and took out the second tray, then placed it on the counter next to the first batch.

  Battle Bunny counted them with her finger. “What’s this? It’s not enough for everyone.”

  Cupcake punched her lightly on the shoulder. “It is if you don’t eat five of them. I ran out of the secret ingredient.”

  “Hm,” Battle Bunny said, wolfing down another cupcake, fanning her open mouth with her hand. “Can’t you use eggs like a normal person?”

  “You know it’s not the same,” Cupcake tsked.

  “Okay. Want to get it from me?” Battle Bunny shook her head up and down. “‘Cause I’m willing to bleed, if it means I’m getting some more of this deliciousness.”

  Cupcake looked out the window. “Nah, it’s not the same. It doesn’t taste right if it’s not coming from our enemies.”

  Battle Bunny licked her fingers, making loud sounds. All this was getting streamed to the fans, and they sure were liking that little detail. “That’s alright, we have a match tomorrow. Patience, as a very wise person said once.”

  Cupcake raised her eyebrow and started to wipe off the kitched counter. “A wise one, eh?”

  “Yeah, she droned on and on about it, then she died because she pissed off everybody and they killed her. Like, pressed her throat in, choking her,” Battle Bunny said, mimicking everything in excess.

  “Seems to me they were impatient and stupid. Who will bake their cupcakes then?” Cupcake said, pointatively.

  Battle Bunny raised her palm to her friend. “I know, right? That’s what I told them, but she was so annoying…”

  The match was easy, as matches went. They were paired up with a bunch of girls that knew nothing about the sport, they were hardly a team, let alone a challenge. But jugger had a way of kicking you in the ass when you least expected it, so Cupcake and all the other veterans were careful not to get injured. Last thing they needed was to rake up hospital and augmentation bills on an easy match such as this, and miss out on the Cyberpink Tournament. So, they paced themselves, even Battle Bunny, who was usually impatient, minded her footing, dodged more than she sprinted. Even being cautious like that, she scored a bunch of times.

  Cupcake brought her q-tip on top of an opponent’s head, practically slapping her in the face. Her nose gushed blood all over everybody in the vicinity in a spray of pink droplets. The opponent knelt, since after taking a hit she was paralysed for the duration of five stones. Cupcake took her time to bring out a vial from her belt and pushed the opponent’s head back. She looked up at Cupcake, scared and vulnerable. She moaned something incomprehensible, but she couldn’t speak through the implant’s temporary paralysis.

  “Shh…” Cupcake whispered in her hear. “Don’t worry. I just want some of this…” She placed the vial under her opponent’s gushing nose and collected her blood. “Did you know you can use blood instead of eggs in a recipe?” Cupcake spoke in her ear softly, almost seductively, licking her lips. “It gives it a nice, unusual flavour. Everybody loves it, they love my cupcakes. And tonight, the secret ingredient is your blood,” Cupcake said, shutting the now full vial. She wiped a drop of pink blood from the lip of the vial and tasted it, licking her finger clean.

  "Mmm, I bet you'll make a perfect blueberry cupcake."

  The end

  Read more Cyberpink stories on cyberpinktournament.com

  The Hologram Riot

  Nacho tried to act cool. He was cool, cool as fuck, but there was sweat dripping down his nose and he kept looking around him. What if the policia spotted him?

  Then again, that was the gig, right?

  He turned his head straight and tried to look like any other respectful citizen. He thumbed the trigger inside his sleeve, feeling the button’s roundness. It was just a button from those electronics shops, it simply done its job reliably.

  All he needed to do, was position himself at the proper time and the proper place as soon as the motorcade passed before the Parliament. Politicians riding black limousines armoured, sitting low, policia on bikes armed to the teeth, and people unable to protest because they would be fined.

  Such ridiculous laws.

  They called it the Citizen Safety Law, but it was really the Gag Law. It allowed them to fine you 600 euro just for disrespecting officers, which meant standing in their way in the street that was rightfully yours and holding up a placard, and further 30.000 euro if you dared to film or photograph them to show their behaviour online. And the organisers of such protests could be fined up to 600.000 euro, which meant they ended up straight in prison.

  And in short, they couldn’t protest outside government buildings.

  So, they really gave people like Nacho no choice.

  He kissed his girlfriend goodbye before putting on the vest. This was not a gig where you came back from. She cried, she begged, she slapped him. She was the only one calling him ‘Ignacio’ instead of his stupid nickname that always made her hungry, as she said.

  But Nacho needed to do this. He started explaining to her for the thousandth time how the politicians were sold off to the corps. She said she didn’t care, she said he should let someone else do it.

  He said he had do.

  So he put on the vest. It was a DIY thing, made of electronics and wires that came out from every angle and spun right up inside. It was heavy, since it was built for quite an impact.

  Oh, yes. He was gonna light up the parliament tonight.

  He kept on sweating. He remembered the tech guy telling him not to sweat too much or he might short circuit the vest and make it go off early. He didn’t want that, he didn’t wanna waste his one chance at this.

  Sure, he’d sacrifice himself, but he didn’t wanna be remembered as the guy who botched their entire operation.

  He took a pastry from a bakery across the parliament. He needed to stay cool, stop sweating, and frankly, this was probably the last pastry he’d ever have. He might as well savour it. He dug his teeth into the sweet cream, enjoyed the sugary taste, let it take his mind elsewhere for a minute. To a place where the government wasn’t controlled by corps, to a time when Madrid was the pride of its citizens, and to an age where you didn’t get treated as a second-rate citizen if you didn’t have a corporate job.

  Of course, he was too young to
have known all that. But their organisation had enough old people that talked about these things, about times when you could walk down the street without 300 cameras tracking your face, when you could pick up a sign and protest something that was killing your children without policia breaking your bones.

  Nacho checked the clock and pumped himself up.

  This was it.

  The motorcade was planned to get at that corner in exactly four minutes. The streets got blocked off, citizens got being pushed aside, policia patrolled up and down. He felt the chill on his face now, it was biting cold. He had been sweating so much he hadn’t even noticed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and moved in closer. He needed to be pretty close, the range on his vest wasn’t that long. He had maybe ten or fifteen meters, and he needed to make an impact.

  To ignite it all.

  The politician was gonna pass a bill that assured the slow deaths of over forty thousand citizens, and he was gonna do it in three minutes.

  Nacho had to make sure that did not happen.

  The motorcade appeared. Nacho stepped closer, pushing between the crowds gathered there. Of course, not one placard in sight, not one person protesting. Sure, you could risk the smaller fines, but why?

  So you could get thrown in jail? People had families to take care of, problems of their own. And the rat-race didn’t even leave them enough time to breathe and evaluate their bonds.

  The limo came close. It was now or never. Nacho wouldn’t disappoint the others. He thumbed the trigger softly, it was ready. He was ready.

  The motorcade went by him, and the target limo was nearly there.

  Nearly…

  Now.

  Nacho pressed the button on his vest.

  His jacked got ripped to shreds, exposing the electronics underneath. Light beams shot out of him in every direction. The people around him gasped and got startled. What was happening, their faces said.