The vehicle shop proved interesting, but he had to move on. Before he left, he read a sheet on the window of the building that explained the operation schedule. Business hours were from 8 AM until 5 PM.
**
Scott kept moving for another few hours before he came upon his next real obstacle. While he had faced plenty of ghouls after leaving the car lot, some of which were far more capable than others, he had not run across any other type of monster.
Something strange, an indescribable sense of disquiet, caused him to slow his walking pace as he turned down the final road that he needed to take to reach his destination. It should be a straight shot to the house he sought if he stayed on this road when he left town. But something about his current location had caused the little hairs on the back of his neck to rise up.
He ducked down behind an over-turned car the moment that he sensed movement up ahead. Spying a nearby window, he used the reflection shown within to look down the street. The movement's source was readily determined.
The image in the mirror looked entirely human, though they wore gas masks and wielded what look like military rifles. Something about the way they moved had unsettled him, however.
There were six of the heavily armed people. They wore ballistic armor and jungle camouflage style military clothes. They were close enough that he could hear a little of their conversation when they started to talk.
“Hunting’s bad. Mama’s hungry,” said one of the men.
Another man replied, “Mama needs to eat.”
A rapid staccato beat of weapon’s fire roared out suddenly. Scott had to do his best to keep himself from crying out in surprise. He had thought that they had found him.
“Mama don’t like the dead ones,” said the first man. He had killed a ghoul using automatic weapon’s fire.
The camouflaged men breathed heavily in their gas masks and shuffled around in a strangely purposeless manner. Soon, the conversation started again, but it was the exact same conversation. They merely spoke of how poor the hunting was, and lamented the fact that mama was hungry.
One of them shuffled forward and turned to look away from Scott. He managed to get a good look at the armed man directly instead of through the reflection. An information window bearing race, species, and level appeared before him. The window closed before he could view it for more than a split-second, however as the man moved out of range.
The contact was brief, but he had definitely seen the window pop up. That had not occurred when he had looked at other human beings. He could only ask or guess the levels of another person. If his brief glance allowed him to remember correctly, these guys were shown to be something called a Raider. They were a kind of monster in the bandit family.
“Found you!” crowed a man who came around the corner of a nearby building. Scott nearly shit himself when a blue battle field expanded around the area.
"Mr. Badass vs. Raider Scum! Fight-O!" cried the familiar announcer voice.
The gas mask clad Raider opened fire in his direction proving that he had the edge in speed at the very least. The Raider’s aim was way off the mark, but he kept firing on full-automatic for a few seconds as his turn ticked by. Scott remained where he had originally been kneeling, more due to the system interfering with his movements than anything else.
During the several long seconds of continual automatic bursts of fire, a bullet would occasionally deflect off of the side of the car he had hunkered down behind. A combination of the angle, and the raider's poor aim were working wonders. Scott could hear the other Raiders begin to fire off randomly in various directions, but knew they would soon join the party.
His turn came up and he spun around the side of the vehicle more out of habit than any need to concern himself with the actions of his opponent. Surely, the guy in the gas mask would not be allowed to fire during someone else's turn. Old thought processes kicked in anyway. Instead of standing up and running for it, he performed a roll into the neighboring alleyway.
He felt a brief sense of chagrin at his foolishness, but it was better to be safe than risk being shot full of holes. Once around the side of the building he exited the battle field and ran off as fast as he could go.
Scott ran around the corner and right into a three man team of Raiders. Those Raiders cried out things like, “Mama’s gonna be happy!” as the blue light of battle flared up once more.
"Mr. Badass VS. The Raiders Three! Fight-O!" crowed the enthusiastic announcer voice.
Scott tried to run for it, but once again the raiders proved to have the upper hand in speed. He was hit by several rapid-fire rounds that pinged off the side of his armor while doing little to no damage.
He blinked as six more shots were fired his way, one of which slammed into his head and knocked it back a little. “The hell?” he asked as a lazy negative two rose up from him to showcase the effects of being shot in the head.
The Raiders ignored his surprise. They continued to shoot and babble about their Mama, and the things she liked or disliked. Meanwhile their ammunition pinged and popped off of Scott like he was a visitor from the planet krypton.
“So weak…” In his terror at seeing heavily armed monsters for the first time he had forgotten that he was not a natural being anymore, either. Hell, he had even experienced a shotgun blast to the face.
He turned and stared at one of the monsters as it started to reload its weapon. It did not even change magazines, it merely took the one that was in the weapon out and then slapped it back into the magazine-well.
[Monster]
Raider Scum (Male)
Level: 4
Race: Bandit
Profession: Looter
[--]
Scott gripped his Kaiser blade tightly the moment his opponents stopped firing. It was time to see what he could do against three armed raiders in this bold new world. He ran toward the closest of the Raider Scum.
Surprise showed on his face briefly as sparks flew through the air. Bullets skittered off of his armor or pinged off his flesh. He was under no delusion that he was inherently too badass to be beaten by these things. It was his defense score that kept him safe. The amount of damage that he had taken might seem negligible, but if he had fought these things the day before he would have been dead long ago.
A window opened that might have provided some sort of explanation for why the creatures were able to attack him during his turn. Unfortunately, he did not get the chance to read it as the world made no effort to slow down like it often did when important messages were provided. He could not spend the time to read through it, or he would waste a good portion of his turn.
He reached his opponent and launched a hard overhand strike that whipped down with crushing force. The raider tried to block the Kaiser blade with his rifle while screaming, "Mama, no!" He succeeded for the briefest of moments, but the action proved futile. The rifle was cleaved in half. For his troubles, he was rewarded a deeply tearing cut into his cheek as Scott's weapon continued its arc.
Scott lunged forward with a heavy kick to the chest and pressed the attack with a powerful shoulder tackle that sent the raider back several steps. The moment he left the confines of his previous area the closest raider fired on his position, and ended up taking three shots to the back and side. Blood seeped down from behind its gas mask just before Scott pressed forward and swung his blade downward for the killing stroke. The blade smashed in its skull in a sickening display of viscera and gore.
He turned to finish off the other two, but felt the onset of the paralysis that came with the end of his turn. For now, it was the Raiders' move.
Scott mentally prepared himself to receive the barrage of attacks, but suddenly felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. He did not have the chance to see the fact that he just lost twenty-two hit points from a single strike, but he felt the loss intensely.
Sweat rolled down the side of his neck as Scott was forced to gaze straight ahead with no chance to defend. Another Raider had come at him f
rom behind. This one had attacked him in some way that did a great deal more damage than the others.
“Mama’s gonna like you, boy! She’ll just eat you up. Ahoo-hoo-hoo!” cried the new arrival.
Scott was forced to withstand several bullet barrages and another heavy attack by his newest opponent before he was able to move. Unfortunately, he was not fast enough to dodge bullets and had no idea when the heavy attack would come. His hit points were whittled down rapidly.
The nightmare turn ended, and Scott was able to face the newest threat. Upon turning around he took a good look at the newest raider. The newcomer was not dressed the same as the others, entirely. Instead of a gas mask, his face was covered in what appeared to be clown make-up, though it was only black and white. He still wore the same equipment as the raiders otherwise.
The world seemed to darken and freeze in place for a moment as a drum roll sounded from all around. "Hey kids! Do you know what time it is? That's right! It's time for..."
A loud chorus of children's voices echoed through the air. "Bartleby Junior!"
The world grew dark a moment later and a spotlight shined down on the raider clown. "A-hoo-hoo-hoo!" cried Bartleby Jr., while he tapped his heels against the ground in a spastic manner. Scott was able to see his opponent's level and information during a battle despite the distance and the arbitrary fact that sometimes he was simply not able to acquire that information during a fight. He immediately wished that he had not.
[Monster]
Bartleby Jr. [Raider Captain]
Level: 10
Race: Bandit
Profession: Demented Killer
[--]
“Shit!” hissed Scott as the normal lighting in the area reasserted itself and his turn truly began. This raider was a lot more dangerous than the small-fries that continued to fire at him despite the miniscule damage that they did. Unless they got lucky somehow, they were not going to be able to bring him down. This thing, though, the demented killer of the group was probably the leader. Their levels were even, but in the realm of physical combat having equivalent levels would usually favor the monsters.
The demented killer took out another knife and casually tossed it up into the air and caught it. “Ready for the show, kiddy?”
Scott narrowed his eyes at the blatant sign that the bandit could do something even that simple during his opponent's turn. He doubted that he could escape, so he ran toward his opponent. He had to do something about the bastard before more of his friends came to the battle. Scott utilized his favorite support ability, "Burning Soul!"
The Arcane Slayer lunged forward with a hard stab of his flaming Kaiser blade. Bartleby practically danced to the side as he easily avoided the attack. He immediately lashed out with his knife in a smooth and deadly manner. The wicked little blade flew through the air and easily covered the short distance. It impacted heavily against the right side of Scott’s chest, but thankfully the aim was a little off.
"Counter!" cried the announcer, even as Scott lost six more hit points. His armor had deflected the inferior strike, but he was still worse off from before. He could feel the force behind the throw. He would not be surprised if a terrible bruise appeared there later. If he was still alive, he would check to see.
The clownish raider dodged Scott’s next attack, a heavy horizontal slash that would have cleaved a ghoul in half with ridiculous ease. Bartleby countered with a punch to side of Scott's head and an overly excited laugh. Scott was temporarily staggered by the force of the blow, and the demented killer took the chance to pull out another knife.
Scott noticed the new bit of equipment and frowned. How was this guy getting so many free actions? What was fair about that?
Four more gun-wielding looters came onto the scene and started shouting about their mama. The absurdly spry demented killer laughed madly and danced moronically about within the confines of his little panel. That is, he danced around until another raider jogged onto the scene as well. Surprisingly, the new arrival fired at the clown hitting him in the back of the head.
He hissed loudly then turned toward the offending party. Bartleby threw his blade toward his compatriot and it slammed slicky into the right eyehole of his gas mask. The creature’s head was rocked back and he crumpled to the ground as a bright red negative eighty-seven floated upward and disappeared.
“Mama never liked you!” snarled the demented killer.
Bartleby Jr. howled in pain when Scott shouted "Fireball!" amid a hard upwardly cleaving strike that tore a deep gouge in the back of the clown's unprotected skull. Fire seared flesh, but the attack was not over. Scott had used the fact that Bartleby had turned away as the perfect opportunity to hit the dancing bastard. He had used one of his new abilities, fireball. An explosion rocked the area as the point blank use of Scott's fiery attack sent Bartleby flying forward through the air.
Bartleby lost over two hundred hit points from the fiery explosion attack and dropped to the ground hard enough to lose another twelve hit points in the process. The demented bastard turned toward Scott and cried out desperately, tears in his eyes. “Please mistah! I have a wife and kids.”
Scott blinked as a strange, powerful, sensation washed over him while he looked down into the pleading eyes of the desperate clown. He felt his fingers loosen around the shaft of his weapon. Tears began to form along the rims of his eyes.
The hell? Was this thing a family man? The moment was so surreal and the sensation was so strong that he dropped his guard completely. The system allowed the clown to capitalize on that by lunging upward with yet another knife. He slammed it against Scott’s left shoulder with wild glee.
Had this been a normal altercation, the fight would have been over. However, it was not. A great bloody gash was torn in Scott's shoulder, but the blade did not penetrate deeply due to difference in stats. It was also still his turn.
Instinctively, Scott head-butted the monster then whipped his arm around to strike the side of its head. It was staggered by the blow and unable to defend itself when Scott launched another powerful strike. Bartleby Jr. was knocked back a few steps. Forced out of his original panel, he ended up wobbling into the line of fire of its looter friends once more. It took several rapid-fire shots and became enraged once more.
The killer clown hurled another knife toward the friendly fire happy raider and exclaimed, “I’m gonna tell mama on you!”
Scott expended one of his few precious remaining movements to step into range once more, and then unleashed a hard rising diagonal strike from the Kaiser blade that tore into the side of the clown's neck just below the chin. The annoying bastard was sent spinning to the ground. Scott tried to capitalize on the fact that his opponent was downed, but the clown flailed his arms spastically and started babbling fearfully.
“Please no! God no!” wailed the monster. Once again a powerful desire to drop his guard and pity the poor desperate clown started to wash over him. However, it did not go as planned for the demented circus reject.
Scott was not fooled a second time. The blade slammed down on the thing’s face and chest in a wild display of aggression.
“No! God, no! Please, Mistah! I have a tea cup poodle named Tink-” He gasped twice. “Tink.”
Scott ignored the monster and kept wailing on it, his turn rapidly approaching its climax. The thing had a hideous amount of hit points. Scott would have been slain many times over by now.
“She’s all alone in the world!” The clown covered his face and chest with his arms in an attempt to ward off the worst of the blows. Damage numbers rose rapidly above the monster.
Scott's turn came to an abrupt end and he was paralyzed in place with his weapon fully extended in an attack. The moment Bartleby and the raiders were allowed to move, the clown grasped the shaft of Scott’s blade long enough to say, “She’ll sex you good, Mistah!” before spinning around on the ground and kicking Scott’s feet out from under him amid a stream of wild laughs.
The clown jumped up, a bit worse for
wear but still crazy as hell. He began to dance back and forth in a disgusting waste of speed and movement potential. While he danced, he frequently kicked his feet up in the air. “Ahoo-hoo-hoo-hoo.”
The clown was simply too insane to properly capitalize on its new position. His special friends had not stopped firing once during the entire ordeal, either. They fired on anything that moved, including their own people and especially their captain. Insanity, or poor aim, it did not matter. Both were traits of the raider scum.
Bartleby Jr. was hit several times with stray bullets while he danced. Two of those bullets drew blood, and one became slightly lodged in the outside of his skull.
The monster managed to regain a little coherency after the shot to the head. He slapped a hand to his forehead then raked it downward to knock the offending piece of lead loose. “You’re de-spicable.” It said while lisping heavily and spitting at the air.
The other monsters stopped firing at the clown when he stopped dancing around in their lanes of fire, but he threw a knife at the offending party that had beaned him in the head anyway. Down went the third member of the raiding party looter division.
The raiders quickly changed locations as the turn passed, and several fired at Scott once he was in their lane of fire, as he thought of it. He could not move from his position since he had used up all of his movements, and neither could Bartleby, or so it seemed. The clown had finished his turn as well after wasting most of it on his insanity.
Scott was able to take the time to notice that the raiders only seemed to fire at someone directly in front of them when it was not their turn, and even then only if there is no great deviation in angle. A normal person would shoot in any direction that they could if they had the power to counter. It became obvious that it must be some sort of innate raider ability to auto-fire.
Unfortunately for Bartleby Jr., he was in the line of fire once more when the last raider made his move. Several shots rang out and the demented killer sighed loudly in exasperation when several tore into his back.
Earth Tactics Advance: Volume 1 Page 20
