I stopped and faced them. They were still out of maximum effective range, I had no doubt about that, but close enough to see me under the streetlights of Gojia-X. To see that I was done running and ready to fight.
“What’s taking you all so long?” I asked. I made a careful show of stretching and unlimbering, mocking their angry approach. “You guys need a break? A bit of a breather?”
SUCCESS! You have critically succeeded in enraging one of your opponents. +1 to your Mockery skill
Well that was unexpected, but not unwelcome. I smirked, watching the world’s littlest gangster break from the pack and charge. He had one of those German World War I helmets on, with a gleaming spike in its center and looked for all the world like a metallic gray and brown lawn dart.
He was fast too. Surprisingly so.
“What the heck?” I managed to mutter before he descended into a blur. A gray-brown streak that chittered madly as it pounded the pavement, its footsteps sounding more like the drum solo at the end of an awesome metal concert than the tiny-footed sprint of a crazy little person.
Luckily Cybernetic Enhancement had my back. That OP notification that I was about to be stabbed in the thigh flashed up hard before my eyes, and with cyber-human grace I was just able to pirouette, taking a grazing gash to my hip instead.
It stung, but my health bar ticked down only slightly. I had a feeling he’d been aiming for my femoral artery, and that very bad things would have happened if he had hit.
I turned and booted the man, missing his face but connecting with the spire of his helmet point and knocking him on his ass. Meanwhile the words Luck of the Irish flashed across my vision in a slurry of gold and green, and I let out a shocked raspberry of utter surprise. The card had done something and fixed my attack for me.
Probably I’d been about to miss.
I turned again and sprinted for the weapons shop. Behind me the mob had been closing in, and ragged shots pinged the ground and buildings around me. Little dude sat on his butt, looking stunned, but he was slowly getting up to his feet.
I judged the distance between myself and the door. I’d been planning to rap on it, give crazy lady the finger, then dive out of the way when she gave fire.
But judging the situation now, as it was, I could see that wasn’t going to happen. There was a football field worth of yards between me and there, and the little speed demon was getting back to his feet. He’d have a spike up my proctologist’s nightmare before I could even reach the welcome mat.
But I did have one more use of Cybernetic Enhancement. And little dude didn’t seem to have much ability to turn once he put the pedal to the metal.
A smirk colored my face. It was on.
“Hey, midget,” I yelled over my shoulder. My path was straight, a deadline shot to the weapon’s shop entryway. “You just gonna sit there crying, or you gonna try to take a piece out of the guy who just wrecked you?”
I could reflexively feel the numbers crunch in the background. I didn’t need the notification to know that I’d succeeded, though. The little man got up, growled, and came running hard. I was at the 50, the 40, the 30, then I let Cybernetic Enhancement win the day. I sensed the coming attack, dove right, and the little dude plowed past like the little freight train that could, blasting into the shop door so hard that it imploded inward in a shower of plas-proof glass, futuristic alloys and super-pissed mini-minion.
I laughed hard. It was even better than I had imagined. Then Hina shrieked from within, bolts of blue-streaked magenta energy frying the miniature gangster into glowing piles of ash.
Reinforcements had arrived.
The following mob broke up, half-a-dozen clattering left, half-a-dozen clattering right, and half heading straight on. It looked to me that they had an anarchic mix of bats, chains, knives and zip-guns.
And two guys held laser rifles. Those would be my targets.
I sprinted hard to the shops on my right, dropping and rolling when a few metal rounds zipped by me. I turned and leveled a called shot to laser guys white-haired head. I missed, the plasma burning out a chunk of his long hair but doing nothing more than piss him off. He fired back, a glancing blow burning over my shoulder and dealing a residual 3 points of damage.
Hardly a scratch, but it told me that a direct hit would do some business.
“Ringo-Dango!” the rifleman shouted. His lackeys screamed the same. The battle cry arose from all of them. “Ringo-Dango!”
The men in the rifleman’s squad charged, clanking hard at my position. I fired a shot, blasting one of the charging men in the foot, and was delighted to see him drop. He checked his foot out before getting back up to hobble forward.
Meanwhile the shop owner Hina was out of the front door, wearing pitchblack steampunk goggles and screaming obscenities at the gang members. She had the nuke looking thing I’d seen before, so I flattened out and closed my eyes.
There was no telling what game effects Deus Ex had planned for a mini-nuke.
I saw the warm pink of intense light shaded by my eyelids, then felt the hard shove of air blast over and away from me. Seconds later it all came rushing back and I took the opportunity to peek out and see what had happened.
The center squad of the Ringo-Dango gang was gone. Just baked bloodstains on the road pavement. A crater radiated out from where it had struck. I glanced back at Hina incredulously. She’d seemed so sweet when I first met her. She was just standing there, her mouth agape, apparently completely unaware of the power of the one-shot device she’d just fired.
I felt sympathy for her. That was one hell of a whammy. My sympathy changed to confusion, though, when I saw the head of her grandfather pop out of the door behind her. A system notification flashed in by scrolling sidebar.
+500 reputation rating with Hina Owari. Total reputation now -450. Hina Owari is still hostile.
I was confused. I couldn’t help myself. I yelled out to her, “I thought you said I killed your grandfather!”
She swiveled and flipped her goggles open. Then she arched her archbrows and glared.
“You still shot him, you piece of garbage. You stay right there and I’m going to put a bullet through your chest, see how you like it.”
Hina flipped her goggles down and turned back into the shop, the door closing after her.
I didn’t doubt her promise. I’d have to finish this fast. I got back to a crouched fire position, and examined my cluster of gangsters.
I was in luck.
They all seemed to have been temporarily blinded. The rifleman was just rubbing at his eyes while the bruisers and the zip gun guy were stumbling forward at a snail’s pace.
I started popping rounds, center mass.
The lead guy, a man with a spiked ball on the end of a metal chain, took three hits before he dropped. A guy with a bat, the next closest took two.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Then two things happened. A laser blast caught me in the chest for 13 points of damage, taking down my health bar about ten percent. And my guys finally arrived. I knew because of their stupid, “Leeroy Jenkins!”, followed by shouts and firing from the other flanking group.
The names of my subordinates appeared through the wall, and right off I got the sense that, based on the type of game we were in, I could pinpoint them on the minimap if I needed to.
It was just as useful to know that I could detect my people even through walls and around corners if necessary. Based on the size and position of their names hovering and bobbing and jerking about, they were down a stretch of alley, with at least two of them crouched down.
Eric Joel was in the lead.
Dragon Dees Nuts, Turtle Juice, BluntMachete , Phil McCrackin, and GhostFaceGangsta had arrived, laughing and blasting.
A zip round caught me, and I saw the melee guys were about up to me. I popped up, hitting a bat-wielding tough, then turned to run. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shop door slide open again, Hina coming out with her goggles flipped closed, holding what looked to be a 18-century cannon, but with handles and a body-strapped mount-sling.
“Get ready to die, dicks,” she snarled.
I turned back around and sprinted at my pursuers, the cannon angling to follow my figure. A smirk lit upon her face and I could see exactly what to do. Right when I reached the first of the melee guys, I dropped to a crouch.
At the same moment, a massive gout of dark flame belched forth from the cannon, exploding the clump of enemy gangsters into fluid that splashed over me.
“Did I get ya? Did I get ya?” she yelled from her stoop.
I saw the rifleman put her into his sights and take a shot, a lance of red-green lancing through the air to tear into her side. She went down with a scream and I took my chance.
I leapt up and charged the man.
He turned, saw me, and adjusted aim. An arc of concentrated heat burned the skin over my heart, dropping my health bar another 20%. God did that hurt too. I saw some sort of debuff crop up in the corner of my vision — HURT SO GOOD. YOU HAVE BEEN DAMAGED BY A CRITICAL HIT WITH AN ENERGY WEAPON. THE ACCURACY OF YOUR ATTACKS IS TEMPORARILY REDUCED BY 25%.
Yeah, that was alright. I had an answer for that. I kept up my charge and I tackled him, wrapping him up in a tight embrace and slamming him into the pavement.
“Boo,” I yelled into his ear, laughing out loud when I got a +1 Intimidation. The man squirmed and struggled.
“I surrender. We’re beat, I’m beat, I surrender. Just don’t kill me!” he whined.
I took quick inventory of the other flank, the one with the griefers and Eric Joel. Looked like they’d wiped out their competition. Good news that. And I peeked back to Hina, seeing that she was watching us from inside her shop, the door about shut.
“I should kill you for what you did to the girl,” I said, extra-loud so she could hear. “And for your attack on her shop. But instead I’ll take you back to my base and figure out what you and your gang’s plans on her establishment were. Because I don’t have any beef with her or her family.”
+100 reputation rating with Hina Owari. Lucky break! +50 reputation rating with Hina Owari. Total reputation now -300. Hina Owari is still hostile.
I was ecstatic. I’d used her as part of my battle strategy and managed to game the whole thing for better relations. Relations that seemed to include a want of her to blast my head off with some sort of cannon thing, but we were getting back to a placid sales neutral.
The now captive looked like he was about to yell something of his own.
“Don’t you dare,” I growled. I took his weapons, then bound his hands.
He subsided, a defeated look on his face, and a sudden system notification popped into view.
WELCOME TO LEVEL SEVEN. LOOKS LIKE YOUR FRIENDS GAINED SOME LEVELS TOO. WELCOME TO TACTICAL COMBAT, NAPOLEON.
I grimaced at the AI’s attempt at humor. But just briefly. I was happy it seemed to just barely notice me at the periphery, maybe even running some ‘dad joke’ algorithm to create the comments for it.
Whatever that line was about, I was eager to get to leveling. At this point I was still chock full of card points, so I decided to leave that well enough alone until I got enough good cards to have to choose which ones to select for the day. My Strength and Finesse seemed to be riding me fine through combat, so those stuck.
I looked at my Intelligence and thought it over. Most cards were an easy learn. But those stronger cards, they promised to be an outright nuisance if I didn’t keep leveling up the old noggin. Two points in Intelligence, I decided. Just til something else proved to be lacking.
With that, I checked over the sheet, making sure I didn’t miss anything.
[https://i.imgur.com/c7gEp1F.jpg]
You’ve received: Stained leathers (18), Scrap-metal armor addendum (37), Basic Nano Healing Injection (3), 137 credits, laser rifle (2), zip-gun (2), flails (5), metal bats (7), machete (2)
You have received a new card!
Tactical Strategem
[https://i.imgur.com/TW7OAbc.jpg]
Level 1 Uncommon, Card Points 2
Activate to give all allies within 800 meters +2 to all Attributes, and +1% to their hp total, for 1 minute. 4 minute cooldown.
If you place this card in a core slot, you become a Tactical Genius.
’Twas a hundred to one, each soldier hard and experienced. But when push came to shove, they were no match for General Destruction.
Learn Chance 69% Would you like to learn this skill now? Y/N
I let the dice roll. With a new and proven battle squad being a real possibility, I wanted this puppy in my arsenal . . .
. . . and stared in horror as it faded into dust, disappearing from view. I’d gotten an 81.
I shook my head, and Patches came running up to me, knowing the sign. I got down to my knees and took a doggy tongue wash, nestling my hands in his fur.
Better. Much better. I relaxed, sighed. Laughed a little even. There’d be other cards. It wasn’t the end of the world.
I saw that the griefer guys were all over by the side of one of the buildings, chatting excitedly about the battle, and I got back on my feet. It was time for a bit of a chat to see who they all were.
I walked on over to them and gave them a little wave. Eric Joel was standing there, high-fiving Dragon Dees Nuts while Turtle Juice and Phil McCrackin were talking about the battle. BluntMachete and GhostFaceGangsta were smoking up against a wall.
Where the heck they’d gotten cigarettes from was anyone’s guess.
How they’d gotten those skins was a good question too. Their faces were ruggedly handsome, their hair perfect with a 1950’s sense of coif and sheen, the sort of look that must have taken them hours to make.
The kind of look that only a very serious gamer would take the time to perfect.
I respected that. Maybe they weren’t the ate-up soup sandwiches I thought they’d be.
“So you guys aren’t going to change your names?” I asked, my first face-to-face with the crew. All five of them cracked the biggest smiles I’d seen since the anti-tank range. A coy gotcha look that told me that I’d given them the best gift they could get. I cracked up. I couldn’t help it.
“You guys are crazy, you know that? New world, new rules, and you want to be put in harm’s way?”
Dragon bowed, his dark skin like a blot against the white-electric backdrop of the shop behind him. “Oh captain, my captain,” he said, his tone super serious.
Turtle elbowed Phil and they both cracked up laughing while Blunt and GhostFace saluted, cigarettes hanging out their mouths while the smoke corkscrewed up in front of their faces. I did a double-take on GhostFace, his frame a monstrous six-foot five and his hands like shovels.
“Jesus,” I muttered. Memories flashed back through me. Echo troop, first platoon. Bunch of jokers. We’d had a big guy there too. And awesome fighters. They knew their stuff. This crew here, I bet they did too.
“I think I might want you guys on as my combat squad. Especially since you practically volunteered when you picked your dumb names. You all cool with that?” I asked.
“You gonna pay for my college?” Blunt asked. I noticed that his skin was about as pale as an Irishman’s buttocks. It made me wonder if the dude had chosen it, or if he were just related to Casper the Ghost. Yet not a trace of freckle on him.
The man would have been fried to a charcoal brisket in the desert. No way he was a fellow vet. Yet there he was, speaking the jive.
“What MOS were you man?” I asked him. They all got out of their various wacky positions and moved in close. It was army talk time and nobody wanted to miss a word.
“Nineteen-Delta man. Cav Scout.”
I nodded. “One shot, one kill. Glad to have you onboard. What about the rest of you?”
“Eleven-Bravo,” Dragon said. “Infantry.”
“More like axle-grease,” Turtle said, igniting a chuckle. “You guys got nothing on my Abrams. We’ve got the biggest guns.”
“But we go deeper in the bush,” Blunt added.
Yeah, this was my crew. And, at that moment, I knew I was lucky to have them.
“You guys active duty?” I asked. All of them nodded. “Fort Carson?”
“Yeah, we were out on leave, having the time of our lives, when a better option hit the table,” Phil said. He was a shorter guy than the rest, tanned skin that suggested a lot of time outdoors. Or the right selection of hue in the character creator.
“To be honest, I’m glad to be out here. We all caught a look at Carson on the TV and it doesn’t look pretty. Looks like some sort of supernatural-modern-horror game. Vampires, werewolves. Almost all of the weapons are gone from what we could see and the guys are having to craft everything from scratch.”
“It’s unreal,” Blunt added. “There were highlights. Gory highlights. I don’t know who is choosing it all, but it was gore galore. In that system it looks like different types of monsters are only susceptible to certain damage types, so guys will go out, kill some werewolves, then get massacred by vampires.”
I shook my head. Sounded grim.
“Well, lucky enough, we don’t have to deal with any of that crap.”
Yet, I thought to myself.
“Let’s pack up and get out of here. Head back to HQ. You’re gonna be my go-to-guys for violence, so I’m gonna let you all pick a leader for yourselves and I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
“Hoo-ah,” they cried. I chuckled.
"Yeah. Hoo-ah you crazy bastards. We’ve got a mission here, and I have a feeling you all are going to play a big part in making it happen.”