The figure - a diminutive humanoid unlike anything Bobby had ever seen before - fumbled with his multi-tool, muttering under his breath. "Come on, come on..."
With a crackle of electricity, a bolt shot out from the device, striking Bobby and the spider-bot. Bobby cried out in pain, his muscles spasming, but the spider-bot took the brunt of the shock. Its legs twitched and then went limp, releasing its grip on Bobby.
"Time to go!" the small creature shouted, already turning to flee.
Bobby struggled to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him.
Without a word, Bobby stumbled after the retreating figure. As they burst out of the house, the fresh air hit Bobby like a wave, clearing some of the fog from his mind. His legs were still wobbly, but adrenaline pushed him forward. Despite the pain and disorientation, he had the presence of mind to snatch up his duffel bag and fire axe.
The strange, small being was quick for his size, darting between abandoned cars and piles of debris. Bobby found he could keep pace, but only just. Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Mike's monstrous form in pursuit.
Shrieks and inhuman howls echoed from the house behind them, making Bobby's hair stand on end. But as they continued their frantic escape, it was clear they weren't being followed - at least not yet.
Rem said, his voice tinged with relief.
Bobby nodded, though he knew Rem couldn't see it. His breath came in ragged gasps as he followed his rescuer through the twisted landscape of what was once a normal London suburb.
His legs burned with exertion, and sweat stung his eyes as he pushed himself to keep up with the small figure ahead. The once-familiar streets now seemed alien, a maze of destruction and eerie silence broken only by their laboured breathing and the distant echoes of inhuman sounds. As they approached a building, Bobby's eyes were drawn to the weathered sign painted across the facade: 'The Conquering Hero'.
A wry smile tugged at Bobby's lips as he read the smaller text beneath: 'Ales and Stout - Courage - Wines and Spirits'. "Courage and spirits," he muttered to himself. "That's exactly what I need right about now."
The figure ushered Bobby inside the building. As they entered, Bobby was struck by the quintessential English pub atmosphere, despite its current state of disarray. Dark wood paneling lined the walls, and opposite the door stood a sturdy wooden bar, its various beer taps a silent reminder of livelier times.
Bobby's eyes swept over the chaos - overturned tables and chairs scattered about, broken glass crunching underfoot. Behind the bar, he spotted an old electronic till, and above it, the optics that once held an array of spirits now lay smashed or emptied.
The sound of a lock clicking into place snapped Bobby's attention back to his rescuer. The small being secured the door before gesturing for Bobby to follow him further into the pub.
Bobby's hand reached for his pistol, only to grasp at empty air. With a jolt of panic, he realised he had left it behind in the house with Malformed Mike. All he had now was the fire axe and his duffel bag.
As this realisation sank in, the figure walked past him, seemingly unconcerned by Bobby's moment of alarm. Bobby followed, his eyes never leaving his strange rescuer.
They moved through the front bar area, weaving around the debris. The figure led Bobby through a back door, revealing a room that branched off into what appeared to be a storage area and a kitchen. To their right, Bobby noticed another door, likely leading to the flats above.
As they came to a stop in this back room, Bobby found himself with a moment to catch his breath and truly take in the bizarre situation he found himself in. He turned to his unexpected saviour, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but before he could speak, the figure held up a hand, his large eyes darting about as if listening for any sign of pursuit.
After a tense moment, the figure seemed satisfied that they weren't followed. He pressed something on his wrist, and a shimmering field around him seemed to dissipate. Bobby blinked in surprise as the creature's true appearance came into focus.
What stood before him was indeed reminiscent of a gnome from fantasy stories Bobby had grown up with. The being was small, barely reaching Bobby's waist, with a round face and large, expressive eyes. His most striking feature was his elaborate facial hair - a bushy moustache that almost hid his mouth, paired with equally thick eyebrows. Atop his head was a mop of patchy grey and black hair, giving him an aged appearance.
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Bobby stared, his mind struggling to reconcile the fantastical creature before him with the reality he had known just days ago. The gnome's weathered face spoke of years of experience, perhaps even wisdom, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that made Bobby unsure whether to feel reassured or wary.
"Well," the gnome said, his voice gruff but not unkind, "I suppose you have questions. But first, let's make sure we're safe, shall we?"
Bobby nodded, still at a loss for words. He watched as his diminutive saviour moved about the room, pulling out various gadgets from pockets Bobby hadn't even noticed before. The creature muttered to himself as he worked, glancing back at Bobby with an unreadable expression.
The gnome continued to fidget with his gadgets, his movements quick but deliberate. Bobby noticed a slight tremor in the being's hands, and the worry lines etched deeply into his weathered face seemed more pronounced now that he could see him clearly.
"Name's Bobby," he offered, breaking the silence. "And I owe you my life back there. Thank you."
The gnome paused in his work, looking up at Bobby with a mix of surprise and gratitude. "Ah, well, couldn't very well leave you to that mess, could I?" He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Truth be told, I'm in a bit of a pickle myself. Seems we might be able to help each other out."
He set down one of his gadgets and extended a hand towards Bobby. "Pardon my manners. I'm..." he hesitated for a moment, as if debating how much to reveal, "well, you can call me Mic. It’s short for Tinkermic Gearswizzle."
Bobby stared at the gnome before him, taking in every detail of his peculiar appearance. Standing just two feet tall with a slender build, the being had a long, pointy nose that seemed to twitch with curiosity. His most striking features were his large, furry eyebrows that danced expressively above a pair of worn goggles perched on his forehead.
The gnome was dressed in an eclectic mix of clothing and gear. A tool belt hung around his waist, laden with an assortment of bizarre gadgets and instruments Bobby couldn't identify. His body was covered in what looked like makeshift armour, a patchwork of scrap metal.
Are those clock parts? He wondered, looking at the scrap metal."
Bobby shook the offered hand, marvelling at its small size yet firm grip. "Mic," he repeated. "Nice to meet you, Mic, and thanks again for the rescue."
Mic nodded, a fleeting smile crossing his face before worry clouded his features once more. He turned back to his work, but his movements seemed less focused now, more agitated.
"You said we might be able to help each other," Bobby prompted. "What did you mean by that?"
Mic’s hands stilled, and he took a deep breath before turning to face Bobby. "It's my daughter," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "She's been taken by a gang of raiders. I... I couldn't stop them. My mech suit was damaged, and I..." He trailed off, his eyes distant and filled with pain.
Bobby felt a surge of empathy for the small creature. Despite his alien appearance, the fear and love of a parent was unmistakable and universal. "How long has she been captured?" he asked.
Mic's brow furrowed, his eyes filled with worry and determination. "Two days now. Two agonising days of planning, preparing, trying to find a way to get her back." He looked up at Bobby, his gaze intense. "I know where they are. An old industrial complex to the east. But I can't take them on alone, not without my mech suit."
Bobby nodded, understanding the urgency. "And you've been watching them all this time?"
"Every moment I could," Mic replied, his voice tight with frustration. "They're well-armed, at least a dozen of them. In my current state, I wouldn't stand a chance. But with help..." He trailed off, looking at Bobby hopefully.
Bobby felt torn. He wanted to help, but he was acutely aware of his own limitations. "Mic, I want to help. I really do. But I'm not exactly a skilled fighter. And without my pistol, I'm not much use against a gang of armed raiders."
Bobby's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his gaze dropping to the fire axe leaning against the wall. He lifted it, testing its weight. "I mean, I've got this, but against guns? I might as well be throwing rocks."
Mic's eyes lit up, a glimmer of his earlier energy returning. "But what if I could get you weapons? Better than anything you've used before?"
Bobby raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite his reservations. "What kind of weapons are we talking about?"
Mic's hands flew to his tool belt, pulling out a small, intricate device. With a few quick adjustments, a holographic image appeared, showing what looked like a futuristic rifle.
Bobby stared at the holographic image, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief. "That's... impressive. But you don't have one of these, do you?"
Mic's excited expression faltered. "Well, not exactly. But I know where we can get some." He hesitated, his brow furrowing. "It won't be easy, though."
"Of course it won't," Bobby sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What do we need to do?"
Mic's expression turned grim, his eyes meeting Bobby's with a look of determination and trepidation. "We're gonna need those collars," he said, his voice low and serious. "We need to go back and kill Malformed Mike."
Bobby felt the blood drain from his face as the implications of Mic's words sank in. The memory of Mike's grotesque form, the stench of decay, and the terror of their narrow escape came flooding back. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Mic continued, his voice grave. "Those collars are worth a lot to the right people. They're not just controlling those poor souls; they're also a form of identification, a key to unlock certain areas. Areas we don’t want to go to, but…" Mic shrugged, "I know who will want them, though."
Bobby finally found his voice. "You want us to go back there? To face that... that thing again?"
Mic nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so. It's our best shot at getting the firepower we need to save my daughter."
Bobby leaned against the wall, feeling weak. He closed his eyes, trying to process everything. The thought of returning to that house of horrors made his skin crawl, but the alternative - leaving Mic's daughter in the hands of raiders - was equally unthinkable.
Bobby opened his eyes, meeting Mic's anxious gaze. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. "Fuck my life," he muttered, then louder, "Alright, Mic. I'm in. But we're going to need a damn good plan if we're going to pull this off."
Quest - Collar Me Impressed: Return to the house and retrieve the collar from Malformed Mike. Exp variable.